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writingescapades · 5 months

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Gratitude

Aventurine x Bodyguard Reader

He found you digging through the trash. Months of tracking you down led to nothing, and he was on the verge of giving you up when his luck rang through once again. Deciding to not waste the moment, he approached you and smiled when he saw how quickly your muscles reflexed into a ready stance despite your shabby appearance and weakened state. Always out for yourself. As expected of a mercenary.

He offered you the position right there. Be his bodyguard, and in exchange, well all the money you could possibly imagine.

“And I’m sure your pursuers will back off once they know you’re under the IPC”.

It was to be a formal relationship. An exchange of services. He made the contract, and you signed it.

“At least read it once before you sign it. You don’t know what I will be asking from you,” Aventurine cautioned.

“I don’t need to read to know what I’m getting myself into,” you replied calmly.

Indeed you never questioned your role, and very quickly established yourself as Aventurine’s silent shadow. Rumours spread that his murky character was only your shadow. That his eyes bewitched while yours homed in on the attack. Everyone soon watched their tongue around the IPC manager, least they find it cut by your sword. Sometimes Aventurine wondered if he really knew what he was getting himself into. Other times, he intentionally pushed you to see what it would take to make you snap from your calm demeanour. Impossible missions ranging from late night escapades, rescue missions, even getting up at 2 am to get him a snack. You bore it all with no malice. Truly, you were dangerous.

You had no friends and made no attempt to create new friends. They were possible attempts on his life was the rational you provided. Even if you wanted friends, Aventurine mused, no one would dare approach someone they knew might harm them, not in this stratum of society where foes and friends of the IPC were treated alike. Stuck with him, he supposed he could offer you a modicum of friendship. If only to stave off the loneliness of two people. He found himself exchanging slights of hand tricks, and asking questions to which your answers had him honestly laughing. It was fun, Aventurine realized, to have this banter between you within the familiarity of your roles. You were taciturn, but woe betide the fool who assumed nothing more lay behind your professional face.

It started with a mission plan. Late a night, echoes of the casino music and laughter reached to his hidden chambers where the IPC manager stayed up planning a stealth attack. Struggling over how to extract himself from the danger, he almost forgot you were there until he saw your arm reach over and readjust the plan. A sudden change of view and Aventurine’s problems fell away. He looked up at you only to see a gleam in your eyes as you stared at the mission plan. You were in your element.

“Foolish of me to not see things that way,” he murmured.

“Late night thoughts are dangerous, sir”.

There were several more moments like these. Nights when he awoke to sounds and only found you cleaning up. You would turn towards him and ask him in a gentle voice to go back to bed. The blood was always gone by morning. Another when he arrived to see his dinner had been eaten by you. Perspiration appeared on your forehead, and you began to wheeze. Still you quietly begged forgiveness, claiming that your hunger was uncontrollable. It was your duty, yet Aventurine didn’t understand why your actions carried such a depth of emotions within them. Worse yet, Aventurine didn’t understand why he grew concerned over you. It was your responsibility. So why did he wait till he heard you stop cleaning before slipping back to bed? Why did he panic over your poisoned state, ushering you to induce vomiting without a care for his clothes.

The turning point occurred during a casino night. Caught up in the moment, Aventurine failed to notice a pair of cold eyes, staring hard not at him but at his hand, the one that always stayed near his person when he played. All of a sudden, he could feel your presence near him, gently leaning into him, hiding his hand away from the world. He stared at you, but you stared ahead, challenging the eyes that dared to cast a glance at that which you protected so fiercely. He didn’t know when you noticed his habit, but for some reason, didn’t find it all that alarming that the one person to find out his secret was you. He knew you would keep it safe.

You became his confidant soon after. A hundred secrets, but a thousand smiles. For the first time laughter tailed Aventurine’s shadow, and people stopped differentiating between you both. Rumours began to spread, rumours Aventurine neither confirmed nor denied. He knew the emotion that linked the two of you. Gratitude. He hated it. Relations formed on such a flimsy emotion are quickly manipulated and broken. Like misery, the emotion wafted through life. It’s why he never questioned the second mug you left for him, or the extra plate of food. It’s what he told himself when you took his exhausted body to bed, gently stroked his head, and didn’t flinch when he screamed out at night and clenched your hand, nails digging deep enough to leave crescent-shaped tears.

Too scared to ask for more, Aventurine sustained his life on temporality. He once gave you a gift. Nothing but a miniature coin attached to a pin, but you had yet to remove it from your appearance. He told himself, he just wanted to thank you. It was also why he insisted on helping you clean your wounds, slowly tracing over your marred skin, gently asking if you were still alright. If you were still alive. Still with him. Enjoy the moment. Don’t ask for more.

So why was it that this particular moment had him far more upset than the situation warranted? In the white noise of the casino where glamour trumps sensibility, a gentleman had the gall to approach Aventurine. Accustomed to the routine, Aventurine watched the man wager a high stake. Like bees to honey, eyes swarmed the two men as they ascended the ladder of fate. As usual, no one saw Aventurine’s hand shake or the exhale when the odds came into his favour once more. As expected, the distraught man slipped out insults at his opponents. Sighing, Aventurine slipped into his role of providing superficial comfort. What he did not expect was the silver glint. A sudden clash of metal, and the click of a gun.

You were in front of him, blocking Aventurine from having to see the poor excuse of a human being. The gentleman’s dagger was pathetic in comparison to your sword and the gun you jammed into his head.

“The game is over, sir. Take your losses and go home”.

“You work for a cheat! A Scoundrel!”

Aventurine pressed his glasses closer to his eyes and smiled. Really, the man had guts to continue to insult when death stood right in front of him.

You easily flicked away the dagger.

“Hold your tongue. Leave now”.

The gentleman’s eyes narrowed as he registered you and your role. His lips curled and he sneered, “And here comes the guard dog, protecting its master”.

Aventurine gripped his hand and felt the engraving on the coin within, press into his skin. His lips thinned but he remained silent.

“A master worth protecting”.

Now both men looked at you, clearly shocked by your statement. Then the gentleman scoffed and snatched his hat.

“You’ve got them trained well, Gambler. But you better yoke them before they land you in trouble”.

You watched the man until he left the room. Behind, you could hear Aventurine lazily count his winnings. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. The sound of each coin bounced off the room. Aventurine was upset. You sighed.

“I don’t like you accepting such talk!” the man sputtered out. It always amused you when he did this, concern choking his suave side.

“The man was angry. Let him bark,” you grinned at him. “I’m the one who bites”.

Aventurine turned his head away from you, failing to hide his smile. The he reached his hand out to you. Taking the cue, you sat near him. He shook off his glasses and placed his head on your shoulder. When you made no move to remove his head, he let it sink down as you buried your hands into his hair.

“Am I really worth protecting?” A quiet whisper came out.

“Yes”.

“I’m not your master,” this time the voice was firmer.

You hesitated. “The contract,”

“Damn the contract! You’re—We’re—. You can leave anytime you want!”

Silence hung in the air as you both pressed closer.

“I didn’t mean that,” Aventurine murmured, hand reaching for yours.

You placed you head on top of his. “Late night thoughts are dangerous, dear”.

Aventurine closed his eyes, feeling the edges of sleep flow in. There would be no going back now, but Aventurine found himself ready to slip off into the unknown, because now you were there, guarding his back. Was it gratitude? Maybe. But maybe, just perhaps. It was the start of something stronger. Something better that would etch itself upon his soul, overriding all the other scars.

#writing #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #honkai impact #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr kakavasha x reader #kakavasha hsr #kakavasha x reader #kakavasha #hsr kakavasha #bodyguard reader #gn reader #hsr x reader

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year

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@justanotherotaku1102, thank you sm for commissioning Skull from the coffee shop AU being a loveable boye 🥺 he is Everything

---

This wasn’t your first attempt at dough. You felt increasingly, though, like it was going to be your last.

It was the very early morning, at your coffee shop, sunshine was already peeking through the windows of the kitchen. 6am... you’d already set up the cafe for the 7am opening, machines cleared and prepared, cutlery and dishes cleaned and ready to go, food out in the display cases. You and your only employee were now just cleaning up, preparing for opening- you’d felt like you had enough spare time this morning to attempt some baking.

...

You probably would’ve been better to just throw the ingredients straight in the garbage.

You had no idea what it was. It seemed like you were cursed, or something. You really thought that by now, you’d be able to successfully manage something as basic as a bread dough- you were hoping that your time around your professional baker suitors would’ve meant that some of their prowess would’ve rubbed off on you. Sans’ ability to craft the most intricate and incredibly delicate pieces, Red’s magic touch with even the most complex pies, surely you’d pick up some skills?

You really hadn’t.

... You stepped away from the oily, sticky mess on the countertop in front of you, fingers caked in mixture. You were getting unreasonably frustrated over some fucking bread dough... looking at your wasted work, you felt choked up and angry.

...

“... struggling?” Skull asked.

You looked over your shoulder at him. He was by the oven, big eye quietly observing you... you could see why he used to scare you so much. But right now, Skull was the only person who could talk to you without you exploding. A softspoken giant with a gentle temperament, he was a baker by trade- he had been here in the kitchen since at least 4 in the morning, making the pastries and cakes that decorated the shelves of your cafe. Stars knows you needed him, given your absolute dogshit baking skills.

He had been quietly watching the whole time. You knew he had. You bit back frustrated tears, smearing your sticky hands over your apron- “Yes. I’m giving up.”

“... the dough?”

“Going in the trash.” You choked. “Where my cooking belongs.”

“... can i... see?”

Skull didn’t like food waste. Any kind of food waste. You deflated... suddenly feeling bad for talking about throwing it away. Some of the anger dissipated.

“... Sure. You can try and save it.” You stepped back from the sticky mess of oil, flour, water and yeast. “Do what you want.”

... Skull moved over. He walked slowly, with a gentle lean, like one side of him weighed slightly more than the other... he stood beside you at the countertop, looking at your ‘work’. His jagged face meant he preferred to spend his days at the cafe hidden away in the kitchen, cooking while you handled customer service. He was at his happiest when making something.

He stared at your mess.

...

“jus’ needs... more flour.” He mumbled. “and... kneading.”

“I can’t knead.” You said, dejectedly.

He glanced at you.

“... show me.”

You looked up at him- you didn’t know why he wanted you to show him when he’d probably seen your sad and frustrated kneading attempts earlier. But you did as he asked, moving back in front of the bread. He had said more flour, right? You took a handful of flour out of the bag and generously dusted your terrible creation. You pressed your hands into it... doing the closest you could get to the method you saw in videos and on TV.

...

Skull moved behind you. And suddenly, his huge hands were on either side of your own.

You froze; wait, he was standing behind you? So close, too... close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him. Your heart thudded- what?

His chest gently bumped your upper back.

“here.” He said softly, breath ruffling your hair. His big, scarred hands reached forward...

... And took yours in his own.

You clamped your mouth shut to stop the tiny squeak from escaping you. You felt like you were being swallowed, and you didn’t dislike it. He smelled like cinnamon. Skull guided your hands patiently- he angled your palms, and helped you push the dough, the ball of your hand first. His precision and experience was clear with the smoothness and direction of his movements... and on top of that, he knew exactly how gently to hold your tiny human hands.

“... push n’ roll.” He said. “s’that simple. don’t worry... bout speed. people who... knead fast... have been doin’ it for years.”

You could hear your heart in your ears, now. You’d seen this guy lift up your fridge with one hand, so he could sweep underneath it- you knew the feats of strength he was capable of. And yet, he somehow held your hands like they were glass, while still applying enough pressure to guide them.

You tried your damndest to concentrate, to make the most of his clear expertise. Push and roll. Push and roll...

...

... And... oddly enough, not fussing about the bread too much because you were constantly thinking about Skull’s slow breaths tickling your scalp and his massive arms around you, you found you were robotically performing the motions he was guiding without your usual overthinking. It only took a few moments for you to realise you were actually kneading the dough. Properly.

... A swell of pride in your chest, and a little smile on your face. Maybe you weren’t cursed after all?

“... there we go. you got it.” He murmured, affectionately, almost right up against your hair. The way he said that, him murmuring so close, his deep voice through his chest... you were kinda glad he was behind you, he couldn’t see you blushing. Would he catch you if you fainted?

“R-Red kneads fast.” You managed to get out. He kept kneading with you.

“he’s showing off.” Skull said, disapprovingly.

You couldn’t help but snort. The dough was starting to take on a smooth, flawless texture. “And Sans?”

“probably... can’t make bread. bread’s not... science enough.”

A warm laugh escaped you. For a moment, you could’ve sworn Skull paused- but not too long.

... Skull was right about the bread. I mean, of course he was. But it was still nice to see your mistake gradually turning into something that would probably look alright in the oven. With some flour, and some kneading, it more and more resembled an object that could soon become edible. Your efforts (and the ingredients) weren’t totally wasted.

Skull finally took his hands off yours... placing them on the counter. You immediately missed the warmth. But you now had, before you, a lovely silky-looking ball of dough.

“... Then it proves. Right?” You turned, looking up over your shoulder at him. Even though he’d taken his hands off yours he didn’t take his hands off of either side of you. His big, warm eye stared down at you.

“... mhm. ‘bout n hour.” He tilted his head. “want... me to prove, and bake? since... you’ll be... busy.”

“You trying to put a bun in my oven, Skull?” You teased.

...

Skull’s eyelight widened. And his whole face, just like that, flooded with an ultramarine blue.

“u-uh.”

...

You made yourself smile, despite your furious embarrassment and burning face. You moved to the side- he took his arm off the counter, letting you slip out from his enveloping personal space bubble.

“I-I should go wash my hands and open the store.” You blabbed, smearing your hands on your poor apron again. You’d need to grab a replacement, no way you could greet customers like this. “Would you like another coffee before the doors open?”

He nodded, dumbly. “... m... mhm.”

You scurried away, desperately needing a moment to cool, so your cheeks weren’t on fire when people started coming through the door.

...

Skull, alone in the kitchen, busied himself with readying your bread dough for proofing- trying to find a way to distract himself, and stop the loud purring that had immediately started filtering out of his chest once you were out of earshot.

#commissions #coffee shop au represent #skull got that quiet boy rizz #she let me hit because i can bake her warm fresh loaves of homemade bread

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quirkwizard · 2 months

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There isn't any real reasoning for why I made this. Maybe because I already did something like this with 1-A? I just thought it'd be a fun scenario to imagine where these characters would be if they had real jobs. Instead of ending up in various levels of dead or damaged. I will ignore characters that I think are simply too evil to have any real chances, like Moonfish, or others I just don't think are interesting, like Mange. That and most MLA because they already have real jobs. Them being redeemed would just be them going back to work with ankle bracelets on.

Mustard-Fumigator: If his gas can knock out and poison people that quickly, I imagine that it can kill bugs just as well. And if he comes across any particularly bad bugs, he always has his gun.

Giran-Salesman: I mean, it'd be basically be what he was doing before. Now instead of seeing illegal weaponry, he'll be selling used cars so expensive it should be illegal.

Spinner-Streamer: He can still play games and not leave his house, but now he will hopefully have a more healthy outlet for everything he is going through. He doesn't even need a VTuber set up. He is the goofy model.

Tomura-Waste Management: This allows Tomura to let out his destructive tendencies and can help get rid of a lot of debris and trash that is just laying around. Now instead of leaving a destroy wasted, he can clean up the destroyed waste.

Mr. Compress-Street Mage: Probably the most obvious pick out of everyone on this list. Between his power, his gimmick, and his natural showmanship, it all fits right into this kind of job. He doesn't even need to change his outfit to make it work.

Muscular-Coach: Since he can't be trust in any fighting based sport. I'm not sure if this would be as a gym coach or personal couch, but either way, he is going to take all that sadisms and ideas of conflict and channeling that aggression for other people's benefit.

Kurogiri-Travel Agent: As much as hero may be on the table, I think there would be some optics issues with that. Still he could send people where ever they want to go on vacation with a fraction of the rates. Just as long as they give a way to send them back home.

Dabi-Lead Singer: Specifically something in the metal or rock genre. He's got that perfect mix of voice, look, and angst to fit right into that kind of culture. And considering how many songs are written for people who don't like their dads, he'd have plenty of material for songs.

Toga-Photographer: Toga was the hardest out of all of them. I just went with something that could express herself more healthy, maybe even being a crime scene photographer, and being in a job where stalking someone is considered worthwhile experience for the job.

Twice-Odd Jobs: As much as I want to say tailor for his sick measuring skills, he doesn't really have any definable skills. So having him be around and help people with his dozens of clones seems fitting. That and there is so much comedic potential in them doing odd jobs week to week.

Gigantomachia-Tourist Barge: Instead of demolishing cities, Gigantomachia can use his tough body to show people around normally hazardous areas like oceans or mountains. He can even use the cheers of the people he's carrying as encouragement to boost his power.

Geten-Ice Cream Man: I prefer to think that Geten's abilities would cover ice cream as well. As such, it is only a natural conclusion that he would become an ice cream man. And knowing him, he will fight and train to be the best ice cream man on the planet.

Kuin-Beekeeper: Considering how bad of a spot bees are in, Kuin could do a real service to the community be helping to spread out pollen with her power. And hey, leading a bunch of bees would come naturally to her as a living insect.

Number 6-Motivation Speaker: Forget the amount of social manipulation he did in his own story, I say this job fits because of the amount of spite Number 6 has. It's that spite that allowed him to get going and fulfil his dreams. Now that's inspiring.

Overhaul-Doctor: I've already gone over how useful "Overhaul" would be in medical work and he already has plenty of experience with medicine. Heck, we can even have the other yakuza guys around as nurses and other kinds of assistants. Beside manner may need work.

Stain-Bounty Hunter: I wanted Stain to end up somewhere where he could technically good, like a detective, but a bounty hunter fits way more within his skill set. Plus, there is a lot of comedy potential. Imagine a poster him in the bond office say "Pay your bond or else!"

Gentle and La Brava-Social Media Stars: Basically what they were doing before. Now with hopefully less crime in between videos. Gentle could even spin his whole redemption for more views, telling his sad story in prison and his time trying to rehabilitate himself. Take that as genuinely or facetiously as you want.

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scrambledpancakes03 · 3 months

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Before the presidential debate...

I've got some thoughts.

While I know that even the "best" presidential outcome feels like a loss at this point, you do have to vote.

I totally understand not wanting to vote for Joe. There are a lot of reasons for that, some more valid than others. That's not my point rn. There's many genocides happening: read how joe is handling it from verified sources and make your own choices, I trust you'll do what you think is right. I'll just be here full of endless dread no matter what...

But for fucks sake before we all lose hope please remember...

Vote down ballot.

Conservatives win repeatedly all over the country and have been able to make life substantially harder for every individual working person, especially those with marginalized statuses... and it's not primarily due to the shit they've pulled in the Oval Office... it's because they're getting elected to sheriff's offices and school boards and zoning commissions and STATE LEGISLATURES.

Don't let your disillusionment with the president keep you from showing up for candidates you won't hear about from national news... because they are the ones who can save us.

Without progressives, leftists, and even more moderate liberals in local offices, every aspect of life gets substantially harder. Local programs shut down, public services are cut from city budgets, and police keep getting more and more absurd militarized resources. And in that environment, how would we ever stand in solidarity with people suffering around the world? Or even people marginalized here in the US?

Here are some (but not all) elected offices that may be on your ballot in the fall that need your attention in no particular order:

1. Secretary of state: oversees the states record keeping... including voting. Don't let them be fascists.

2. School Board: they decide pretty much everything to do with public school's funding, curriculum, and sometimes even personnel matters or district geography. They decide what your kids learn, where, how, and with whom. Don't let them be bigots.

3. District Attorney/Prosecutor: they decide what crimes have charges brought against them, and in what manner. They're the difference between a teenage kid being tried as an adult or a child for a felony, as well as other matters like that. Don't let them be racist.

4. Sheriff: have insane amounts of power over how criminal investigations are conducted and how a community is policed. FOR FUCKS SAKE STOP ELECTING RACISTS. Also we should just... reconsider the concept and maybe try not having sheriff offices at all. But that's a whole different goal.

5. Planning and zoning commissions: if you are struggling to get housing or stay housed, they are the reason there is little to no affordable housing in your area, because they decide what gets built or maintained in your area. Businesses, parks, houses... yeah. Don't let them be corporate puppets.

6. Public works commission: they control the utilities, the water, the trash, and the recycling. This is one of the main places the environmental movement should be looking to make change. They write regulations that can be used and enforced to reign whole groups of people and corporations in to make real collective change in the way we generate power, consume resources, and manage waste. They are also how we prevent more crisis situations like the one in Flint, MI.

7. City, state, and federal legislators. They write the laws. They appropriate the spending of your tax money. Stop narrowing your focus to the federal executive branch when the left needs to gain momentum writing laws at every level. Don't discount local change, because it adds up.

I know we are all focused on the genocides going on around the world right now. The best way we can continue helping as November comes and goes, is to elect local leaders who will support global liberation by writing laws and regulations that protect our free speech, ensure the quality and equity of our education, and commit to divestment from violence all over the world.

Okay? We all got this?

Can we all just agree to do this part, and we can fight about biden separately, please?

TLDR: Fuck you, vote in all the local races.

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quietblueriver · 9 months

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Wading into an Imodna au? Meet equine therapist Imogen, children’s vlogger Laudna and her co-host Pate, and the various other current and future employees of Camp Prudaj.

Imogen was tossing an eggshell into the trash, her ramen bubbling happily on the stove, when her phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

She gave herself one moment of exhausted frustration before taking a deep breath and preparing to answer. This was a new ritual, in the months since she sent in her MSW applications.

She hated speaking with strangers. Hated it. But declining risked the option of panic-ignoring the voicemail or, worse, having to leave one of her own, and she had years of practice working retail for some of the most unpleasant assholes in, she’d wager, a 300 mile radius, so she could manage the almost unfailingly polite university employees who had begun to call her about interviews and application supplements, and, most excitingly, scholarship offers.

She reminded herself of this last possibility specifically as she said, in her best customer service voice, “This is Imogen.”

“Ms. Temult. I’m glad I caught you. My name is Ariks Ehsteross. I’m a friend of Wilmer’s.”

Well. That was unexpected. It took her a beat longer than it probably should have to answer.

“Hi, Mr…”

Shit. Shit. The source of the call, not to mention hearing her boss called Wilmer, had distracted her so badly she hadn’t paid good enough attention and now she was going to butcher this man’s name.

He laughed, not unkindly, before she could spiral too much further. “Eshteross. But Ariks is absolutely fine.”

No way in hell she’d be calling any friend of Mr. Faramore’s—Wilmer’s—by their first name like that, but it was a nice thing to say.

“Sorry, Mr. Eshteross. Um, what can…what can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, Ms. Temult, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

She eyed her ramen, the clock, and the burner, resigned to the loss of her egg.

“Of course.”

It felt, strangely, like an interview, and thankfully, she’d had enough of those recently to answer well despite her lack of preparation and, well, total lack of information about what, exactly she might interviewing for.

She must’ve done well enough, though, because fifteen minutes and one surreptitious removal of a saucepan later, Eshteross said, a smile evident in his voice, “Thank you for that. I know this is out of the blue, and I do apologize. I hope to make up for it now.”

“It’s not…it’s no problem, sir.”

“Very polite of you, after twenty minutes on the phone with a strange old man.” She was silent, because she was entirely unsure what to say to that, but he seemed not to expect a response, chuckling to himself before he said, still cheerful, “Now, Ms. Temult, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

It had been a good proposition. Great, even. Nearly perfect, she might say, if she weren’t so wary of jinxing it.

Estheross was looking to resurrect a summer program on his farm, and he wanted Imogen to help lead equine therapy. He’d run it for its founder for nearly two decades before she got sick and they made the decision to close while she recovered.

“Unfortunately, she died a few years later. And I…” he cleared his throat. If he were her daddy, or Mr. Faramore, or basically any other man she knew, she would’ve tactfully pretended she didn’t notice.

For some reason, he felt different, so she did something different.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” It was immediate and, from what she could tell, sincere rather than embarrassed. “Ellia was a wonderful woman, and many of us felt her loss deeply.” Another clearing of the throat. “Which is, I fear, why it took me much longer than it should have to get the program up and running again. It’s been nearly a decade since we last had children on the farm, and that’s far too long. I’m sick of the quiet, and we’ve got too much of everything here to let it go to waste.

“I understand you’re likely heading this way for graduate school.”

She hadn’t made the decision, officially, but unless she got miracle money from U of Issylra (and even then, she wasn’t sure she wanted something somehow more rural than Gelvaan), he was right.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t made a final decision yet, but I’m…it’s looking like I’ll be up there to start in the fall.”

“Well, from what I hear, anywhere would be lucky to have you, but you’ll forgive me if I say that selfishly, I hope you land in Jrusar.”

And that was interesting, because Imogen was fairly certain Mr. Faramore didn’t like her that much. Or really at all, if she was honest. She wondered what exactly Mr. Eshteross had heard from him. Maybe more importantly, what he hadn’t heard.

She’d waited too long again.

“Thank you, sir. That’s…that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all. And of course, there’s no pressure, but I do hope you’ll think about my offer. And either way please let me know if you’re coming this way. I’d love to have you for supper, even if you decide work at Prudaj’s isn’t for you.”

Turned out Imogen was much better at dealing with assholes than men with manners, apparently, as she once again found herself a bit speechless.

“Thank you. Again. I really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. Good luck, Ms. Temult. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Her egg was, as predicted, rubber by the time they hung up, and she ate her lukewarm noodles around it while she thought about Eshteross’s offer, clumsy as always with her chopsticks.

She was qualified for the job. Faramore knew that, and it was obvious from her LinkedIn, which she hated updating and avoided checking if at all possible but which had gotten a suspicious number of views in the last three weeks.

It made note of her equine therapy certification, which she’d received while she was in college, and her volunteer and later paid work at the program affiliated with the local university for two summers and her last year of school. It had been a few years since she’d been there in a long-term way, but she still did a few weeks for them at least twice a year, and her profile reflected that, too.

She felt a twinge of smug pride as she thought about her daddy’s regular and disapproving reminder that she was forgoing a paycheck for no reason every time she went over there, no matter if Mr. Faramore gave his approval and liked being able to put her certification on his website. It was ugly, but she was alone with her ramen and a job offer, so it lingered longer than it otherwise might’ve.

She added another tick in the pro column as she picked over the spinach in the bowl. It would be an additional paycheck and a steady summer gig. She’d get to do work that she knew she loved and get actual money for it. Not only that, it would be relevant for her program.

By the time she was slurping down the last of her broth, rubber egg sitting forlornly on a triple folded paper towel waiting for the trash, she was wondering how hard it would be to get her time at Prudaj’s counted as experiential learning. Eshteross said they had certified therapists on staff…

A week later, when she got the official scholarship offer from U of Issylria—generous but not enough to compete with Jrusar—she made two calls.

First, to the Jrusar admissions officer who had been ridiculously nice to her through this whole process. She was more enthusiastic than Imogen could’ve hoped, and it buoyed Imogen into an almost giddy state for the five minutes it took her to finish the intent to enroll form.

Second, she called Eshteross.

“Oh, wonderful! I couldn’t be more excited that you’ll be coming to join our team.” He sounded, incredibly, like he very much meant it. “Actually, there’s someone near Gelvaan that I’ve been looking at, and I wonder if you wouldn’t mind having coffee with her and giving me your impression?”

She worried, more than a little, about how much faith this man was putting in her but relaxed as he added, “I’ll be sending down a manager, Orym, to do a formal interview if all goes well. I did things a little differently with you, but, well, I’ve known Wilmer since we were children, and frankly, if you’ve lasted this long with him, that’s its own endorsement.”

He was right, of course, but she couldn’t exactly say that, so she said nothing for the second it took for him to fill in the blank himself.

“No need to respond to that. Apologies. In any case, her name is Laudna Bradbury, and she’s an…interesting art therapist. Academically qualified but she now runs a somewhat popular show on…the apps, apparently? You might’ve seen it. She does crafts, and there’s a stuffed rat-like creature called Pate who tells stories.”

Quite the sell. She was glad to be able to say, with honesty, “I’m not really on…the apps.”

“Ah, me either. Fearne, another…well, she does a little of everything really, but I suppose manager is as good a title as any, found her.

“She’s in the Taloned Highlands right now, it seems. Not terribly far from Gelvaan. I have her contact info, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down with her? Maybe Pate will join you!”

While he laughed at his own joke, Imogen forced herself to wait to look up Laudna’s name until after their call and tried not to get carried away imagining a rat…creature telling stories to children.

“I’d be happy to. Of course.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send you her information now.”

#imodna #southerngothic #imodna fic #camp prudaj au

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freckled-words · 14 days

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Animal Transformation

This took way too long, but that tends to happen when you don't have a really strong idea for the plot. I'm also super rusty, but I think I got my swing back towards the end.

Hope you enjoy the read, and let me know if you spot any spelling mistakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out even frost giants have allergies, and it has the funniest effects on a certain trickster’s shapeshifting control.

Darcy watches as Loki loses control of his shapeshifting magic, and she just can't resist a furry face.

“Community service” was the polite term used to describe Loki’s return to Earth.

“Doing whatever the Hell we say” is the more accurate description, as coined by Director Fury during the initial meeting.

Thanks to a curse/spell from Odin, Loki’s magic and strength was moderated by whichever task Loki was assigned to at the time.

When he was sent out to clean up trash in Central Park (disguised and under Natasha’s supervision) he was as strong as an average citizen.

If he went out with the Avengers to deal with a threat, he was allowed just enough magic and strength as was needed to defend himself.

In-between his assignments, and back in the Tower, he was set to about mid-level Godly might (just in case a Hulk suddenly appeared or an accidental arrow went flying his way.)

The combination of ‘cursed weakness’ and menial labor, unsurprisingly, lead to a consistently pissy Loki. The closest thing Darcy had seen to a smile on him was the trademark smirk, right before he said something snarky.

Even though Darcy hated Loki’s guts for all the death and destruction he’d brought to New York, she also couldn’t stop herself from adding him onto her ‘Take Care List.’ Much to most everyone’s surprise (Jane had long since accepted that Darcy couldn’t help herself.)

She didn’t go out of her way to kneel and curtsey around him or anything, but she did make sure he got a mug of tea or coffee when she was doing the rounds in the morning. As well as a decent portion of food like the other bottomless pits that had to be fed (with Thor back on Earth, the grocery bills knocked up another couple hundred.)

Anytime Loki bothered to acknowledge Darcy, it was never in a polite fashion, and Darcy made sure to give just as good as she got.

“I see Midgardian cuisine is just as lacking as the people.”

“I see your manners didn’t make the trip from Asgard.”

“If you’re going to offer me food, at least make certain it's cooked.”

“Gee why didn’t I think of that? Oh right, dumpster fires don’t get a say in what they get.”

It became something of a routine for them to exchange barbs at least once or twice a day, and by Loki’s second month in residence, the other members in the Tower stopped bracing for Loki to lash out at Darcy.

Darcy just came to accept this as part of her new normal, and rolled with whatever weirdness that came along with it.

Right up until the weirdness took a detour into ‘omg wtf’ territory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...Avengers were seen fighting against what was described as a hoard of mutated bi-pedal flowers.”

Anytime the Avengers were called out for a mission Darcy kept the TV on in the background so she could get updates on what kind of mess she might be helping to clean up later. JARVIS was great for giving her updates on everyone’s physical well being, but he couldn’t necessarily predict how the team’s mood was going to be once they got home.(When there was a HYDRA mission, it was home-made pizza night. Apparently slamming around a massive ball of dough was very therapeutic for Bucky.)

The news being a bit slower than actual events, Darcy wasn’t surprised when JARVIS announced the team was returning in the next 10 minutes, along with a cryptic note of, “No major injuries to report, however Dr.Banner does advise no immediate physical contact.”

The last time JARVIS passed on this kind of note, the Avengers had gone up against a T-Rex made of enchanted septic waste (sometimes D&D nerds manage to get their hands on blackmarket magic, and it never ends well for anyone.)

Having (barely) survived Death-By-Foul-Poo-Stank, Darcy figured her nose could handle some overly strong floral perfume coming from the team’s gear. With Jane’s blessing, she was ready and waiting for them in the kitchen 20 minutes later. She’d brought out multiple boxes of kleenex, a handful of neti pots, and every brand of allergy medication in existence.

The first waft of thick flowery perfume drifted in with Steve, and nearly had her choking as her eyes watered, “Cripes Steve, how is this almost worse than the Fecal-Rex?!” Grabbing a handful of kleenex she blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes.

“Just be lucky you’re getting this, and not the full bouquet. There was every kind of flower there, and everyone but me, Bucky, and Bruce nearly dropped from an immediate allergic reaction.” Steve grabbed one of the neti pots and looked over the instruction card that came with it.

Darcy could just imagine Tony having to flip up his face visor to keep from coating it with his sneezes, while Clint cursed trying to zero in on his target with his eyes burning and watering.

“Wait so even Thor -”

What had to be the loudest sneeze in existence went off, followed by the lights flickering erratically throughout the room.

Thor entered a moment later blowing his nose into a wad of paper towels. The skin around his nose and eyes were bright red, evidence that he’d been rubbing at them for a while already.

“I didn’t think anything on Earth would be able to infect your whole Godly-Alien-Race?” She asked while pushing a box of lotioned kleenex towards him.

Thor accepted the softer tissues and yanked out ten to hold in his hand, ready for the next sneeze, his voice was congested when he answered, “Nor did we. Banner believes their mutated state amplified their pollen’s properties.” He blew his nose again, and Darcy winced at the sound of his tortured sinuses.

“What about Loki? He’s not human or Asgardian, how is he faring?” Thor had explained his brother’s origins to everyone over drinks the night before Loki had been brought to the tower. A couple members of the team concluded that Loki’s destructive behavior must have been a kind of psychotic break, what with his whole life being flipped upside down and dipped in ice water.

Thor and Steve exchanged a look, one that nearly had them both coughing back a round of laughter.

Squinting Darcy pressed, “What happened to Frosty the Snow Giant? It was something good wasn’t it? Give me the deets ~” She crept closer to Thor, wiggling her fingers towards the box of kleenex as though she were going to snatch it back.

Thor grabbed the box and turned away, his smile spreading, “During the fray, Loki was met with the misfortune of having his entire head swallowed by one of the flowers.”

Steve’s smile curled towards ‘I enjoy trouble’ and added on, “Turns out getting a nose of the stuff is worse than just breathing it in.”

“So Loki is…?” She prompted already knowing the answer had to be good.

“Hiding in his room.” Natasha supplied, slipping around Thor to grab a box of lotioned kleenex herself. Unlike Steve and Thor, she’d gone straight to her room to shower and change into clean clothes.

Images of Loki with a purple rash all over his face, or icicle snot hanging out of his nose popped into Darcy’s mind.

“Well if he’s feeling that rough, then I’m sure he’d appreciate some tissues and allergy meds. I’m just gonna…” Darcy grabbed the extra strength Benadryl, the last box of lotioned Kleenex and one of the Neti pots.

Her arms full she made a beeline for the elevator, and chose to ignore Steve’s question of, “Is she still safe?”

One quick elevator ride, and a hop-skip down the hallway had Darcy standing in front of Loki’s door.

Since her hands were full, Darcy called out,“Loki, you in and decent? I’ve got a sniffles care package for you.”

“Go away, Serf.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘Serf’ was Loki’s default nickname when he couldn’t be bothered to think of a better insulting name.

Even through the door she could hear the rapid fire sneezes that followed, as well as a muffled cough.

“You can either let me in, and choose what state of dress you’re in, or JARVIS opens the door and I get to see just how much of a rash you have on your ass right now.” It was a shallow bluff at best, but she couldn’t just walk away without trying first.

The annoyed noise that traveled through the door sounded an awful lot like a growl, more so than the usual one she was able to get out of him when she pushed his buttons.

A second later the door opened.

Biting down on her lips to try and not smile too smugly Darcy marched in, “Good choice Frosty. You’ll thank me later when you’re not missing three layers of ski…nnnnyah?”

With all the apartments in the tower having the same layout Darcy had gone straight for Loki’s small living room to place her bundle on the coffee table.

She’d glimpsed Loki from the corner of her eye as she’d breezed into the room, and hadn’t spotted any bright red or pink on him. When she straightened and faced him properly, her brain and mouth had a disconnect.

Loki still stood by the door, which he was still holding open, his battle gear was gone and his hair was damp from his shower. Like Thor the skin around his nose was chaffed from blowing, and his eyes slightly puffy, and for reasons that Darcy’s brain couldn’t fathom there were two black, white tipped fuzzy ears on his head and a twitching, fluffy, black, white tipped fox tail peeking out from his back.

“Uhhhhhh….”

“Make your jokes, then leave.” Even congested Loki’s tone was clear in his frustration.

Darcy held her hands up, “Hey there’s no shaming here, just confusion. Last time I checked, allergies didn’t turn people into furries.”

“I am not…” He broke into a fit of sneezes, “Whatever nonsense term that is. I’ve simply…” More sneezing, “Been struggling with my Seidr.”

Darcy hummed and nodded, not really understanding but didn’t think it smart to push him into a more in-depth explanation. His sneezes were so close together and harsh, she was getting worried about the amount of air he was getting into his lungs.

“Regardless, maybe some meds will help. I suggest taking like, 4 of the Benadryl. If it works it’ll knock you on your ass, but it’ll also stop the sneezing and congestion.” She was making her way towards the door as she spoke and stopped just by the opening, “Any chance I can-” She reached towards his twitching tail.

“Leave.”

“I’ll come check on ya in a couple hours!” As badly as Darcy wanted to touch the fluffy tail, she was not ready to die for the attempt.

~~~~ THREE HOURS LATER ~~~~~~~~

Darcy juggled the three tupperware containers of food in one arm while she did her best to knock with the other, “Loki you good? I’ve got food.”

She didn’t hear any approaching footsteps, and was startled when the door was opened.

Darcy barely got clear of the door before Loki shut it. Turning to face him, she just about dropped the food.

“I can’t tell if this means the Benadryl helped or not.” She offered as an opening for him to explain.

Loki still had the ears and tail, but now there was fur around the edges of his face, covering his hands and feet, his nails had blackened into claws, and there were definitely whiskers growing out of his cheeks.

Loki blinked down at her, his nose twitched (was he about to sneeze or was he testing her scent?) and she saw something shift in his mind as his pupils widened then shrank, he blinked and his usual scowl returned to his face, “How did you get in here?”

Darcy cocked her head to the side, “You let me in, just now, and almost hit me with the door. Did fur grow inside your brain too? Do I need to call Bruce?”

Her concern crossed from surface level to genuine as she watched Loki look down at his hands and wiggle his clawed fingers, his expression was hard to read with his eyebrows blending into his new furry hairline but she was certain he was looking confused himself. “Damn.” The word was uttered so quietly Darcy might have missed it if she weren’t standing so close.

“Loki, you’re seriously worrying me dude.” Again his ears twitched in her direction.

“I’m touched.” Darcy took the dry sarcasm as a good sign, “The only thing you should be concerned about is keeping your blithering trap shut. It was bad enough when it was just the ears and tail. If The Oaf hears of this, there will be no end to his ridicule.”

The more Loki said, the more Darcy relaxed. It was a sad reflection on her life when she was happy to have the mass murdering alien give her a hard time.

Opting to ignore his bluff (she’d long since realized that he could bark all he wanted, if he ever hurt her he’d immediately be kicked back to Asgard) Darcy went to his kitchen and put down the tupperware containers, “Don’t worry your fuzzy little head, I won’t tell anyone…” Faster than Loki could anticipate, she whipped up her phone and snapped a picture, “I will show everyone though, unless you let me touch your ears or tail.” She shoved her phone down the front of her shirt and between her boobs, uncaring of the extra cleavage she was flashing him in the process.

Loki’s upper lip drew back revealing some rather pointy canines, “Impudent wench.”

Darcy smirked as she rocked on her heels, “Oh come on Fuzz Butt, you can’t tell me no one’s ever wanted to see what your transformed fur feels like.”

“None have ever been so brazen or foolish to try.” Loki bit back. He was becoming so agitated his tail was swishing, and his ears had flattened on his head.

‘Dammit, now he’s just looking cute.’

He was also looking a little unsteady. With each swish of his tail, Loki wobbled the slightest bit, and his eyelids seemed to be struggling to stay open.

“How many of those Benadryl did you end up taking?” She hadn’t heard him sneeze once since she came in, and the skin around his nose and eyes had returned to normal.

“The four you recommended had no effect, so I added another five. The sneezing stopped just before…” Loki caught himself before he could finish outing himself. Shaking his head he staggered off towards the couch, “Leave Serf. I require rest.”

She really, really wanted to push her luck and remind him about the whole Fuzzy Picture threat, but it wasn’t as much fun if the other member of the party was spiraling towards a crash. Cause damn, NINE?! If one Benadryl was enough to turn a regular human into a zombie, then nine must be bordering on a coma.

“Fine, but don’t think this isn’t over. I’ll come back in an hour and make sure you’re still breathing.”

She saw a feeble, black fuzzy hand lift up to acknowledge he’d heard her.

Darcy left but made sure to leave the door unlocked. Quietly she called out, “JARVIS keep an eye on his vitals and let Bruce or Thor know if his heart stops or something.”

“Of course Ms.Lewis…Shall I let you know when it’s been an hour?”

Unsurprised that JARVIS had been listening in on the conversation in Loki’s room, Darcy gave a thumbs up to the nearest camera she could see, “That’d be great J.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 45 MINS LATER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ms.Lewis, I thought I should inform you that there has been a change in Prince Loki’s condition.” Darcy tried not to cringe too much from having JARVIS say this directly into her bluetooth headphones (a welcoming gift from Tony.)

Glancing over to where she could see Bruce working at his station she figured this wasn’t a life threatening change to Loki’s condition. Not many realized just how much intelligence Tony’s AI had, but Darcy was no fool. She grew up worshiping the internet, and treating ‘The Matrix’ and ‘The Terminator’ like prophecies.

If JARVIS thought this was something only she needed to know about then she’d take it as the gift that it was.

A quick elevator ride later and she was back at his door.

She knocked lightly and let herself in, “Loki? JARVIS says you might need help.”

There came a slight whimper (or was that a whine?) from the living room.

This late in the afternoon the sunlight had moved away from Loki’s windows, and none of the lights had been turned on. Everything was cast in shadows and patches of darkness, making it hard to see anything.

“Loki?”

Darcy hit the switch for the kitchen light so she didn’t accidentally blind/enrage the half-transformed frost giant.

Able to see Darcy watched as what she had initially thought to be a deep pocket of shadows uncurled from the bottom of the coffee table.

A black fox the size of a St.Bernard stretched out like a cat as unfocused green eyes blinked in her direction.

“Oh my Gods.”

She wanted to take all the pictures, but she also wanted to try touching him. When he was still humanoid the fur had looked silky, as a full fox it looked absolutely luxurious and Darcy just had to get her fingers into it.

She had never interacted with foxes before though, and didn’t know how unhinged Loki’s brain was going to be with all that Benadryl in his system.

Finished stretching he ventured a couple steps closer, his nose to the air to scent the new presence in his home. Some of Loki’s consciousness must have been working, cause the fox’ ears went down and it spun around to hop onto the couch.

‘I’ve just been brushed off by a fox.’ Loki could brush her off a million times and she wouldn’t bat an eye, but Fox-Loki showing her such little interest just felt like a bitch slap.

“Rude.”

Going over to the couch she watched as Loki laid down with his head resting between his two front paws. His eyes closed and a rather un-fox like sigh came out through his nose.

Darcy crouched down to eye level and told him, “You know you make a very pretty fox.” Other than his ear twitching Loki didn’t acknowledge her.

“May I please pet you, your Foxiness?” Murderous Asshole or not, Darcy wasn’t going to touch without consent.

His eye cracked open, regarding her for a moment then closed and another long sigh was released. Darcy took it as one of resignation and beamed. Finally she could get this out of her system!

As gently as she could she placed her hand on his head; he didn’t move away or twist around to snap at her, confirming that he had given in.

She stroked down along his spine, marveling at the feel of his thick, silky fur. Bringing her hand back to his head she lightly scratched around the base of his ears, the fur there was much softer and she had to bite her lip to keep from gushing out more praises to him.

Her petting was kept strictly to his back and the top of his head, areas that most animals considered to be safe zones. As much as she wanted to touch his tail she didn’t know how sensitive it was and didn’t want to push it.

Darcy cut herself off after about five minutes, plus her legs were screaming in protest from holding that crouched position so long.

A woman of her word Darcy dug out her phone and deleted the picture of Loki the Were-Fox. Satisfied she whispered to Loki, “There now no one but me and JARVIS knows what a half fox, half Frost Giant looks like. I also won’t tell anyone that you totally lost control due to overdosing on allergy medicine. You’ll be back to your entitled asshole self by tomorrow morning.”

This got her a small indignant huff.

Darcy let herself out and made sure the door locked behind her.

It was only after the door’s lock had clicked that Loki released his animal shape. It took a bit slower than usual, but he wasn’t quite back in focus just yet.

Back in his usual form he resettled on the couch. With not a single piece of clothing on his body, the material didn’t feel quite as comfortable as it had in his fox shape.

The Midgardian medicine had thrown his control off balance, just not as much as he’d let Lewis believe. He could have reverted back to his proper state a half hour ago, and gone back to his bed for a proper rest.

Instead he couldn’t resist seeing what the woman would do when faced with the full transformation. He’d been somewhat hoping she would startle or scream and flee, calling for Thor’s protection. Instead she’d looked at him like he was the most beautiful animal in existence. It was a delicious boost to his ego.

Loki chuckled to himself, picturing her face when she might learn that her ‘petting’ along his fur had translated to the feeling of a lover’s touch on his skin.

There would be sputtering, possibly some shrieking and all the threats and profanities.

The image was so entertaining he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

#fanfiction #darcy lewis #loki laufeyson #loki x darcy #tasertricks #Avengers #marvel cinematic universe #animal transformation #TaserTricks Misadventures

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vailvalleywaste · 1 month

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#trash removal #trash services #waste disposal #waste management #waste removal #trash recycling

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anonymousboxcar · 10 months

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RWS Stanley Time: Museum Edition

In my posts about my Moving Forward AU, I’ve talked a lot about Stanley on the SKR. So here’s tidbits about his life at the museum!

———————————

-Stanley pulls visitor trains around the museum grounds. He doesn’t like being an indoor exhibit, but he can manage being stationary if visitors see him in his shed with the doors open.

-The museum primarily uses him as an example of a trench engine, educating its visitors about trench railways. As part of his job, he��ll explain his class and his WWI service to visitors.

-If guests ask about his MSR days, he’ll wince. But he’ll still talk about them. It’s important for people to know how railways used to treat their engines, even if it’s difficult to talk about.

-Stanley also shares embarrassing stories about the MSR management. Is it petty? Yes.

-Does he delight anyways in generations of children knowing That Time Manager Fell in a Scummy Pond Trying to Catch His Hat? Yes.

-It can be difficult for him to discuss WWI, too. But unlike the MSR management, he respected and befriended the soldiers. Those young men never left him behind. He wants to make sure people remember them — and what they endured.

-On Remembrance Day, he wears his wartime livery. He also pulls replicas of the rolling stock he hauled in the trenches. He tells guests about names and faces, about in-jokes and tragedies.

-For the most part, Stanley gets along well with the visitors. He’s still a little rough around the edges, but he’s a smooth runner and he’s patient while answering questions…

-…unless you’re rude to him, other engines, or other guests. Then he’ll make a game out of telling you off without violating museum policy about “professional language.” And he’s very creative.

-He credits Neil with teaching him how to interact with visitors. In fact, Neil showed him the ropes of museum life in general.

-In return for helping him adjust, Stanley covers Neil’s work during Skarloey’s visits so he can spend more time with him.

-Because he goes back and forth between the SKR and the museum, Stanley is popular with the museum’s full-time residents. They crave information about “the outside,” hounding him for news and gossip.

-He spills the tea during a weekly occasion: To practice for his poker nights with Duke, Skarloey, and Rheneas, he teaches the museum engines how to play. One of the coffeepots is his star protégé.

-But there’s one person with whom Stanley isn’t popular — George.

-I don’t have any justification for how it happens, but I like to think George winds up at the museum after his company retires him. He demonstrates how little sense he learned when he tries to razz other “has-been, useless” engines in front of Stanley.

-George says he’s only being honest. Stanley snaps back that since George is out of service, he’s describing himself, too.

-George hates Stanley for this. He either tries to goad him or sulks whenever he goes by. For his part, Stanley manages not to waste too much time needling him.

-However, others notice that if anyone else tries to trash-talk Stanley, George shuts it down with the insistence that only he gets to do that. It’s up for debate if this is a sign of character growth or not. Stanley, who learned the value of hope, spares a little bit for George.

#ttte #rws #the railway series #ttte au #rws au #moving forward au #rws stanley #ttte neil #rws neil #ttte george #my au

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burnwater13 · 2 months

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Din Djarin checking the corridor on Moff Gideon's ship. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 8, The Rescue. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu wondered how long it took his dad to get through the ship and open that door. Had it taken minutes or hours? He was sure that there was a way to figure it out. How long had Moff Gideon been yapping at him about the Force, the stormtroopers, and the sad state of Mandalore? He couldn't imagine Gideon leaving the bridge of his beloved ship for anything short of knowing that Din Djarin was on it and coming after him.

He could feel the human’s fear and anger. You didn’t really need to be sensitive or strong or anything with the Force to notice that. You just had to look at him. His face gave everything away. No wonder he’d been stuck with doing the trash work of the Empire.

Surprised at that? Why? Going after Mandalore wasn’t some sort of great service to the Empire. If it had been, it wouldn’t have been assigned to Moff Gideon. Mandalorians may have been useful for distracting the Jedi and getting them to focus elsewhere, but once that was accomplished, they really hadn’t mattered.

Grogu knew that sounded harsh. It was harsh. But it was also accurate. The Mandalorians were never really part of the Republic. They didn’t care if it remained or was replaced with something else. Certain Mandalorians were problematic, but that was controllable. Just call them to Coruscant and waste their time there. Give them a bureaucratic post. Make it seem like that had control and influence. There was no need to glassify the planet.

But Moff Gideon had done that anyway. He’d taken a strategic partner away from the Emperor and made it seem like he was doing the Empire a favor. Arguments about who you could trust no doubt filled the briefing rooms. Grogu knew the answer to that question. You couldn’t trust Moff Gideon. He was the most Sith-like non-Sith Grogu had the misfortune to run into.

Grogu did wonder how the Moff had managed to survive his ‘bold’ action. Either the Emperor’s information system was falling to pieces by then, or the Emperor just hadn’t cared about his insubordination. Grogu suspected it was more that later than the former. The Emperor had been busy with other things. Uff. That was all part and parcel with the everyday cruelty of the Sith. Wipe out a planet’s worth of people… ho hum, just another day at the office of evil.

But now Moff Gideon was actually afraid. Probably for the first time in his life. He was afraid because Din Djarin, ‘The Mandalorian’, didn’t actually care about the Empire or the Republic or anything to do with politics. He cared about Grogu. Moff Gideon had never cared about anyone other than Moff Gideon. He couldn’t understand the bounty hunter’s motivations and if he couldn’t understand them, he couldn’t corrupt them.

Grogu was grateful for that. He’d seen enough corruption during his life. He never needed to see more of it. People who bribed. People who stole. People who lied. The contempt they felt towards their victims. It was overwhelming at times. He was grateful that he’d had all those years at the Jedi Temple to learn how to deal with his feelings. Particularly when he felt angry or frustrated.

He hadn’t denied his feelings. He hadn’t tried to hide them under a blank face and a memorized line about being balanced with the Force. He had sat down and examined them. Picked them up, spun them around, tested them and then decided what to do about them. He did that because one of the masters, he couldn’t say which one, had commented to the younglings one day that ‘balance’ had more than one definition.

That had really struck Grogu as interesting. He had been thinking of the Force like walking a tightrope. If you over did anything you were falling. It didn’t matter which way you went, it was still bad. After that he thought of balance as being a counter acting force. If people chose to be bad then he would choose to be good. But did being good mean denying his anger? Or his pain? Or his annoyance? No, it did not. He had to understand why he felt angry, or fearful, or annoyed. Shouldn’t he feel angry when he saw an evil committed? Of course he should! But he didn’t act out in anger. He took action based on what would best prevent another evil.

That had allowed him to lift a mudhorn, shield his friends from fire, heal Greef Karga, and do so many other things that the Mandalorian had found amazing. Because everything the Mandalorian did for him was amazing and this was the one way Grogu knew to bring that into balance. After all the Force needed balance.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin

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metamorphosisff · 1 year

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|Seven| Breaking Patterns

“Wait!”

I’m running, knees to chest down fourth ave, towards the van on the corner. Xavier was just stepping inside when he heard my voice frantically yell ‘wait’ over and over again. It’s not my fault that I am late but in this situation it won’t matter. Courts don’t care about obnoxious bosses that didn’t let you go until a replacement arrived. There is no way I can miss even one day of community service or else my misdemeanor will go on record and my plea deal out of the window. My lungs are burning when I make it to the van and I can see the members of our group staring from the windows. I flash my middle finger which makes a few of them avert their gazes.

“Take a breath, we weren’t going to leave you. Jazz threatened to pretend to stroke out if we did,” Xavier said, causing me to chuckle as I hoisted myself inside. He climbs in behind me and soon we’re off. Today we’re back on the side of some highway picking up trash.

“Thanks for looking out Jazz,” I say, plopping down next to her in the front. Her hair is back in its usual braids and the marvelous nails from last Thursday gone. I wouldn’t waste a good look on community service either.

“I got you Birdie, drink some water before you pass out,” Jazz says, slipping my water bottle out from my bag and pushing it into my hands.

We’re in the middle of a heat wave, my shirt, and pants are clinging to me in the worst of ways. I take several gulps as the van joins midday traffic. Xavier flashes an amused look in my direction but the squint I send back has him focusing back on the attendance sheet on the top of his clipboard. Since we hung out last week we’ve spoken at least once everyday whether through texts or phone calls. Our silent exchange doesn’t go unnoticed by Jazz but she waits until we are armed with pokers and trash bags before her inquisition begins.

“Spill it lil girl,” Jazz says once we find our piece of the side of the road to call our own. We are out of earshot from any elephant ears.

“It’s not that deep, I agreed to let him try to be my friend,” I said, with a shrug. That might be an oversimplification but it’s the gist of the situation thus far.

“Good, don’t let him just try, let him be. You saw him again after the meeting?” Jazz asked, having sensed our growing closeness.

“Yeah, last weekend. We went to this food festival at Bryant Park. It was nice, he’s not so bad. We talk on the phone sometimes,” I replied.

“See what happens when you give folks a chance?” Jazz says.

“Ehh not too much on me Jazz. I’m a work in progress,” I chuckled as I tied the garbage bag around a belt loop. It’s easier than trying to fight with it in my hand as I move around.

“As long as you're progressing, that’s all that matters, trust me. I got a good feeling about Mr. Clipboard,” Jazz says, before she starts humming a Donna Summer song.

That’s my cue to take what she’s said and to go on about my business. This is one of those days where we work side by side in comfortable silence and I don’t mind. It allows me to slow down for the first time today. I lose myself in random mental checklists and by the time I’m done so are we. We’re back in the van and are being dumped off in midtown once more. Tonight Xavier teaches, so he doesn’t linger like normal to watch us all get off of the van. He manages to toss me a smile and head nod before heading into his office to grab his stuff. Jazz and I take the trek to the train station on 49th and part ways with a promise to speak later.

By the time I make it back to my neck of the woods I’m exhausted but not too tired to yell at Papi through the park fence two blocks from our building. “PAPI! Let’s go!”

It’s already close to seven, the basketball court is growing with older kids, and adults which means he no longer needs to be around. He doesn’t question me or plead for more time, simply daps up his friends, and scoops up his bag from a pile on the ground. In less than a minute, he’s jogging by my side, and enveloping me in a sweaty hug.

“Auntie, I'm hungry and Ma’ forgot to leave something. I don’t want cereal,” Papi says, scrunching up his face at the thought.

“I’m making pasta tonight. After you take a shower, come over, and I got you. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” I said.

“Okay, thanks. I thought I was about to be down bad,” he jokes, flashing me a grin.

“Boy please.”

He laughs because he knows I would not let him eat cereal for dinner but being dramatic comes second nature with Mari as his mother. We make quick work of the rest of our short walk before heading into our respective apartments. I take a fast shower, setting the water for the pasta to boil while I wash the grim of the day away. When I finish, I dress in some biker shorts and an oversized Yankees t-shirt I’m pretty sure used to be my father’s. I’m in the middle of placing ground meat into a sauté pan when I hear the front door open and close.

“Papi go in the living room and watch TV. Dinner will be done in like thirty,” I say, adding seasoning to the pan.

“Y’all having dinner without me?” a raspy voice asks, causing me to whip around.

Standing on the other side of the kitchenette counter is my ex Trevor. I frown instantly as I take in the sight of the person I thought I loved. What he and I had was volatile for a lack of better words. We were a season that lasted way too long but his passion is what kept me near. It’s also what ultimately drove me away. He was too possessive and I didn’t like that shit. Case and point, this unwelcomed pop up.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I say, moving closer to the knife block.

“Why did you have the door unlocked?” he chuckles, leaning across the counter. He’s dressed in basketball shorts and a graphic t-shirt. Clothes that will let him move stealthily. I eye the knives once again.

“Trevor. I’m about to treat you like an intruder. The fuck do you want?” I asked.

“Jamila chill out, I didn’t even come to argue with you. I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said, drumming his tan fingers against the counter. His knuckles were bruised which is of no surprise. He is always in a fight, with others and with himself.

“I was doing fine until you got here and I will do better when you leave. I don’t want to talk to you. Make this the last time you come here,” I said.

“Damn, it’s like that? I know we go through our little squabbles but-

“Nah call it what it is, you hit me,” I said, causing him to flinch which incenses me further. How dare he act like a victim.

“I didn’t mean to do that for real, you were just doing a lot, and it was a reflex. An accident for real baby,” Trevor said, taking a step closer causing me to take a step back. The heat from the stove causes me to move up slightly and I can see him calculating how he’ll close the space between us.

“Do not call me that! It wasn’t an accident, you were sober, and it only needs to happen one time for me to know it’ll happen again. I’m not interested. So you need to leave, if you have any respect for me at all.”

Shaking my head I couldn’t even believe I have to say this but I do because Trevor walks through life thinking everyone should bend to his will. If they didn’t do it of their own volition, he became forceful. Whatever bullshit is about to be spewed from his lips is interrupted by Papi and one of the older boys from downstairs coming in armed with bats.

“Aye Ms. Jamila, you aight?” Carlos asks, as he eyes Trevor. For a fifteen year old, he’s built like a D-1 college football player. Trevor’s lanky frame is no match for this kid’s and he knows it, raising his hands in retreat.

“I’m good love, please escort this nigga off the premises. He seems to be lost,” I said, as Papi goes to hold the door wide open.

“Fine Jamila, I see how it is,” Trevor huffs, marching through the door with Carlos trailing behind him. “Don’t know what I was thinking about coming back to your crazy ass anyway.”

“Me either, good riddance. C, come get a plate in like twenty minutes,” I said, following them until I hit my doorway.

It’s the least I can do for him having to play bodyguard for me. Carlos nods his head but doesn’t take his eyes off of Trevor as they walk down the stairs.

“Auntie, you good? Do I need to call Ma’?” Papi asks, hugging me tightly.

“No my love, let’s not bother her. I’m okay really, you did me proud. Earned my last icee in the fridge for being brave and calling for help,” I said, running my fingers through his dense curls in an effort to soothe him and myself.

“I never liked that guy Auntie,” he sighed, releasing me so that he could step back inside my apartment. “I hope that’s the last we see of him.”

“Me too Papi, me too.”

His words haunt me, so eerily similar to Xavier’s that day he told me about Sabrina. I’m more like his cousin than he knows. I don’t want her ending. I make a mental note to be more on guard for a while in case Trevor tries to come back a second time. Hopefully he has finally accepted that I am no longer interested.

His visit makes Papi extra clingy tonight as the ten year old insists on sleeping in my living room with the bat by his side instead of in his own bed across the hall. I let Marissa know in a voice note what’s happened before her son can beat me to it. This is one thing I don’t need him exaggerating. When that’s done, I lock up, clean the kitchen, and finally head back into my bedroom. I leave the door cracked like I always do when Papi is over. It’s late but my mind is restless. After a brief debate, I call the one person I know who is awake at this hour.

“‘It must be pigs flying somewhere if you called me first,” is how Xavier picks up the line, chuckling to himself.

“Don’t make me hang up on you,” I said, leaning back into my pillows.

“I kid, I kid. What’s on your mind Jamila?” he asks, with what sounds like the wind blowing in the background.

“Are you still outside?” I reply instead.

“Yeah, I stayed late to walk some students through a few errors made on their last test. Got off the train not too long ago,” he said.

“Ahh okay, I can hear the wind but uh to answer your question, Sabrina is on my mind. The story you told me,” I replied.

I hear his breath catch but he recovers quickly and says, “Expound on that a bit please.”

“Let’s say I have an ex like her boyfriend. He only hit me once and I ended it right after it happened. He popped up in my apartment today. Papi and one of his friends had to save me, and he echoed your words ‘I never liked him’ and it scared the shit out of me. Because deep down, I didn’t even like that man, not for real. He was fun and convenient until he was neither. I could have died because I wanted to be special to someone. How fucked up is that?” I breathe out in one shot.

Each sentence had been tossed over and over again in my mind for the duration of the evening. I may not be on drugs like my parents but I sure as hell have the same self-destructive tendencies coded in my DNA. It left me blind to bad decisions until it was too late.

“It’s not fucked up, it’s human. Wanting human interaction is as normal as sensing a predator. You’ve identified where you went wrong and made the corrections needed, don’t be hard on yourself because he’s stuck in the same pattern,” he said.

His words like his voice are soothing but they don’t sink in at the same rate. While his tone makes me settle more underneath my sheets, his words are working hard to make a chink in my armor.

“That is easier said than done. I have a kid sleeping in my living room because he wants to protect me. It should be the other way around,” I sighed.

“You both protect each other in different ways and that’s beautiful,” he says. I hear keys jingling which means he has finally made it home. “How are you doing now though? I know facing him in your space like that was probably scary. Do you think you should call the police?”

“No, I think he got the hint for real today that it’s over between us but how do I feel?,” I shrugged, as if he could see me. “I was scared at first but I’m annoyed more than anything now that it’s all over. The last few months of my life have been a mess and I don’t want that anymore. I want different, even though I don’t know what that looks like for me yet.”

“Just having the intention to want that for yourself will lead you in the right direction. Keep listening to your gut,” he said.

“I will try my hardest,” I said.

“And let me know if he pops up again. I mean it, Jamila,” he said, making sure to emphasize his words with the following, “You hear me?”

“Yes I hear you, I will let you know,” deciding to let him have the last say on that round. I’ve learned there is no point going back and forth with him when he sounds this determined. So I switched the subject instead. “Sounds like you just got in.”

“Yeah but I won’t sleep for another hour or so. I’m starving,” he chuckles as he moves around, shuffling through his home as he gets settled.

“You’re like a bottomless pit. Where does it all go?” I asked.

“Ha! I workout a lot, it’s how I deal with stress which in turn has my metabolism through the roof,” he explains.

“Hence the bottomless pit,” I say.

“Hence the bottomless pit,” he repeats, as I hear a water faucet turn on. It sounds as if he’s washing his hands because his voice sounds closer like he’s cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Is it cool if we talk a little more or are you tired?”

Ever since the first night we talked on the phone and I fell asleep, he was always sure to ask me if I was up to staying up. He was considerate in small ways that made me wonder about the large ways in which he could be mindful.

“Yeah, that’s cool, I’m not tired yet.”

I can practically hear his smile through the phone but don’t call him out on it. Instead, I listen to him launch into a spiel about why I should be watching the Marvel shows on Disney Plus. My shoulders drop for the first time in hours as the tension from earlier melts away. Having another friend isn’t so bad after all.

I underestimated precisely how annoying it was to have more than one friend. They noticed things about you in ways that did not make sense. Xavier had been watching me like a hawk this afternoon and in turn, Jazz had been watching him watch me. Tucking a loose braid behind my ear I squinted my eyes at him but all that earned me was an unbothered smirk. The gesture let me know that he wasn’t going to stop.

“Look at y’all with your own silent language and everything,” Jazz said, pretending to dab at tears.

“Pleaseee. He’s acting like a helicopter parent. Just because I threatened to shove this paint brush up Damon’s– or whatever the fuck that weirdo’s name is– ass, doesn’t mean I’m going to do it,” I said.

Waving her hand in the air, Jazz shook her head. “He gave that ashy boy his walking papers right after you did. That’s not why he’s got his eyes all on you.”

“Probably just being annoying and it’s working because he’s getting on my nerves,” I huff, taking a moment to wipe at my brow.

We were outside painting over walls of graffiti on a commercial block that Chelsea’s gentrified residents had been complaining about. All of this work was in vain. The wall would be tagged again the moment we were out of sight.

Amused Jazz pauses painting to look over at me, “And pray tell why Mr. Clipboard merely looking at you has you in a tizzy?”

I rolled my eyes. Jazz thought we were both lying to ourselves about having a friendship only. Citing some notion about there being too much chemistry between us. Whatever she was seeing, I had yet to see for myself as Xavier has done a great job at respecting my boundaries. I was growing to appreciate his friendship so a part of me didn’t want to see whatever she was seeing. So I’m going to chalk it up as Jazz reading into things way too much.

“He’s being aggravating,” I said loudly, which I heard him chuckle at from a distance.

“Mmhm sure that’s it,” Jazz says, stepping closer to bump her hip with mine. “Listen here Birdie, that man is looking at you like you’re a rare jewel. You’re uncomfortable because no one ever told you that you were precious but you are. You deserve to be admired and you also deserve to enjoy it.”

My chest thumps when her words settle between my ears and start to churn in my mind. She’s speaking on thoughts I haven’t had the time to analyze for myself. They were in me, buried deep, where no light shined because I didn’t have time for those thoughts. I did not have time to think why I was constantly alone or why I became accustomed to being so. I did not have the time now either but I was not as quick to dismiss the ever elusive thoughts of ‘what if’.

“Maybe,” I murmured, bumping her hip with mine. “For now, let’s agree that he’s getting on my nerves.”

“I shall not but I will go back to my podcast while you let what I said simmer,” Jazz chuckles.

It’s just as well because I would not have been paying full attention to anything else in the conversation. She had dropped a bomb on me that took over my thoughts for the remainder of the time we were outside. I still wasn’t quite convinced that Xavier was doing what Jazz claimed. When I dropped my supplies in the back of the van, I pulled him to the side to ask.

“Alright, what’s with the staring,” I said.

He snickered, “Besides getting on your nerves?”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “I knew it.”

“Nah, that was an added bonus,” he smirked, as he readjusted his clipboard underneath his arm. “I was staring because though you said you were okay after ol’ boy popped up, I wanted to make sure you weren’t covering up any aches or pains that aren’t in plain sight.”

His amended answer stills me. The ghost of a stranger looms over my shoulders foreshadowing a future I don’t have to have. I just had to keep choosing myself.

“Like Sabrina?” I asked softly.

Turning his eyes from the van, they landed on mine as he nodded his head, expression growing serious. “Yeah. I promised myself I’d never let another woman go through something like that on my watch especially if I could see the signs.”

In his gaze I saw the gravity of the vow he took and knew by his tone that he considered me as a woman on his watch. As caveman as that sounded, I appreciate the sentiment because I can’t remember if there ever was a time a man protected me from anything. They normally only caused harm in my world. In his eyes I saw the lengths he would be willing to go and I never wanted him to take them. Not after him sharing a bit of his troubled past with me.

“Very Prince Charming of you,” I said, over sharing my observations.

“I’ll be your knight in shining armor anytime Jamila ,” he said with a wink.

“Anddd there the corniness goes. You never leave home without it do you?” I chuckled, causing him to laugh as he walked closer to the van to close the back doors now that all of the supplies were returned.

“Never,” he said, as we walked towards the front. “Speaking of home, is it cool if I escort you?”

My chest did that thumping thing again and I made a mental note to see a doctor as soon as I got good health insurance. Rubbing at the area, I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated his offer.

Pausing my stride I said, “You live in the city and I live all the way in East New York. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” he countered.

“You aren’t going to take no for an answer are you?” I asked, noting the glint he got in his eyes when he was adamant about something.

“As he shouldn’t!” Jazz says from a cracked window, causing us to whip our heads to the left. “Now come on. We don’t have all day and rush hour traffic is not for the faint of heart.”

We chuckle but board the van knowing that she’s right on both fronts.

“What’s he doing here?”

Papi walks into my apartment with sun kissed skin that glistens with sweat. His book bag half haphazardly hangs off of his shoulder as he eyes Xavier who is sitting at the counter with my laptop. I turn my attention from the stove towards him.

“First off, hello Papi, my day was good. Thanks for asking,” I said, propping my hand on my hip.

“Sorry Auntie,” he says, entering the kitchen to place a kiss on my cheek. “Now, why is he here?”

“Because he’s helping me fix my resume. Stop being rude and say hello,” I said, tapping his shoulder.

“Hi friend,” Papi said, causing Xavier to chuckle.

“What’s up lil man?” Xavier asked.

“You tell me. Why couldn’t you fix the resume on your laptop?” Papi asked him.

Xavier’s eyes darted to mine because he hadn’t expected to be put on the spot. Using my fingertips, I tip his chin so that his gaze is aligned with mine.

“You want to go to that fancy basketball camp right?” I asked.

We had found a camp to send him to that ran all day but wasn’t free. It’d cost two thousand dollars for seven weeks of camp. I told Mari I would be able to go half. We put down the five hundred deposit to hold his spot but would need the rest for him to start.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay, so that costs money. I have to get the best paying job possible and can’t do that with a jacked up application. He’s helping me on my computer because it’s my resume. Got it?” I said.

“Got it. Help us get the bag and then go somewhere. Preferably to your house,” Papi said as he exited the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back for dinner.”

“It’ll be done in thirty,” I replied.

Papi gives Xavier one last glare before stomping Vans clad feet across the hall. We listen as he slams his door shut and I sigh while pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Sorry about that,” I said after a beat.

“Aye,” Xavier says, the gentleness in his tone causing me to look up. “He’s a kid who literally had to protect you from another man the other day. He is allowed to be cautious, in fact it’s normal, and healthy that he is.”

I take a few steps closer to the counter that separates us and drum my fingers on top. “I know. I wish he didn’t have to do that. He deserves to just be the kid we weren’t able to be. Feel like I stripped some of his innocence away.”

“Talk to him about it. Kids are more resilient than we think and open communication will help preserve the innocence that remains. You don’t want his knucklehead friends giving him advice on what relationships between men and women are supposed to look like,” he says.

I’m reaching for a braid to twirl when he leans across and intercepts. Using his finger to wrap the strand around. I side eye him but he is unmoved as he continues, “It won’t be as nerve wracking as you're making it out to be but if you want, I can send you one of my old lectures that touches on the subject, and gives some pointers to start from.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. Now unhand me so I can go check on dinner,” I said, shifting my eyes to his finger once more.

He chuckles but releases my hair as effortlessly as he grabbed it before shifting his focus back to the laptop. We fall into a companionable silence, neither us feeling the need to fill the space with words. The soft clicks of the keyboard, the popping of grease, and the Quiet Storm from 107.5 serve as all the ambiance we need. Moving around each other in this space feels natural as a freshly showered Papi joins us. He sits right next to Xavier and eventually thaws enough to start asking questions about resumés as curiosity gets the best of him. When we eat, it’s in the living room while watching a Lakers game, and after Xavier takes it upon himself to wash the dishes as I get Papi settled across the hall. Now we’re standing out front as we wait for his Uber that’s ten minutes away. It’s too late to play with the trains and he has work waiting for him when he gets in.

“When you see me…what do you see?” I ask, causing him to look up from his phone. He’s one of those people that thinks watching the rideshare app screen will make the car come faster. Normally, I’d leave him to it but this question had been plaguing me all day.

“Like in general?” he replied, angling his body towards me, instantly giving me his undivided attention.

“Yeah, like what’s your perception of me. I have been thinking about how I come off to other people. Wondering if I’m really as cold as I seem, as I feel, if I’m being honest. I know how I got this way but I’m not sure how to reverse it. So I’m hoping there’s more to the eye than the frost I emit. Some part of who I used to be,” I say in a rush.

I don’t know how he does it but when I’m around Xavier words spill out of my mouth like a waterfall. An overflow of thoughts that I now have a human soundboard for.

“The frost is there but it is not all encompassing. I see a lot of things when I look at you. I see a wisdom forged in years that were meant for mistakes, I see fear of the unknown, I see the distrust you have in people which occurs when your only experience has been one betrayal after the other, I see the resilience you passed onto that young man upstairs, I see the strength from carrying your burden and others, I see generations of beauty on both sides, I see eyes that are curious, I see a mind sharper than any sword that probably belongs in somebody’s boardroom,I see sarcastic comments waiting to be unleashed, I see…you Jamila. You,” he says, while looking me in the eyes.

There is something in his gaze that makes me believe him. That makes me visualize the puzzle of my personality that he has pieced together. His description is not far off, in fact, it’s pretty spot on. I don’t acknowledge that though, choosing to ask another question instead.

“You’ve only known me for a little over two months and you see all of that?” I asked.

“I’m good at reading people, especially those I find interesting, so yeah, I see all of that. What do you see when you look at me?” he questioned, flipping the tables.

“I see…compassion. The real kind, you don’t perform it, you are it. I see knowledge that I learn from. I see…,” I said, pausing to collect my thoughts. I’m not as eloquent as him so I know I need to get to the point fast. As I muse, he uses the opportunity to inch closer as if he doesn’t want to risk losing any of my words.

“I see what second chances look like, I see someone who makes things happen for himself, I see the answers to all the questions I have and the patience to hear them all, I see sadness, raw to touch but it’s a scar not a wound. I see the need to find a purpose bigger than yourself.”

He nods his head before saying, “The duration of time doesn’t matter when you’re paying attention to what’s right in front of you. That’s what I have learned over these last few months and you have reminded me of that again.”

“That doesn’t freak you out?” I said.

“Nah, life is about meeting and connecting with as many people as possible. This is how we grow into who we’re meant to be. One conversation at a time,” he said, nudging his shoulder with mine.

“I don’t know about meeting a ton of people but I’m learning that conversations aren’t so terrible,” I say.

“I told your ass,” he chuckles as I look out towards the street. The neighborhood is still alive even at ten in the evening. It’s second nature for me to look around and take in who’s also outside. The same suspects as usual crowd the same corners and front steps. None of them pay us any mind. “What are you doing Saturday?”

I turn my gaze back towards him. “After doing laundry and shopping with Mari, nothing why?”

“Cause I’ma be back this way. I have to run an errand downtown, want to keep me company?” he asks, his look hopeful. The rest of his body language is calm, with his shoulder relaxed and forearms resting on his lap. It’s those eyes that are alive with the possibility of my answer.

“Sure as long as you feed me,” I say. For some reason I want to see the rest of him light up with the energy in his eyes and he does. Smiling big as he laughs at my sole stipulation. My eyes swing back towards the street having seen enough.

“Yes, I’ll feed you and you talk about me being greedy,” he says right as I spot a gray Toyota Camry turning onto the end of the block. “That’s me. Thanks for dinner.”

“No thank you for fixing my resume and my cover letters. I appreciate that and for making sure that I was okay,” I said, as we both stood up.

“It’s nothing-

“No, it’s something. People don’t move like you do most of the time,” I said with a shrug, my personal experience has proved otherwise so it was worth noting a positive one. “I might be asleep when you do but text me when you get in.”

“I got you. If I try to hug you, will you punch me?” he asks with a grin.

“Annoying ass,” I said.

“That wasn’t a no!” he snickers.

I roll my eyes again before wrapping him in a side hug. He squeezes me briefly, giving me a waft of his cologne. It’s five seconds at max but when we part he looks like he’s just won the lottery. He wears a silly smile as he walks backwards towards the car. “Goodnight, go inside.”

“I’m going,” I said, as I ease up the steps backwards. “Goodnight.”

We wave at each other one last time before I disappear inside.

I’m home.

Okay, good.

…I kind of want to bother you now that I know you’re still awake.

Go for it.

Within seconds my phone is flashing with an incoming Facetime call which I answer. Xavier is seated on a deep blue couch with a thick stack of papers in his lap, a red pen in hand, and a pair of black glasses resting on the edge of his nose. He’s dressed down in a Boyz N Tha Hood t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. His outfit is similar to mine because I’m also in a graphic tee but mine is oversized so it can double as a nightgown.

“What has you still awake?” he asks.

“I can’t turn my brain off so I was reading trying to tire myself out,” I reply.

“That makes sense, what book is it?” he asks next.

I hold up my copy of Sarah J. Maas’ House of Earth and Blood. It has taken me the last month to get even halfway through but it’s a great story.

“Let me find out you into reading fairy sex the booktok girls be talking about,” he chuckles, causing me to laugh because I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth.

“One, they are fae in this story and two, how do you even know what booktok is?” I question, as I plop the heavy book back down onto my bed.

“I try to keep up with my sister's interest but I had to draw the line once I found out that booktok is just a bunch of magical sex. There’s no way I’m discussing any of that shit with her young ass,” he says with a dramatic shudder as he jots down a note on what looks like a test as he flips the page.

“That’s fair but it’s nice that you even tried. My brother talks at me, not to me,” I said, causing him to look up.

“Is he older or younger? And do you have more siblings?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s just us, and he is technically older by seven months but we’re the same age so no,” I said, which he snickers at.

“I take it y’all don’t get along,” he says.

“Not really, when things got bad here, his mother took back full custody of him, and they moved down to Virginia. He went on to continue having a normal childhood and I was stuck here. He doesn’t understand my choices and I don’t understand his. We live in two different worlds,” I said with a shrug.

“There’s always a chance to fix that if you want to, that is. My sister is my only sibling but I have a gang of cousins who are like siblings. We don’t always get along or understand each other but we try. Sometimes it’s easy and sometimes…,” he trails off but he doesn’t have to finish. I know where his thoughts are going and I want to keep him in the moment.

“Sometimes you have to accept the differences are too great to ignore. It’s what I have had to do but getting back to the subject at hand, all I meant was, I know your sister appreciates you taking an interest in her life,” I said.

“I hope so man, I hope so. I know she regards me as a third parent but I really want to be her sibling too and not just another authority figure,” he said.

“Well it sounds like you’re doing a great job. Keep being consistent with her, that's important,” I said, as I sink further down into my bed. I lay my face on my pillow and prop the phone up against another pillow so that I don’t have to hold it.

The sound of my movement draws his attention as he looks up at me. He pauses, as his eyes rove over my face. Even through a screen I can see thoughts swirling in them but I don’t ask for particulars.

“Getting tired?” he asks.

“A little but it’s okay, I’m still very much alert.”

He nods his head, giving me one last glance before returning to his work. I go back and forth between watching him work and getting lost in my thoughts. Eventually I fall asleep with the sound of his pen swishing across tests serving as much needed white noise.

#metamorphasisff #black fiction #black romance #slow burn romance #zendaya x mjb

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