#and take all the time you need for the next one we can wait jaja | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]

youtube

"Smells good and feels nice Warm to touch and mostly good to mention Like sunny days it's warm and light Now it's time to release the tension…"

Omar – "Best By Far"

"Salud!"

Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?

Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.

"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"

Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.

The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.

He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.

"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's like, three—"

"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.

"Five?" Disa asked.

His eyes went to hers.

"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.

Disa's lips quirked.

"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.

Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.

"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.

Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.

"We got this, Erik," Disa said.

"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."

She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.

The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.

Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.

"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.

Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.

"Small world," she said touching on his arm.

"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."

"It's cool. We're cool."

"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.

The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.

Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.

He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.

"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.

Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.

"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.

Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.

When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.

"Erik?"

Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.

Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.

They were alone.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said.

"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."

"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."

"I'll be here."

She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.

"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."

Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.

"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.

Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all good, Erik."

She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.

"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.

Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.

"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.

"Wait… what?"

"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."

Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not out of your league," he said.

"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."

"Just friends?"

"Friends… oh, don't pout."

She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.

"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."

She chuckled.

"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."

"I won't forget."

She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.

"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.

Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.

"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"

"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.

"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."

Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.

"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.

"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.

"Black women," Disa said.

Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.

"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."

"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.

Alexis slapped his arm.

"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"

"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.

"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.

"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.

"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"

"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"

"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.

Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.

"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.

"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.

"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."

"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.

"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.

"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."

Erik burst out laughing with a few others.

"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"

"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.

Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.

"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"

"As always," Alexis added.

"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."

Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.

"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.

"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.

Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.

"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."

Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.

"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.

His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.

"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."

"Damn," Samir said.

"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.

"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.

Svetlana's husband jumped in.

"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."

"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.

"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.

"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.

Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.

"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"

"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.

"Matthew?" Svetlana said.

"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.

"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."

"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.

All eyes turned to him.

"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.

Svetlana looked shell-shocked.

"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.

"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"

"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.

"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.

"He's right," Yamilet said.

"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.

"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."

"I love my wife," Matthew said.

"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.

The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.

"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."

"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"

"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."

"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.

"That's not a preference," Disa said.

"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.

Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.

"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."

"Um, Disa..."

Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.

"Turn on your TV," Karen said.

Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.

"There!" Karen said.

On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.

"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"

"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.

"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.

"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.

Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.

"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.

Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.

"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"

"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.

"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.

Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.

"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.

Frightened eyes watched the TV.

Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.

That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.

He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.

Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.

Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.

"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand back.

Chapter 6 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes @soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illlest

@terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots

@blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz

@stariamrry @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30 @mygirlrenee @thewaysheis—awkward

@tchallasbabymama

@lahuttor

@goodieyaya

@post-woke

@soufcakmistress

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@retroxvailles

@cydneyrenee4

@nizzle-mo

@cecereads209

@childishgambinaax

#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Volume 3 #Killmonger Fanfiction #Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka #MIT #Black Panther #Uzumaki Rebellion

55 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years

Text

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Ch 8

[Read on AO3]

Written for @eveluboi for winning the Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021 betting kitty! I meant for this to be out way back in June, but it quickly slipped from a 4-5K projected fic to 7K 😂

Cold porcelain presses up against her palms, slick from where her fingers wrap around the sink’s edge. Shirayuki bows her head down, watching the water spiral down the drain, and breathes. In and out; in and out. If she hadn’t left her phone out on the table, she could look at one of those gifs she bookmarked; the one where the triangle becomes a decagon maybe, or where the star burst becomes a mandala. But she did, so instead she has to visualize it, counting out the shapes behind her eyelids.

It doesn’t work, but at least it’s something.

There’s something distinctly high school dance about hiding the the bathroom-- though in here, it’s impossible to just sit on the toilet and brace her legs against the door. Not that she needs to; unlike a bathroom stall, this door actually locks. A feature she’s sure has nothing to do with whatever the Wisterias plan to get up to in that Jacuzzi tub.

Shirayuki frankly refuses to speculate on what that might be. She still has to look Izana in the eye tonight, and the last thing she needs is to be thinking about him doing-- things in here, with people. Maybe he just has a compressed spine at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the kind that can’t be alleviated by anything less than eight massage jets.

In any case, this whole strategy of retreat isn’t really her style. Or at least, it hadn’t been, until...before. Which was a blip on an otherwise spotless record of confronting her problems head-on, with the sort of determined attitude Jaja fondly refers to as foolhardy, and Busha calls bull-headedness.

Her fingers grip the bowl firmly, levering herself up to stare into the mirror. She can do this. She can go right out there, sit down, and have Lynet reject this proposal. Because a normal person wouldn’t hide in the bathroom to avoid a fictional conflict.

Right. Shiaryuki drops her hands, giving her reflection a steely nod. It’s not like this is her first time turning down a boy; even if Shuuka throws her in a dungeon, he’ll still have taken her rejection better than the last one did, and that was a real live person. Not that Raj is much of a measuring stick for any kind of model behavior, but-- still. The point stands.

The door gives beneath the pressure of her hand, opening with a silence that’s confusing rather than comforting. Zen’s house might not be as old as hers, but it’s still not new; the apartment went up in the last five years, and its doors still hang crooked, screaming every time they move more than an inch. She can’t imagine Izana going around oiling hinges.

“Hey.” A hand catches her, strong fingers banding around her wrist. Pale ones, slender and well-trimmed; she traces them right up a crisp flannel to find Kiki frowning down at her. “I would give it a minute.”

Shirayuki blinks, and suddenly the world refocuses. It’s oddly silent in the basement, only the thin tumble of dice from the floor above. Obi’s either up to something or Beaumains is in trouble; she can’t even beging to guess which one would be worse.

And Kiki’s leaning here, right against the neutral paint, waiting for her. She shifts, casting a worried look toward the game room. “Is something--?”

Mitsuhide clears his throat; it echoes down the empty hall, a sound that fills the space like thunder overhead. Shirayuki bites back the impulse to count until next lightning strike; even though she knows it should be the other way around, that light travels faster than sound, but this--

“Is something wrong?” Zen drawls, sounding nothing like the boy who sits next to her in homeroom. No, sounding like this, he’s every inch Izana’s brother.

-- this is different. Bedwyr uses his words before he dares draw his blade, and it comes too naturally to be anything besides pure Mitsuhide, just like Beaumains’ quick tongue is the same one that wags in Obi’s mouth. He rumbles before the strike, and this one is destined to hit too close to home.

“Zen.” There’s something about how Mitsuhide wields a name; Shirayuki hardly knows him-- not as much as Zen and Kiki, anyway-- but when he says hers, it’s like having those giant arms cradling her tight against his chest, in a way that is less romantic and more like a tiny kitten living in a jacket pocket. When he says Obi’s, it’s a buzz, a burr, the sound before a siren wails, a warning that will never become a threat.

And when he says Zen’s right now, it’s a weight, a boulder to bear like Atlas shoulders the earth. It’s the moment before the punishment comes in the last act; the last temptation to turn the antagonist back onto the path of the righteous. “You should rethink your behavior tonight.”

“My behavior?” Zen squawks, chair clattering beneath him. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Mitsuhide’s silence speaks volumes.

“I haven’t,” Zen insists, though it’s weaker this time. “You’re the ones who are just letting Obi act like the rules don’t apply to him.”

“We are?”

“Well...” The pout sits sullenly on this tongue. “Izana is. And you guys aren’t doing anything about it either!”

Mitsuhide heaves a sigh that would make trees sway. Kiki’s fingers flex in sympathy against her shoulder. “I think you’re being a little unfair.”

“Unfair?” The word squeaks at the end of Zen’s range. “What’s unfair is that Izana invited that guy for the specific purpose of scaring Shirayuki off, and no one seems to care.”

Shirayuki only realizes she’s moved when Kiki’s grip holds her back, one foot still hovering over the floor, poised to make a very determined stomp. Words are welling up in her like ground water during a storm; a whole monologue that threatens to flood the basement of her common sense. The whole night comes back to her in inches; every slight, every complaint is magnified tenfold now that she knows it comes to this, and she--

“Give them a minute,” Kiki murmurs. “Sometimes Zen just needs a swift application of a boot to his ass.”

She blinks up at her, body vibrating with a need to do something. “And Mitsuhide will do that?”

A picture might be a thousand words, but somehow Kiki’s eyebrows could compose a novel. She lifts them a bare, dubious inch, and Shirayuki knows that chapter one starts with, and you think you’d do any better? “You’ll see. He’ll come around. Have a little faith.”

Bitter words lick up her throat, a carefully composed diatribe furiously scribed by her irritation. A list of all Zen’s petty squabbles, of all the times he’d tried to sideline her or sequester Obi ready to spill out, but--

But she swallows it down. Tonight’s tried her patience for sure, but it’d been Zen who leaned across the aisle in homeroom her first day. The one who’d stuck out a hand and said, you must be new. The one who had made sure she’d had somewhere to sit at lunch-- sure, Kihal had found her by then, adopting her like a baby bird fallen from a nest, but he’d swung by even though his wasn’t until next period.

That’s what’s so frustrating, to be honest-- she knows how good he can be. So the fact he’s choosing to act this way instead...

Her shoulders sag under the weight of Kiki’s hand. “I’m trying to.”

When Mitsuhide speaks again, it’s even, patient; she’d be tempted to say it was like a parent to a child, but there’s no condescension, no sense of speaking down but rather across. “That’s possible. But you’re still the only one acting hostile at this table.”

Zen’s huffs, indignant. “So you want me to just sit here and let them ruin Shirayuki’s experience?”

Kiki pushes past her with a parting pat, sauntering into the room. “How could they when you’re doing such a good job of it yourself?”

Shirayuki can’t see either of the boys, but she can see Kiki when she spins a chair around, dropping down to straddle it. “You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t look like Shirayuki minds Obi being here. At least, not as much as you do.”

“Kiki,” Mitsuhide sighs, a warning. “That’s enough.”

Kiki must not agree, since she leans in, smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe you need to lighten up, brother dearest.”

Zen sucks in a hard breath, like he’s been hit. “Don’t--”

The door rattles at the top of the stairs, a muffled voice turning to a dry laugh as it opens. Her stomach lurches like that moment at the top of a coaster, looking down at the track below. It’s Obi.

Kiki is a flurry of motion; her chair flips beneath her, and she sits back down hard, feet kicking up onto the table. When Izana and Obi emerge from the stairway, it looks like she‘s been idling at a casual tilt for hours, not seconds, but still, still--

Izana lifts one elegantly arched eyebrow. No matter how cleverly they all compose themselves, he almost certainly knows every word that’s been said.

“You’re back?” Zen coughs, his words hobbling awkwardly, dragged down by guilt. Izana’s other eyebrow joins the first. “What happened?”

Obi drops into his seat, cradling chin in hand. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would,” Zen snaps, irritation already rising. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh, don’t worry--” Obi tosses him a wink designed to send him through the roof-- “you’ll find out.”

“I--”

“If there’s any other business, tell me now,” Izana says, taking his place at the head of the table. “Otherwise, you’ve slept through the night.”

Obi flutters his eyes, grin taking on a feral edge. “Well, you know I’m all taken care of, Majesty.”

“Anyone else?” Izana sighs, long suffering. His eyes flick out over the table, settling into a frown. “Does anyone know where Shirayuki is?”

“Bathroom,” Kiki offers too quick, gaze cutting over to where she hides in the hall, before darting back. The corner of Izana’s mouth pulls deeper, and his eyes lift--

“Ah, I’m here!” Shirayuki hurries out, slipping into her seat. When she looks up Zen’s watching her with wide eyes, gears clunking along behind them as he looks from her to the hall and back, doing the exact equations she was hoping he couldn’t. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” Izana assures her, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen in front of him. “Did you have anything you needed to do before the night is over?”

“Ah, um.” Her fingers stretch wide over Lynet’s sheet, tips gripping at the table. “Yes. One last thing.”

The stars are bright tonight, shining in the firmament like jewels in velvet. Ancient poets would invoke Diana at the sight, at the thousand heroes and maidens consigned to shine above for defying their fates. Older ones still would call upon Arianrhod, the silver wheel, mother of wind and skies alone, praising the complexity of her beauty.

But when you raise your eyes to heaven’s glorious vault, you see only kingly gift laid at your feet, unasked. And when you lower them, another waits for you in Shuuka’s smile, devastating and earnest.

“A fine night, is it not?” His breath mists in the air between you; a lucky thing, since it obscures your grimace. “In all Our Lord’s creation, a man could not find one finer than this.”

“It is a wonder,” you murmur, stirring the fur at your cloak’s collar. “But I have seen so little of this world that I hesitate to say that in a thousands nights there would not be one that could surpass it.”

His mouth spreads wider still, the pearl of his teeth glimmering in the moon’s light. You’ve pleased him, somehow. “You can only say that, my lady, since you are graced with your own presence every moment, and I have only these. For now.”

Your feet stutter beneath you; the leaves crunching makes him turn, brow raised in concern. “Shuuka...”

“Ah, yes. You wished to speak with me, did you not?” His boot heels clack against the cobbles, coming to perch on the raised bed beside you. He is not close, even still, but having his eyes level with yours makes this moment too intimate for you to keep him fixed in your vision. Instead you turn, leaving him looming at the corner of your eye. “I am your servant in all things, my lady. Speak.”

“My lord,” you begin, for politeness seems the only kindness you can extend to him, “I believe there has been some misunderstanding.”

His head tilts. “A misunderstanding?”

His voice is lower, a manly rumble instead of its usual reedy melody; a child playing at a man. A man he only wishes to become because it might make you happy.

You sigh, your gut tangling as easy as your fingers do above it. Were you any other woman but yourself, you would be pleased to have made a match as fine as this. Perhaps even mere months ago, you would have been comforted by the thought of marrying a man you had met before, even if he had been a silly, sobbing boy at the time. But now, as you are, you cannot care for this-- this life your father wished for you, with no thought to your own.

“About the state of the agreement between our fathers.” Your breath catches in your chest before you manage, “They are both gone.”

Shuuka peers at you with shining eyes, and oh, if only you could choose your words as gently as he deserved. But you know better; a man who wears a hard helm often keeps a harder head beneath it, and women’s words only penetrate such a barrier if they are drawn to a point.

“That I know,” he says, so soft. “And I am sorry for it. But we may yet do what they willed for our future.”

“That is not all,” you continue, each word stinging with guilt. “This understanding was dissolved long before either of them was brought back into the great shepherd’s fold. When my family fell upon misfortune...”

You had hoped it would be easier to speak of it, but the words stick to your teeth, refusing to leave the safety of your mouth. Shuuka reaches out, clasping his hand in yours with far too much understanding for what you wish to say.

“I am not proud of what my father did,” he tells you, sincerity ringing from his words, clear as a church bell. “Though I am certain he thought it would be for the best, at the time. He never pledged my troth to any other, and above any other woman he had entertained to be the Lady of Laxdo, it was of you he spoke most highly.”

“That is--” hard to believe. Not when you spent most of your betrothal dance trodding on his son’s toes-- “Kind of you to say. I know that you value the words of your father above all others--”

“My father’s esteem is exceeded only by that of the Lord in Heaven, may he ever sit at his right hand.” Pain hollows his eyes, so raw that even in health he gleams gaunt beneath the moon’s light. You have both lost your fathers, but this wound is fresh, bleeding still, and yours--

Well, yours sewed up just fine with a little needle and thread. How quickly a wound heals when you must see to it yourself.

“Would that I could talk to him,” Shuuka rasps, fingers clenching around stone. “But I trust that if he could see you now, he would see a daughter still.”

His grief burns brightly, a halo that surrounds him-- no, a shroud, the sort that might bury him beside his fathers bones if he did not take care. It is that which makes all this worse, which turns what you must do from a discomfort to a cruelty. But it is better yet than what it could be if you indulged him, if you let pity and kindness stand where only love should.

“Yes, I understand,” you murmur, gathering every last draught of courage. “But I must admit, my lord, that I do not hold my own father in such esteem. You are a kind man, Lord Shuuka, the sort any woman would count her blessings should she find you as her husband, but I...”

You flounder, the night pressing in thickly around you. What you wouldn’t give for crickets, if only to break the silence.

“Ah.” There is a wealth of hurt hidden in that breath. “But you mean to say that it shall not be you, Lady Lynet.”

“What?” Zen’s eyes blink wide, so bright, so blue across from her. “You’re turning him down?”

Shirayuki stares. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a lord, isn’t he?” It’s a strange thing to ask, especially when they just spent the last week and change-- well, four hours really-- at his castle, but here was Zen, looking toward Izana like he needed clarification. “Wouldn’t Lynet, you know...?”

“Um.” Even with a sweep of Zen’s wrist and the emphatic lift of his eyebrows, Shirayuki still can’t see how that sentence might finish itself. “No, I don’t.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, so when Obi lets out a hiccup, isn’t not exactly inconspicuous. She glances over at him, and from the way his mouth twitches at the corners, she’s hardly the first. “Is something...?”

Wrong, she means to say, but Obi gives a single solid shiver and collapses onto the table, head buried in his arms.

There’s a breath where her fingers go numb on the table, where her heart beat practically deafens her as it pound in her ears. She’s not here in the room, she’s out in the yard, a wrinkled arm reaching out to her, and all she can think about is where her phone is, whether she can reach it from here--

“My, my.” Izana’s drawl rattles her back to the table, gaze skittering over Zen’s forbidding glare, the clasped hand over Kiki’s mouth, Mitsuhide’s wide-eyes-- “Isn’t that an interesting question. Now just what does make Lord Shuuka such an attractive partner?”

Obi lifts his head, still trembling, but it’s not some medical event. Oh no, he’s just-- just laughing. Shirayuki catches her breath, holds it, and thinks of a triangle becoming a decagon.

Nothing is wrong. Everyone is safe. Healthy.

“W-well.” Zen’s voice creaks from the reach she suspects he’s about to make. “He has ah, hmm...”

“Large tracts of land?” Obi offers, so helpful.

Zen hands stiffen where he holds them out in front of him. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

His brows give a wiggle. “Looks like it.”

“I--”

“Castle Perilous already has land,” Shirayuki interjects, hoping the tremble hasn’t reached her voice. “Plenty of it.”

Obi leans back in his chair with a grin. “Castle Perilous has everything! Large tracts of lands, at least two level or dungeons, an ominous name...”

She flicks him a flat look. “My point is, Lynet doesn’t need a manor to maintain-- she already left that to save her sister. She has a quest, she doesn’t need--” she waves her hands, steady now-- “romance.”

Obi’s brow ticks up, just the tiniest bit.

“I mean, not with a man she’s only known a week,” she blurts out, feeling heat simmering beneath her collar, licking at her ears. “Why would I be playing D&D if I just wanted to-- to marry Lynet off to the first guy she saw?”

Zen’s mouth fall slack, eyes glued to his character sheet. “Huh.”

“Gee,” Kiki drawls, “all that production for nothing.”

“Shut--”

“If we’re all quite done?” Izana suggests pointedly. “I believe Lady Lynet is not quite done breaking her beau’s heart. Also--” those pale eyes cut toward her, eyebrow quirked pedantically-- “it’s Pathfinder, by the way.”

Kiki lets out a huff. “It’s the same thing.”

With exaggerated care, Izana nudges her character on the map. “It’s really not.”

You take Shuuka’s hands in your own; they’re soft, callused on the mounts like Arturius’. A swordsman’s hands, though not a warrior’s. He flushes beneath your touch, and you wonder if he is bothered by the rough touch of your own, marred by scrapes and scars, so unlike a lady’s that you might as well be a different country. That is what your father had called you once: a different country, the fondness thick in his voice.

That had been before. He had been a different man. You had been a different Lynet. A time you would long for, if you thought it might make any difference at all.

“I have my own path I must tread, my lord,” you murmur, “one that cannot be turned aside for my own comfort.”

He nods, head heavy. “I see. You too have your own quest of honor, like His Grace. A glory that only you can seek.”

“If only it were for glory--” your fingers stiffen in his hold, teeth gritting down on the troubles that long to pass through them-- “instead of to right the wrongs that have been done.”

His brows lift, and you do not imagine the offer in his eyes, the one that says you would only need to breathe the word, and he would raise his own blade in your honor. “To you?”

Your tongue would tie itself in knots if it could. “Among many.”

“I understand.” His hand squeezes yours so gently, as if you were a thing that could break, a glass woman cradled in his palms. That is a thing these lords do not understand; glass may be delicate once blown thread-thin, but it is first forged in fire, born at a temperature that would char flesh. “Perhaps, though, when you are done...”

It feels cruel to reject him, a man that loves the lady you could have been, but it is crueler still to give him hope where there is little to spare.

“Perhaps,” you say, stilted. It is too mild an answer for the passion in his eyes, but you learned long ago that fate’s whims could not be foreseen by any mortal heart. “But please, my lord. Do not wait for me.”

“It will be hard not to, my lady, for a woman like you is not easily found. However--” he lets out a raw chuckle-- “I do know what love sounds like when I hear it, and it...does not warm your voice when we speak.”

“I...”

Shuuka holds up one hand, chagrined, the other still wrapped in yours. “You owe me no explanation. I only mean to wish you well.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss to its back. “May God go with you, my lady. I pray you will not forget your loyal servant in your trials.”

“I...will not,” you breathe, wishing you might be the girl that could love this man. You cannot, you cannot, but oh, how much easier your road would be if you did. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Mitsuhide hums, smile hung awkwardly. “He seems nice!”

Zen nods, pink looming just under the apples of his cheeks. “A good, ah, potential ally.”

Shirayuki stares.

“You two,” Kiki starts, every syllable so overflowing with derision they practically leak, “are ridiculous.”

Obi looks fit to bursting as well-- at least, if the state of his twitching mouth is anything to go by-- but before he can get one word in edgewise, Izana clears his throat.

“Now that this little interlude is complete,” he drawls, casting a wary glance over the table. “I expect that we can move on?”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” Shirayuki bursts out breathlessly. “Just--” she glances at Obi, squirming under the question in his eyes-- “just one more thing. I promise.”

Izana settles back in his chair, brows raised. “Oh no, by all means. Color me...” His mouth curves into a smirk that would cause a cleverer woman to reconsider. “...Intrigued.”

Your neck aches; beneath your veil, your hair lies heavy on your scalp, pinned and tied to within an inch of its life. There is no more of it than usual, you are sure, but it weighs on you now, a fetter meant to hobble your steps. A shackle meant to drag you down, to halt your progress forward. Perhaps that is always what it was meant to be.

A proper lady would not remove her covering until she was safely ensconced in her chambers; such manners had been pressed upon you since your first courses, first by your nurse and then again by your father. Modesty was a woman’s shield, and you clung to it then as if it could protect you, afraid of what might happen to you without it. No, afraid of who you might be.

But you are no fine lady, not by anything but birth. Such trappings were ripped from your hands, and now--

Now you are Lynet, alchemist and arcanist, and you keep nothing that will not serve you. Your fingers wedge beneath the fine linen, pins falling to your feet as you work them free. Everything about Laxdo may squeeze you, trying to fit you back in the mold your father made, but you will not, not ever again.

It may have been years since you last stepped in Laxdo’s halls, but this past week has made it something like a home, your feet carrying you with ease through the twisting corridors. A different answer but a moment ago and these would have been yours, your home in truth, but to stay here, to forget the power that you tamed with your own two hands and become nothing more than Shuuka’s wife--

It’s unthinkable. A life not meant for you. Though your sister would like it fine enough.

Your feet stutter beneath you, breath caught tight in your chest. Who are you to say what she would want, when you--

You shake yourself. This guilt won’t serve either, not if you let it hold you in place. Your gaze lifts, and finally you see where your industrious feet have brought you: Beaumains’ door.

It was inevitable that they would; your own chamber is on the same hall, mere steps away. But you had not meant to come here, to linger, save that-- that you had, for he has been on your mind since he delivered you to the dais, since Arturius had him sent from it to the revelry below. His voice has thrummed beneath your veins since you looked across the hall and saw him missing from the tables below, your mind turning over every word he spoke this night to see if his disappearance is merely a missing piece to a puzzle you have already solved. But no solutions have appeared before you, and now--

Now you stand here, head bare at his threshold, wondering whether you will be welcome.

You hand raises, hesitating above the grain. You could leave now, and no one would ever know. But if you did, if you simply left with no word, and found him gone on the morrow...

You knock twice. Then thrice. There is not a whisper from the other side of the door. You know better than to assume that means there is no man, not such a one as Beaumains.

“Beaumains,” you murmur, palm pressed flat against the wood. “Beaumains, if you are there...”

Your lips press to a thin line. You had not planned this, planned any of it, and your words will not come. You do not even know which ones you speak if they would.

Your forehead rests against the door, the ridges of its grain digging into your skin. “If you are there, I am here.”

There is no answer but silence.

“Goodnight,” you say finally. “I will...” You hesitate, breath catching in your chest. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Izana, at least, is happy to move on.

“If you have spells to prepare,” he offers graciously, “you may do so now, before we start the morning.”

Kiki raises an imperious brow. “I take it we’ll be doing combat, then?”

With a beatific smile, Izana informs her, “You may prepare for any eventuality you see fit.”

“Yeah.” Zen sighs, flipping to his spell list. “Combat.”

Shirayuki shuffles through her index cards, chewing on her cheek. Next to her Obi has affected a casual slouch, arm thrown haphazardly over his chair back and legs stretching well onto Zen’s side of the table. He doesn’t seem stressed, not like how she feels sitting in the splash zone of of their high stakes game of I’m Not Touching You during this fantasy field trip.

Her phone slides into her hand easier than it ever has, thumb sliding surreptitiously across the keyboard. Are you okay?

Her teeth grit down as soon as it’s sent, regret bitter on her tongue. It’s a stupid thing to ask; a feeling that grows when she watches him work his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows lifting as he reads.

His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. peachy keen

Are you sure? Shirayuki peeks up from her cards, casting a subtle glance toward the end of the table. Izana’s bowed behind the screen, pen gracefully curving over page-- notes. He’s taking notes. I wanted to make sure Zen isn’t scaring you off.

lol impossible

A breath hisses out her nose, fingers tightening around the case. Leave it to Obi to make this into a joke. He’s really not a bad guy, I promise. I don’t know why he’s choosing to act like one.

A smothered noise hiccups out beside her, too loud in the room’s silence. Four heads bob up, three blond and one brown, and Obi smooths the noise out into a cough, a gentle clearing of his throat.

“Dorito,” he says with a tight wheeze, mouth twitching. “Musta gone down the wrong pipe.”

“Ah,” Izana hums, his eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

Zen, however, frowns. “We have Doritos?”

Obi’s mouth stretches into a smile. “You did.”

“How--?”

“Are we done with preparations, then?” Izana asks smoothly, settling back in his chair. “Should we continue...?”

“Ah, no!” Zen grimaces, ducking his head. “Just-- another minute.”

i got a good idea, Obi texts once. heads are down. but don worry im not going newere His teeth flash as he sends, jus had 2 take care f s/t

She glances up, and his grin is there to greet her, only growing wider when he reads the question in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he murmurs, shifting close enough for the words to ghost over her cheek. “Trust me.”

You wake to hue and cry, to chaos in the halls. A lord’s daughter might lay abed still, waiting for her maids to fetch her, but you were the Lady of Castle Perilous; when Morgaine comes to fetch you, you are already dressed, tucking the last tresses of red beneath your coif. She blinks, those midnight-dark eyes going wide before her expression settles into something far more grim, something more resigned than surprise.

“Beaumains isn’t in his chamber,” she tells you, no cushion in her words, only the bruising impact of the truth. “We suspect he never made it back to it.”

Your breath catches in your chest, struggling against its cage. “That can’t be true. Last night I...”

Spoke to his door, with not a single sign of him within.

“When the maid came to tend his hearth this morning, his cot was undisturbed and the fire burnt down to embers.” Morgaine fixes you with a steady gaze, braced as a man about to take a blow. “We mean to look for him.”

You snatch your cloak from where it hangs, winding it about your shoulders. “Then let us go. If he has been taken, then--”

“I suspect he has been taken by naught by stupidity, the same as any man,” the princess grouses, falling into step beside you as you hurry down the steps to the yard. “My brother wounded his pride, and he sought to restore it. Or at least commit some feat to let it scab cleanly.”

It rankles how much each word rings true. You had no brothers at Castle Perilous, but men you had in spades, and every one fool enough to put himself in mortal peril to salve his pride. “Let us hope you are wrong?”

Morgaine lets out a rasping laugh. “You prefer him to be in the hands of the enemy, then?”

“Rather than his own stupidity?” you ask, breathless, waiting for the yard’s door to open. “Always.”

When they do, your heart stops, stuttering right up into your throat.

“Alas.” The word hisses through Morgaine’s smile. “You are destined to be disappointed.”

Beaumains sits in the yard, perched merrily atop a cart drawn into the middle of it. You cannot, from this angle, divine what it is filled with, only that it is solid enough to hold him and his ego. Temper climbs up your neck, as choking as any ivy; to think, you worried about his heart enough to trouble your own, and now he sits here as if naught but a moment has passed from the night into the evening, as if this were but yet another day he spent in your company.

Oh, how you could climb that cart yourself to give him a piece of your mind. You do not-- would not, before all these men of Laxdo-- but the temptation lashes yours soles as thoroughly as any devil.

“Beaumains.” Arturius marches forth from the crowd, wrath crackling in the air as he walks. “What is the meaning of this? We awake to you missing, and now--?”

“So I heard.” His smile shines in the morning sun, just as brightly as his horns. “I was here, of course. Waiting.”

The Prince of the Angles flushes crimson, the whole of his frame shaking. “Then why would you not--?”

“For a lark.” His teeth flash; fitting since he wields his words like a blade. “Though I did leave last night. You see, something bothered me, and not just your manners.”

“Demon--”

“Devil,” Beaumains corrects, as fastidious as any tutor. “And you see, all this celebrating, it didn’t make sense. Not when we hadn’t solved who cursed our friend here.”

He holds one dark, clawed hand out to where Shuuka stands, gaping. “Me? But I thought--?”

“You know as well as any that we have been searching tirelessly,” Arturius snaps, temper well and truly frayed. “And now you come to mock us for it? Is it a fight you ask for? Is that what you desire? For I am happy to give it to you, if you do not--”

“I want no fight,” Beaumains scoffs. “I want results. And so...”

With a desultory kick, the back of the cart falls open, and out of it--

Ah, and out of it pours forth a mound of bodies.

“And so,” he continues with relish, “I got some.”

“You can’t do that,” Zen murmurs, but it’s not in anger. No, that’s shock that slackens his jaw, and with the number of tokens Obi just dropped on the map, it’s working on Shirayuki too. “That’s not-- he can’t do that, can he?”

“He just did,” Izana replies, somehow both weary and amused at the same time.

“But...” Zen stares at them, more than a dozen tokens sprawled over the grid. “How.”

Obi grins. “Skill.”

Izana casts him a dark, yet exhausted, glance. “He rolled very, very well.”

Shuuka skirts nearer, his face pale with shock. “Those are the men who sold us firewood. The very same you pulled from our hearths.”

“That they are.” Beaumains sits back on the cart; now that you can see inside it you see his seat is not a crate, as you had assumed, but two bodies stacked atop each other, the blood drying around their mouths and necks. “Or at least that’s what I was hoping, Master, since otherwise I’d have made a mortifying mistake indeed.”

Arturius has not moved, instead staring down at the hand that laid at his feet, at the twisted grimace the deceased’s face has twisted into. “You did this alone? With no other man to help you?”

“I surely did,” the devil sing-songs, his grin honing to a point. “Could you find me such a one, daring enough to help on a night so dark as the last?”

The prince’s jaw sets hard as granite, but his eyes belie his sternness, shining with heady mix of admiration and something that savors strongly of jealousy. “Well,” he grits out, shoulders jerking towards his ears. “I cannot fault you your skill, devil, but now there is no chance of us learning how or why this deed came to be done.”

Beaumains scoffs, enjoying every moment he sits above the Prince of all the Angles. “Have a little faith, O Master Mine. Before they met the fates they bought with their cursed coin, I asked them what man or beast compelled them to act. And they told me--” his eyes flash with triumph-- “a man in red.”

There is no chance for you to stifle your gasp, not when you see that armor shining before you, crimson in candlelight. Not when even now, that spiked gauntlet reaches toward you--

“Lynet?” Morgaine’s grasp brings you back to yourself, to the moment you inhabit. “Are you well?”

“Fine, fine,” you assure her. “It is only--”

That you may know who this enemy of Laxdo is. That you yourself have come to see him vanquished, but yet--

You cannot speak of it. Not even if you wished.

“You may thank me at your leisure, sirrah,” Beaumain crows, getting to his feet. Even now your stomach roils as you look, the blood nothing more than a black sheen on his boots. “I am ever at your--” he leaps, landing on the ground before Arturius’s gaze. “At your service.”

And with a singular, extravagant bow, Beaumains tips face first into the cobbles.

“Wait.” Shirayuki blinks down at the toppled figure, resting on a spray of tokens, right next to a white-painted 1. “What just happened?”

“Beaumains--” Izana’s mouth twitches at a corner-- “had but a single hit point left.”

Long fingers pluck the die from its resting place among the bodies, as if quick reflexes could keep them all from seeing the rock Obi just dropped. He glowers down at it-- all black and golden and glimmering, just like him-- and shoves it back into his bag. “And glass ankles, apparently.”

A low, heady laugh rolls across the table, Kiki kicking up her feet with a smirk. “This is why we invest in CON.”

Obi scoffs. “Please, I made it out with HP to spare.”

“Yeah,” she says, “one.”

“Well,” he grumbles, “it was enough, wasn’t it?”

You stoop to where Beaumains sits, propped up by the stable’s post and Bedwyr’s shoulder, hand raised to heal--

“Please.” Bedwyr’s impressive hand gently guides yours away, his smile tight and concerned. “You must save your strength, my lady.”

“I just awoke, sir,” you remind him, mouth pulled into an irritated line. “I am as fresh as I shall ever be.”

The knight cants his head, though you know him too well to believe he might fully acquiesce to you. “I know that well enough. But it is your talent we will need, should any challenges arise before day’s end. And this is entirely within my--”

“No, no.” Beaumains stirs at his side, eyes sliding open to relieve the unrelenting shadow of his face. “Let the pretty lady lay her hands on me, paladin. Her touch is far softer than yours.”

Ah, it would have been best for him not to say such things before the whole of Castle Laxdo. Or at least, not in front of its lord. The weight of his gaze already presses heavy on your back, growing only more weighty as Beaumains sears a bleary line up you with his gaze.

He’s far to gone to keep it steady; already it wanders, tracing Bedwyr’s lines as well, and--

“Wait, no, never mind,” he slurs, squinting up at that giant of a man. “You’ll do too, sir, if you’re so eager to put your hand--”

Bedwyr presses a palm to the center of Beaumain’s forehead, and with an authority you know can only come from the Lord in Heaven, he intones, “SLEEP.”

“You know, big guy,” Obi drawls, grin already stretching from ear to ear. “I’m pretty sure paladins don’t get those spells. And fighters definitely don’t.”

Mitsuhide glances up from his sheet, straight at Izana.

He smirks. “I’ll allow it.”

Beaumains sleeps the slumber of the ensorcelled. That is, complete and utterly quiet.

Bedwyr peered down, and with a nod of his head, declares, “That’s much better.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons & dragons au #my fic #ans #listen i know i said ONE chapter until the end of this arc #but like #TECHNCIALLY next chapter is gonna be the OOC wrap up for this arc #the session is complete though!#fans of this fic may REJOICE #you have two updated planned over the next two months too #Ch 9 is already in progress #and provided it does not grow out of proportion...should be complete by mid-september #and there's another update planned for late october that should hopefully kick off next arc #and perhaps...a POV CHANGE >:3c

23 notes · View notes

niallischill · 3 years

Text

¡Go Taco Molé!

Preface:

This is my very first written fan-fiction, and English is not my native language so if there’s any mistake I made, please message me. I write from both Jean-Paul’s and Antonio’s perspective. For the first chapter, you’ll be in Jean-Paul’s mind, then switch to his babe’s in the next, and the cycle goes on. The first chapter is pretty short, but I might add some more things to it later.

Chapter 1: Jean-Paul

We made it.

This not what I had in mind when I got admitted to VILE, but all I want and need for the rest of my life is right here beside me.

“Mi amigo! Can you hand me the sauce?” Says my man.

“Oui!” oh please, I’d do anything for you.

“And... Antonio, don’t you think we should drop that fake title and use the real one? We’re no longer monitored by the homophobic Brunt.”

“Of course, mi amor.” he smiles at me and my heart very much just melted, just like every time.

He hands me the taco, then I give it to our last customer today.

“Mon amour, let’s head to the beach ? It would be such a shame if don’t when we’re in Cartagena.

“Definitely, mi amor” he smiles again. Honestly, what did I do to deserve him?

Our truck is only about a 10-minute walk from the beach, but just walking there would be so boring.

“Let’s see who gets to the line where the beach meets the sea first!” I propose.

“Challenge taken” he says with a confident look on his face

“1, 2, 3!”

Both of us start to run at the very same moment.

I’m leading the race, I mean, there’s a reason why I’m called le chèvre.

We’re only about 500 meters away from the finish line, I accelerate.

After about 5 seconds, I look back, only to find that Antonio is gone.

Wait what?

“Mon amour?” Where could he go? No kidding, I’m getting worried even though he’s only been gone for 10 seconds

“¡Aquí! Mi amor!” He waves from the beach with goggles on his head

I run to him, “how did you get there so fast?”

“Jaja I just did what a mole would, I dug into the sands” he laughs “and I think the winner deserves a prize” he takes off the goggles, looking right into my eyes

“Of course” my lips meet his

the next thing I know is that

I transcended to another realm... the realm where only Antonio and I exist.

“You could’ve just asked, you know” I say with a smirk

“A little competition makes it more fun, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed” I can’t help smiling at him

Then we just cuddle with our eyes closed.

The cold sea water splashing on our feet just doesn’t feel so threatening anymore

because I know when I’m with him, there is nothing to be scared of.

We kiss again. I can feel our souls, hearts, and minds merge into one. It’s an ineffable yet the most extraordinary sensation one could ever feel, the one that I want to feel forevermore.

When I open eyes, I see someone in a red hoodie walking towards us.

Red hoodie... Red...

No. It can’t be her.

“Carmen Sandiego is here, mon amour”

“What?” He immediately turns around, but we’re still holding each other’s hands

Now we’re both in a position where we can quickly attack or flee, it all depends on what Carmen Sandiego is going to do.

“Relax, guys. I’m just here for some vacation

Looks like you guys are having lots of fun at the beach?”

We look at each other with confusion, then glare at her.

“Can’t trust me, huh? If I wanted to put you down, you wouldn’t be standing right now” she says with so much confidence

“What do you want from us?” The words come straight out of my mouth

“What’s all that hostility about?” She lifts her left brow up “I’m just checking on some ex-criminals and see how they’re doing now”

“We’re done with being criminals! We swear!” Antonio immediately replies

“Yes, we’ve given up that identity the moment VILE collapsed” I add

In fact, we already decided to cut ties with being criminals way before VILE was trashed. We were just waiting for the right time to escape.

“I know. I scanned your food truck, and it looks like you mean what you said. No weapons, no equipments, no drugs. Just ingredients.” She continues. “If you’re really just trying to live a civilian life, I won’t bother you although ...I can’t promise if ACME will do the same”

Damn it. ACME. I also forgot about them.

“Luckily, I have a solution to end that anxiety for you. I’m not only here for vacation. I’m here to arrest a bunch of drug smugglers here in Colombia, and I feel like I might need some help. If you can assist me in this mission, I can send a message to ACME and tell them that you’ve changed, which will guarantee your safety. If you don’t want to, I won’t come after you, either”

All I want and need is to be with Antonio... I don’t want to risk losing him... but if we don’t join Carmen Sandiego, ACME will arrest us someday eventually.

“Mon amour...” I look to Antonio

“Mi amor...” he nods

“Fine. We’ll help you, but just this once”

“Dealt, I’ll see you two at the port at 9” she says, then turns and leaves.

#carmen sandiego #jeantonio #el topo #le chevre #canon

31 notes · View notes

magesona · 5 years

Note

⏳

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

you said i choose whether to answer as myself or a character, thing is dear i c a n n o t - so you're getting both XD definitely not an excuse to write more

as for me, well... let's go with the craziest one since i think this is the only one of these i'll get??

one time i broke out of a mental hospital :'D hhmm, yes a good story... an outpatient hospital, put there for a scheduled couple weeks after being in an inpatient hospital for suicide watch or something, i really didn't need it though since i was just being dramatic and faking it in order to get out of a bad situation. lots of reasons i ended up in that place, none of which were solved by putting me there.

this place was like fuckin sunday school with the annoying teacher talking like we're toddlers all the time, and asking horribly predictable stupid questions that don't help anything. most of the patients were pretty chill, tho just personalities i don't really get along with. but thankfully i'm a sneaky bastard that can effectively use my psychology knowledge, bc yeah that tends to happen when you're raised by helicopter parents. so i made friends with a girl that was friendly and trusting enough (tho also an extremely irritating bible person), asked her to borrow her phone to call my 'mom' while waiting for her to pick me up. instead i called a friend whose number i intentionally memorized bc i knew he'd help me out of the place, and the number is still ingrained into my brain to this day. in like two minutes we set up a time and place for him to pick me up, and it was just up to me to get there.

it was a wednesday, a movie day which meant to me that people would be less aware of my absence. at around the right time, i asked to use the restroom, and as expected, the teacher escorted me there and waited outside until he would take me back. fortunately by this time, i had made it a point to always walk a little behind the group bc i 'had anxiety about people walking behind me' (wasn't lying at the time really). so it wasn't unusual when i fell behind the teacher on our way back to the room, he didn't even look back at me, and i used that by casually/silently turning down a hallway with a door that lead directly outside and to the parking lot of the strip mall next door. i walked with purpose like i was supposed to be doing that, but as soon as i left the hospital lot i fucking bolted. found my friend in his car waiting for me, and we sped tf out to hide me. ended up sleeping in a mansion abandoned during construction for a few days.

AND THAT'S PART OF THE STORY OF HOW I ESCAPED MY ABUSIVE PARENTS' HOUSE c:

as for my characters... gonna go with a new character that i'm having a lot of fun with, for a comic i'm working on. name is Ace, amab genderfluid, hispanic with some mayan heritage, but born on a Mars colony. their limbs were deformed and shrunken from the elbows and knees down since birth, though this was fixed within a year.

"Sí mi amigo, also cuz tragic backstory time, i'm an orphan too jaja. Cool enough was that Earth medical stuff is less expensive and they had more doctors, so they brought me to ma's home and fixed up my hands and feet just 'cause they could? Free resources are apparently a new thing here so ig they just wanted to do somethin' with it, apparently i was on the news when i was lil niño, first kid given this kinda thing in México. Tomó maldito para siemp- ah, took fucking forever to find what the hell happened to my parents, kinda a motivation to learn hacking when i did. Found that pa was killed in the first contact war, and mum had lots of health issues that killed her a while after i was born... dun really bother me 'cause i have a fun life here and the past is the past ya know? Though i wish i knew them."

credit to ohfifteen on deviantart for the pose, yeah i straight up traced it cuz i was lazy and just wanted to get the design down, sorry about that. so art is 90% not mine, go check out the link for the original image.

#ask meme #answer #THANKS FOR READING MY BS FAM

2 notes · View notes

noheroes-allowed · 4 years

Text

week 4:

day 22: can’t believe I just typed the words “week 4″ :(, FINALLY worked on 4520. but also it was only part 1 out of 4 and I always fall into this false sense of security that the hw isn’t that bad but the problems usually get harder as the problems progress, ate an entire king size bar of Hershey's cookies and cream and I am mad, finished the five eps that are out for little fires everywhere. and I want to start killing eve. why did I start getting back into watching shows when classes resume. why am I this problematic to myself, chatted with my brother and my mom again, wishing veep was still airing so I could see the dc shenanigans/conspiracies during these corona times bc all the state refusals to reschedule primaries have got to be political but my brain isn’t informed enough to understand all the ulterior motives, now it’s 1:30am and I worked on problems 3 and 4. I don’t think I did everything correct but I still feel less stressed, albert finally ft me, secon pictures

day 23: first day of class! I’ve missed seeing strangers and I still enjoy Boyer’s lectures. it’s the only class I would willingly go to even if it was recorded, 4110 was boring lmao. I’m gonna just wait for her to upload and watch them at faster speed, worked on behavioral for hours and I had to redo one stupid problem like 5 times before I figured it out. and it took me like a full hour before understanding what to do for question one. that class makes me feel so stupid, played countries game on snap with albert, started killing eve. my timing sucks, both maggie and rochelle haven’t started the pset but jaja has and we’re gonna go over it at some point. idk if I should text keith about it bc I feel like I’m bothering him again rip

day 24: omfg. I woke up this morning and remembered I had a meeting at 11. then literally forgot it and didn’t remember until 12. I’m so dumb I was literally watching little fires everywhere and eating oatmeal when I was supposed to be on skype alfksndnfjfjf, didn’t do as much cti work as I should’ve, 4520 fucking took me like 6 hours and I’m mad bc I still can’t figure out one of them and all the other ones are so iffy, ate too much fried rice, also my leg is still cramping and I just wanna run :(

day 25: omg I had a dream about secon and it was senior year. and we were all meeting in warren before we had to leave. and keith didn’t walk in until the very last group aldksnfksjf. and he had this haircut where everything was short except for one section that was long and covered up a part of his face. and he didn’t talk to me and I got sad. skgjsnfjwkg it had to have been bc we talked about haircuts last time and dayna posted those secon pics. but also like why, I. am. so. mad. I fucking spent two hours fixing my code for 4520 bc he worded the question badly and then he answered my question on piazza and said that for the purpose of this assignment either method is fine. which meant I could’ve not spent two hours fixing that shit. omfg I hate this class. it made me spend ~20 hours in the past week on it. and ruined my schedule for working on two of my other classes. also can he pls release grades for the last assignment already, finished the 4660 pset and checked it over :), might just not finish 4110 and watch killing eve instead oof. 4520 really burnt me out

day 26: there was a man with a leaf blower outside working this morning starting 8am and it was so rude like some people are sleeping sir but I guess it was a blessing in disguise since it woke me up and maybe I’ll fix my sleep schedule a bit more. still trying to have 8am wakeups, meeting with refactored today. I hope our pivot is good, read two more authors for my essay and finished 4.5 pages!! I only have four more authors to do. I’ve literally done 12/16 and I’m so close to finishing and I can’t wait until I don't have to think about this class again. hopefully I can finish tomorrow, I’m officially officially cleared :), I’m gonna walk/run 5k and it saddens me how I’ve had this cramp in my calf for the past week. like I’d been fucking training for 21 days and now I could actually do a 5k but I physically can’t. like I know it’s not real bc you just do it on your own and there aren’t any timings or anything but. idk it just would’ve felt good to complete it, went on a two hours walk with Cat

day 27: woke up late, went on a run even though my cramp isn’t fully healed and it was probably a bad idea, finished 14/16!, watched killing eve instead of starting my essay though, worked on 4110 hw, ate too much after my run ugh, got a stomachache so I couldn’t do my workout :(

day 28: woke up really late. I had a dream though that I was driving and the brakes weren’t working well so I kind of kept getting into accidents and wrecking the car. and then I was like no I need to stop driving. and then was at this place where a bunch of dulaney people were for some reason. and asked hayden for a ride home? ok. also had another dream where I was eating shrimp at a restaurant but I needed to pee but the bathrooms were far away so I got in this car with the couple sitting next to me and we drove there. but the bathroom stalls were weird as fuck so three toilets were basically in each partition? so me and these other girls were gonna take turns peeing but the door was also really weird so we had to prop it up so no one could see her but then she accidentally peed on the girl who was holding the door right in front of her. idk it was too wild and I woke up, I ate at 12 and then again at 1:30 and then again at 4:30 and then again at 8. big yikes I must stop, oh I had a project team meeting. keith was the last to leave but we didn’t really talk bc he had to get back to work, finished 16/16 and the conclusion!, will work on 4110 tomorrow bc I can’t do work anymore

#remarks #'have a great rest of your evening'#sir why do you talk like that #also these posts have become my diary or some shit #like compared to my week 1 posts these are so long #'im in Maryland with lucy' hehe

0 notes

limpblotter · 7 years

Text

Fly me to the Moon

[Previously…] A/N: IM text and second to last part! xD Summary: It's Christmas Time and Johan discovers the joys of instant messenger and unexpected surprises (Ft. Johnson Fam) WordCount: 3313 Taggies: @hell-yes-puns-and-ships Warning: Panic attack/ Depressing thoughts

“Bow have you seen my watch?” Dre grumbled, rubbing his empty wrist as he crossed the large, open kitchen. He gently placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and kissed the side of her face. “I just had it…”

“You mean this one?” She motioned to a black Rolex watch sitting on the counter right next to her cup of coffee. “Or that one.” She pointed, across the kitchen to the living room where another expensive watch sat folded neatly on the coffee table. “Or--”

“No it's the gold one, the one I wear for my ‘Drop em like it's hot’ meetings.” Dre smiled cockly, Rainbow arched an eyebrow not sure what he was talking about. “For the meetings where I drop some big news, big news mean a big watch. I gotta assert my dominance in that room.”

“Because your CEO title means nothing if you’re not waving around big, shiny things on your wrist?” She shook her head, sometimes her husband made her wonder what she got herself into. “The point is you leave your watches around all over the house I’m surprised you haven’t lost any until now.”

“No see, that watch is my lunch watch, swap it out when I’m going on lunch outs with the crew. Can’t flash anything too nice but I can’t be watchless.” He scoffed as pointed to the other one across the room. “That's my, I’m reading don’t bother me watch.” Dre nodded, then motioned to his empty wrist. “I need my ‘Drop em like it’s hot’ watch.”

After a moment of silence Rainbow shook her head and pulled the only conclusion she could think of. “Did you leave it in the bathroom?”

A lightbulb went off in Dre’s head and he pointed at the hallway. “And this is why I married you, we are a team.” He kissed her cheek and bounced up the stairs to retrieve his watch. There were few things in his life which he thought were sacred. His kicks, his watches, and his personal space. Which was why when he bought and designed the house, he had in mind an oasis like master bedroom. Far away from most of the rooms, a little corner of his personal space. So imagine his outrage when he found his master on suite bathroom was crowded with his children and his not-so-welcomed brother in-law. “What are you doing in my bathroom?!”

Junior popped his head out of the many bodies crowding around the vanity and smiled. “Uncle Johan is signing up for facebook and we’re helping him get the best quality profile picture around.” He gave his father an ‘ok’ sign before diving back in. Andre stood there, somewhat bewildered before shaking his head.

“No, no why does it have to be my in bathroom!?” He yelled, another child coming out from the herd and placed her small hand on her hip. Andre casted his eyes down to the youngest daughter of his family.

“Zoey said that the best lightening comes from bathrooms and your bathroom has the best lightening.” Diane shrugged a bit. “Zoey is on a roll in here, you do.not. Want to get in. We’ll call when we’re done.” She smiled and went back to the hustle and bustle. “No, we need the light in your eyes--wait! And, fluff his hair a little. Ok now hold the phone like, yes!” Zoey’s voice was high and cheerful. “I think we did it…” She pulled away and noticed her father was standing there with his arms wide open in exasperation. “Oh hey daddy.” Zoey smirked, still beaming from her handy work.

“Does anyone mind telling me why the four of you are crowded around in my bathroom like there is a concert going on?” Dre got a glimpse of Johan who wordlessly, walked out of the bathroom and climbed on his bed with his sandals still on. “WOAH WOAH now, not the shoes, JOHAN.” He yelled at him and usually Johan would prattle about something but...he was quiet his eyes glued to his phone more than usual. “...O-K, what’s wrong with him, wait no he’s quiet I don’t want to know.” Dre motioned his children away and retrieved the watch in question from the bathroom. When he returned they were all huddled behind Johan, looking over his shoulder at his phone. “No Dre. Don’t ask. It's not worth it…”

“Why isn’t he accepting the friend request yet?” Junior frowned, “you think he’s not online yet?”

“No way, I checked his facebook he made a status this morning.” Zoey had thoroughly stalked the guy in question. Johan came back doe eyed and with a sudden interest in social media. Of course she needed the details. “...maybe he’s blinded by how amazing you look with the flower crown filter.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t like you.” Diana crossed her arms and felt a nudge from her twin brother.

“Excuse her, uncle Johan, someone didn’t have their cereal this morning.” He mumbled, “I told you’d be cranky if you didn’t eat first.”

Clearly all his children were invested so Dre was swayed, he was going to pry and pray it wasn’t something he’d regret. “Alright, what are you all talking about?”

“Dad, Johan is trying to slid into the DMs with the guy he met in New York” Andre Jr. wiggled his eyebrow gaining only facepalms and groans from his siblings. “What?”

“What he is trying to say in a less...cringey way, is Johan likes a guy and he doesn’t know how to go about social media flirting.” Zoey smiled, “so we helped him out.”

“Social Media….flirting? Uh huh.” Dre shook his head and his children felt a lecture coming. “You know back in my day, we didn’t ‘slide’ into anyone’s Ims.”

“DMs.”

“Whatever” Dre held up his hand, ignoring the fact he was corrected in the slang. “If you liked someone you called them, wrote them letters, took them out on dates. And you did not date someone you didn’t visit. Long distance only worked when you’re dating someone who’s going out to war or if you’re starring in a B rated Hallmark romcom movie.”

His children exchanged looks, “that's not how romance works now dad. You can date anyone anywhere in the world with a click.”

“HA” Dre sarcastically laughed and clapped his hands together. “I’d hardly call that romantic.”

“Oh coming from the guy who got mom a blender for their anniversary?” Andre Junior shook his head disapprovingly.

Dre dramatically placed a hand to his chest and backed off a bit, “your mother had been dropping hints she was into juicing, my gift was thoughtful and expensive! I am plenty romantic.” There was a silence that came over his children and he felt nothing but judgment. “Don’t you have to be at school, BEAT IT” He shoo’d them out of his room until the only person who remained in his room wasn’t even someone he was legally required to take care of. Dre had some choice words for his annoying brother in-law but something about Johan’s face stopped him. He jumped a bit when Johan suddenly gasped.

“...he’s talking to me... “ Suddenly Johan’s entire world muted and the only thing that mattered was this Facebook messenger.

[[Usnavi De La Vega: You have a facebook? … You just got a facebook.

Johan Johnson: Yeah I figure I’d try out this government monitored boobytrap that everyone seems to be a part of.

Usnavi De La Vega: jaja! ]]

Johan arched his eyebrow, was that a typo? He didn’t look into it too long, he noticed there were dots blinking at the bottom of his screen indicating that Usnavi was still typing.

[[Usnavi De La Vega: well as long as you have nothing to hide I think the government doesn’t give two shits lol, btw nice picture. You have a snapchat too?

Johan Johnson: blame my niece, she decided if I was going to leap into social media I was going into the deep end. She signed me up for Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat and this thing called Tinder.

Usnavi De La Vega: Tinder ?? Isn’t that the hook up app or something? Swipe left or right, I don’t know what the kids use these days.

Johan Johnson: AH. Lol I won’t be using that one then…

Usnavi De La Vega: What government controlled dating apps is where you draw the line? I’m sure the government is very curious who you’d swipe right for.]]

He didn’t respond, his eyes might have been reading too far between the black and white typings of their conversation...But he would like to believe Usnavi sounded a little jealous. He frowned when suddenly another message came up and it was the end of their brief conversation.

[[Usnavi De La Vega: Sorry I got to help Sonny pack. He’s leaving for Cali in the morning *eyeroll emoji* I have half the mind to not send his ass anywhere...anyway, I’ll hit you up later, ok?

Johan Johnson: Later :) ]]

Johan groaned a bit, laying back on the bed with the phone on his chest. He felt his heart bang against his ribs. Any harder and his phone would have been bouncing on top of his chest. The bed dipped a little as Dre took a seat at the edge of his own bed. “So, hispanic guy huh?”

“Dominican” Johan beamed with a trance like smile.

“You know they have a lot of Afo-Carribean heritage in the Dominican Republic.” He smiled but then mildly wondered if he was confusing them with Haiti. “How do you plan on making it work with him being across the country, hm?” Dre was still mildly proving his point that long distance wasn’t healthy or very stable. There were very few exceptions. Johan didn’t answer right away, “like do you even know him?”

Suddenly his brother in-law sat up right and nodded. “He’s a store owner, he has money but is really careful...he’s really careful about everything actually. And yet, I can tell there is something in his eyes excitement and ….”

“I mean family facts, history, possibly any transmitted diseases.”

“Are you implying he has an STD?” Johan rolled his eyes, “He’s been on his own for a while, his parents died in...huh, December actually.” His voice trailed off.

“Wow…” Dre also sounded a little softer. “Must be rough. At least he has other family right? Hispanics got em’ big families like we do.” Dre nudged him a little with a comforting smile, but the facts began to pile up on Johan. Usnavi didn’t have much other family from what he remembered from their conversations. Usnavi’s parents died around this time, then his beloved abuela Claudia, his cousin was traveling away for the first time, and all his friends had moved out of the neighborhood. He was… alone. “I love the eggnog Puerto Ricans make, you think he’d have the recipe for that?”

“...Dre...would it be crazy…” Johan couldn’t fathom what Usnavi had to be feeling right now. However there was a chance, a sliver of a chance Usnavi was alone and sad...Johan couldn’t bear that idea. “If I go to him?”

Hallmark movie and there was a good chance Johan would be absent for Christmas. No commenting on their economic spending or having his mother relentlessly flirt. Dre turned and placed his hand on Johan’s shoulder. “Brother, this might be only time I call you this by the way, you care about him? You go. Right now. Immediately, I’ll even book you a flight.”

Dre was walking around with his head high after that. He did a good damn thing this morning and his kids had the nerve to call him ‘unromantic’. HA. Later around the dinner table, Bow mentioned how Johan wasn’t joining them for dinner and hasn’t been around the whole day. So Dre dropped his bombshell.

“...what you’re meaning to tell me is you let my little brother, run off to New York by himself? During the holidays?! DRE” Bow stood up from the chair. “This was going to be our Christmas a family! I had a stocking picked out and everything.” She stormed for her phone while Dre’s kids gave him disapproving looks again.

“Way to ruin Christmas dad…” Diana sighed, picking at her food.

“Like, really” Zoey began, “Johan just got social media and how he’s flying across the country to see him? Talk about Creepy af, dad, you’ve practically ruined all of uncle Johan’s chances”

Had he?

Winter was a hard time. The cold in the city felt a lot heavier when the store was empty. It was too cold for too many people to walk on by. Most people ran into stores to hide from the merciless winds. The snow gathered along the sides of the sidewalks like small mountains, coating cars in their parking spaces. Usnavi was usually a little somber this time of year. His parents died this time of year so he had the reason. Usually though, he had Sonny who would light candles with him and binge watch Christmas movies. Benny and Nina use to pop in and drop off the Rosario’s famed Coquito. Abuela Claudia would conduct secret Santa at her place while Daniela somehow always got Carla or Vanessa as her Santa…

The barrio changed. Abuela was gone, her stoop filled with snow and her apartment now housing a new family. Daniela and Carla made it a tradition to spend Christmas with Vanessa who was downtown, living around all the Christmas decorations and the tree. Benny and Nina had a small family now, no doubt they were spending it together. Of course Usnavi got invitations to go...but...why would he? He was just a guest, in a house, a guest in a family. A sad face that probably wouldn’t get much joy out partaking in someone’s happy family.

Usnavi slugged on his jacket and hat. He gazed over his store one more time, keeping his mind busy from the clawing void that was just waiting to get to him while he was alone. Reluctantly he started to pull the grate down and locked up for the night. He rubbed his hands together and felt his phone go off. For a second, he thought it might have been Johan. He felt bad for leaving him hanging. Once he helped Sonny back and saw him off he messaged him back. The message remained sent, not even read so … “Heh…” He mused at the idea of Johan struggling with social media, even going so far to humoring his ego with the idea Johan got it for him. To his slight discouragement it was Sonny who texted him a picture of him and Pete at a dinner by the beach.

The text read, 'He surprised me with dinner, the weather here is bomb cuz!! You need to fly out so we can all hang on this playa.’

Usnavi replied, having a snarky comment in mind...then he deleted it and responded with, ‘Enjoy it kid, you deserve it.’

Sonny was a good kid…why did he have to spend another sad holiday with Usnavi. He deserved to be where he wanted to be.

He tucked his phone away and made the quiet hike back to his apartment nearby. The city was a snowy ghost town. No doubt people were warm with family, getting ready for the holidays. He imagined families coming home from sightseeing or last minute shopping… He passed abuela Claudia’s stoop and the memories forced themselves into his mind. Unwillingly he recalled childhood memories, hazy from years gone by, of waiting up in Claudia’s house. His parents sneaking around for deals on Christmas presents. Usnavi only a kid helping set up the tree and candles. Celebrating Noche Buena by the time his parents got home, music playing, hugs and kisses…

It was almost painful for him to walk into his bleek and now empty apartment. Nothing waited for him here, not a soul or a cheer. He sloppily kicked off his shoes and coat. Making a beeline to the fridge he pulled out a green beer bottle and cracked it open. His phone buzzed again and once again his stomach did flips wondering if it was…

No. It was Benny, asking if Usnavi wanted come for the Rosario’s Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow. He didn’t want to but out of coursey he responded as vaguely as possible.

‘I’ll see how it goes with the store.’ Ben: ‘K man, you know the fam would luv 2 have u. Stop working so dam hard, it's xmas.’

Ha.

Like that was an excuse. His parents worked through many holidays, Christmas too...but by nightfall they made it back just to light candles with Usnavi. Speaking of which...his eyes scanned the room for a tall red candle, the one with the Virgin Mary sticker on it. A candle so traditional that he was sure his parents and grandparents used the same one. He lit the candle and carefully walked it over to the closed window sill. “Otra Navidad…” He smiled placing it down watching the flickering flame dance on it's small wick. “...miss you guys…”his lower lip trembled. He bit his lip to try and keep it still but if it wasn’t one thing it was another, his eyes started to ache with bitter tears.

“Fuck.” He hissed, he should be over it by now. Every Christmas he felt this weight on his shoulders...his parents broke their asses every damn Christmas to get what they could to fill the tree. Every damn holiday day in and day out until the day they died. Working so hard just to put something under the tree for him, to give him something they didn’t have. Now he had the money, money he wished he had years ago when the people he loved still walked on the Earth. Now he could give his parents a vacation to Dominican Republic, a relief from the store… If only he hadn’t been too late.

If he worked harder. If he had made something of himself sooner. If he wasn’t such a failure of a son. His parents will never know, they died leaving Usnavi debts and worries, they died probably upset...Upset they were leaving their son behind with so much unfinished work. So much to carry, they weren’t here to see he was still managing. Abuela wasn’t here to see he was still going...He was too late.

Usnavi felt his lungs twist cutting off his breathing. His heart beating slow but hard against his chest, like it was trying to punch a hole out of his chest. His eyes widened when he realized he couldn’t breathe….he couldn’t! His body shook as he slowly fell to his knees, hard sobs breaking through his crumpling frame. He tried to calm his panic, calm the screams in his head that reminded him his parents and abuela died fully aware Usnavi was struggling. Died before Usnavi could do something for them, something they deserved.

Desperate to relieve himself he slumped forward and pressed his head against the cold, wood floor and forced himself to take shallow breathes.

Knock knock

His head snapped up so fast he felt the air trapped joints crack along his neck. He crawled across the floor, all the while forcing himself to take purposeful breaths.

Knock, Knock

Usnavi grabbed the doorknob and willed himself to his feet, leaning against the door. He ran his hand over his face covering the tear trails as best he could, then opened the door. “Who---” His eyes widened, he looked up at a slightly flushed and incredibly cold looking Johan. His jacket was barely warm enough for the winter they were experiencing at the East Coast. Johan’s eyes held Usnavi in a silent stare, he assisted him thoroughly and his face fell a bit.

“Usnavi, are you ok?”

Usnavi opened his mouth. “No” He wailed.

#crossover fic #crossover fanfic #crossover au #Johan x Usnavi #Johsnavi #Josnavi #johsnavi fic #johsnavi fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #boys loving boys #In The Heights #blackish #usnavi #usnavi de la vega #johan johnson #wee bit angst #90% fluff

83 notes · View notes

jezsiema · 7 years

Text

Warmth

JAJA’S NOTES (UPDATED): I thought I tagged you guys when I posted this, this morning. So sorry.

JAJA’S NOTES: I wrote this a long time ago but I feel that JACOB FRYE APPRECIATION DAY is a good day to post this. It is already 6th of March here in Malaysia. So, I shall post.

Also, I did a little touch up to one of my favourite pictures of Jacob (ones I have in my little collection).

A small dedication to the sisters of the Sisterhood; @emouel @swiggle-muffin @afterglowingassassin @jiruchan @freedomaboveallelse @poojadey12 @a-little-0wl @victorianassassinqueen @vaniri @vanilleeistee @cybersweetsdonut @mieliikki @coolpurple82 @babelast @lady-mz-hyde @vrgxo @tokufan1 @thepandadrawer @lil-templar @bunnyyumyum @xxxjenniferxxx18 @deathhoundx @yourchepazworld @masterassassinmercer and every one else I forgot to tag, know that I love you guys, too.

Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WONDERFUL PAUL AMOS!

I could not breathe.

My body slowly weakens; the explosion must have done something to me. No matter how I struggled, I could not move at all. The cold water of the Thames piercing my skin was overwhelming. The last thing I heard besides the explosion was a voice yelling my name. A voice that often kept me warm, the voice of the man I love.

His voice calling for my name became distant as I sank into the darkness; deeper into the cold. I try to call for him but I couldn’t find my voice. Soon, his voice disappeared. My body felt numb. Is this what it feels like to die?

It felt lonely in the pitch dark and it was… Cold.

“Shannon?” Jacob called. I opened my eyes and saw him towering over me. I sat up with my hand on my head. I saw children running around the Italian fountains at Hyde Park. “I leave you here for a bit and you fall asleep! Here,” Jacob said handing me a cone of ice cream.

It was hot that day and Jacob was a life saver. The ice cream on my tongue felt like a blessing. The shady tree which sheltered us from the sunray rustled gently from the warm breeze. “Thank you, Jacob.” He sat next to me and took my free hand.

“There is something I have been meaning to ask you,” Jacob said. His voice was warm and inviting. I turned to him only to find him staring at me with his hazel orbs. He laughed when he saw my ice cream moustache. “You are adorable, Shannon,” Jacob told me, taking out his handkerchief to wipe my mouth.

Jacob had always been nice to me but that day, he seems extra affectionate, which was pretty unusual, “So, Frye, what was this thing you wanted to tell me?” I asked him, taking a bite off my ice cream.

“I don’t know how to ask you but would you be my girlfriend?”

I nearly choked on my ice cream and stopped eating. He pats my back until I stopped coughing. Jacob and I had been friends since we were young but we got close when we were training together. I have seen him going in and out of relationships, standing by him when he needed my shoulder most.

I blinked at him and that made him laugh. “What?” I asked, unaware that I had ice cream all over my face.

Jacob wiped my face again, “I shouldn’t have asked when you were biting into your ice cream, Love.” I smiled as I offered him some ice cream. He was about to open his mouth when I pushed it into his face. “SHANNON!” Jacob yelled.

I picked up his handkerchief and wiped his face, “Yes, Jacob. I will be your girlfriend.”

Little did he know, I had feelings for him, too. Only with him, I felt warm.

Warmth.

Jacob turned out to be a good boyfriend. The kind that put other men to shame. The kind girls could dream of having. But no, he belonged to me. His hands were never far from mine, his arms never far from my body. His lips often heated and passionate against mine. Those very kisses and embrace kept me safe and most importantly, it kept me warm.

As time went by, we started talking about our future; about marriage and having children. Jacob approached my parents to ask for their blessings. Without any further negotiation, my parents accepted Jacob and did not doubt him.

Our wedding day was beautiful and Jacob was the happiest man I have ever seen that day. He kept reminding me that I was beautiful and he had a way to make me blush whenever I was by his side. I wore a beautiful white lace ballroom dress and he looked handsome dressed up in a suit with his hair swept to the back. I knew one thing for sure, he was going to be the man to protect me from harm, despite our jobs as Assassins and I trusted him with my life.

Behind my veil, I blushed while waiting to exchange our vows. His hands holding onto mine gave me strength, his smile gave me happiness. His voice like a song that will never die on me. To me, Jacob was the perfect!

We exchange our vows and rings when he uttered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whispered as his face leant forward to mine.

The shared kiss that sealed our vows was filled with passion and a love that was warm.

Warmth.

A few months into our marriage, I fell sick. He was by my side the whole time. He was, after all, the one who brought me to the hospital, thinking I caught a sickness that could be dangerous for me.

During the consultation with the doctor, he held my hand tightly when the doctor took blood from me to check if my sickness was dangerous.

“We will call you once we get the results from this blood test,” the doctor told us and we went home.

Before the week was over, my body started to sore and I felt sicker than I did. I was vomiting everything I ate the night before, I felt extra nauseous and worse, I was getting cramps which, I hated with a passion. Jacob brought me back to the hospital again.

“The results came in and I am delighted to inform you, Mr and Mrs Frye that you are going to be parents.”

Those words, going to be parents… At first, I did not know how to react. I looked up at Jacob who looked perplexed as well. The doctor let out a friendly laugh and told me that I was pregnant. Then, it registered into our brains.

“You are pregnant, Love,” Jacob whispered as he cupped my cheeks and rested his forehead against mine, our noses touching. Tears of joy streamed down his face, I wrapped my arms around him and he held me close, with no intentions of letting me go.

Since that day, Jacob made sure I was comfortable with everything around me. It was his child I was carrying and knowing that news made me love him even more. “Jacob…” I said as we lied down on the bed one day. “Have you thought of what to name this little one?”

“I have a name for both boy and girl but let’s keep that a secret until the day the little one arrive,” Jacob said warmly.

More warmth.

“Jacob… I can feel a contraction.” I grunted, clutching my swell stomach. Jacob jumped from his seat and grabbed his car keys. He noticed how difficult it was for me to move around when he swept me into his arms bringing me to the car.

At the hospital, Jacob remained by my side. He wiped the sweat and tears from my face while resting his forehead against mine assuring me that everything will be fine. I held his hand tightly begging him not to leave my side. “I am here,” he assured me lovingly. “I am not leaving you alone and cold, Love.”

After struggling to live and to give life, a baby’s cries was heard.

“Congratulations, it’s a girl!” the midwife said as she placed the blood-stained baby on my naked chest. Immediately the baby calmed down and suckled from my breast.

“Jacob… Our little girl.” I panted, smiling at him. Jacob kissed my lips tenderly and pressed his forehead against mine. His hands caressing his daughter’s head.

“Evangeline Cecily Frye,” Jacob said suddenly. I looked at him. He smiled and said, “Our daughter’s name. Evangeline Cecily Frye.”

I looked down at our little angel and saw a small smile carved on her face. “Eva,” I whispered as the little bundle of joy laid happily on my chest keeping my beating heart warm.

Warmth.

“Mummy! I love you.” Eva said. “Daddy loves you!”

“I love you, too, baby,” I said kissing my 5-year-old daughter. “And I love Daddy, too.”

She wrapped her little arms around my neck and pressed her warm cheeks against mine.

Our little girl was growing; strong and healthy. She had her father’s complexion but she had my temper. Despite her flaws, she was perfect and we were proud of having a daughter just like Eva.

Her presence brought our household so much joy. Our days filled with laughter. Jacob and I were proud of our little girl and it warmed our hearts.

Warmth.

The flashes of my life ended when I saw myself hugging Eva as Jacob and I left the house that morning. It got darker and colder. I was already losing myself when my body felt numb. This was the end for me.

But I heard someone calling my name, though it was slightly muffled. A familiar voice it was; inviting and warm. My conscience fought back. The distance voice came from that light. I had to go towards it, I was determined to follow that voice. “Shannon, my Love.” There is was again, this time, it was louder and nearer. That voice; familiar and warm ringing with concern. “Shannon…”

My chest felt some pressure and then it was filled with air again. Slowly, the heavy feeling in my chest got lighter. My body got less tensed. The lighter my body felt, the brighter the light at the end of the dark place I was in. Finally, I reached the end of the tunnel and was blinded by the lights and there were other voices surrounding me. The loudest voice was the most familiar.

Gasping for air, I coughed out water.

“Shannon!” Evie cried in relief. I looked at her and next to her was Jacob, drenched. Jacob held me in his arms tightly. I could hear him sobbing.

“I thought I lost you,” Jacob whispered. I wrapped my arms around him. Somebody threw a blanket over our shoulders. I turned and saw Kieran, my brother, along with a few paramedics. I buried my face into the crook of Jacob’s neck and squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn’t want to let Jacob go. I wanted to remain within his embrace. “I love you, Jacob,” I whispered, looking up at him. He caressed my face and brushed my lips with his thumb. He was lost for words but on his face, I saw a smile of relief, a smile accompanied by tears.

My body felt a warm tingle. His breath was warm, his smile was loving. His embrace melted the ice that surrounded my heart which was struggling to beat like normal. I was thankful for being alive. Jacob pulled me away from his body to cup my face. “What would I do without you, Love? What would Eva be without her mother?” Jacob asked. I wrapped my arms around him. Slowly, the cold disappeared when Jacob’s warm tears fell onto my skin.

“Your warmth kept me alive.”

Warmth. That was all I ever need and I found it in the arms of the man I married.

#Jacob Frye Appreciation Day 20k7 #Jacob Frye x OC #jajersz writes #Shannon Kenway #this is the 100th time I tried to post this

38 notes · View notes

snsmissionaries · 5 years

Text

12/18/18 -- Sister Nicole Ritman, Spain, Madrid Mission

Málaga ain't too Mal

Subject Line: I don't know why they call it Mal-aga (mal means bad) because I LOVE it here! It's built on top of the foothills of these INDESCRIBABLY gorgeous mountains I saw on the train ride here where they are super tall sheer green cliffs down to a rushing river and there is a wooden bridge sticking straight out the side for tourists to walk on. Also, we have the ocean right here! I love seeing the city lights twinkle all around me from the hills rolling into the distance at night and hearing the seagulls in the sky. It's gorgeous here.

¡Hola a todos!

First I have to tell you all about my crazy trip here. Málaga is only a few hours away from Jerez, and still in Andalucía. But it look me five hours to get here! I was told to just get on a train and my comp would be waiting for me at the station. But what I didn't know was I took a train almost to Sevilla in the opposite direction and switched lines. Here I noticed a problem--I didn't distribute the weight of my luggage correctly and I physically couldn't carry my three bags more than three steps. I successfully switched lines though because random ladies grabbed my suitcases and helped them off as the train was about to close. I literally was falling backwards off the next train trying to get on (there were four steps and no ramp??), but luckily a lady caught me. I thought I was good but then the conductor came up to me and said something about a bus to me, but I wasn't paying attention. I asked him to repeat it, but he noted my gringa accent and just said "bus" and left. I was getting a little nervous. Then suddenly the train stops in the middle of nowhere and everyone starts getting off. I grab my bags but people are already starting to get on the train. Again, random people take my bags. There's a bus in the distance so I take my bags to that and lug them on the bottom. Then I remembered I left my backpack on the train. I sprinted like a shot and couldn't believe it hadn't left yet. Suerte 🍀 The bus driver was kinda watching confused, but luckily waited jaja. I thought I could finally relax but then like 20 minutes later the bus stopped in this tiny town IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. NO TRAIN OR BUS STATION IN SIGHT. I'm sure this isn't the vibrant city of Málaga. FULL PANIC MODE COMMENSED!!!😰😰😰😰😰 I kept saying a prayer in my head as I went up to the driver and was like "Erm... Tengo un billete para Málaga??" He explained there was another train station behind the buildings. Finally, I dragged my luggage (this time all myself) on the train and sat down. Once I finally got to Málaga I was so excited that I grabbed my luggage and started carrying it. Suddenly, I was standing in the middle of the mall with no chairs or missionaries in sight. I was so tired from carrying and lifting my luggage over my head 8 times in 5 hours that I found myself not being able to take another step. I just stood there with everyone walking around me for like 20 minutes no joke. I couldn't take another step. Once my comp got there, it was still an adventure to get my luggage on the city bus full of people and up four flights of stairs to piso.

Morals of the story: 1) Hermana Ritman needs to start lifting weights more 2) The Lord is watching our for us and will send random kind souls to help when you're over your head 3) Always keep a prayer in your heart

***

So I'm enjoying life here in Málaga Barrio 3, which we share with our district leader, Elder Mitchell and his comp Elder Rosales. I don't have too many pictures of the city, sorry.

Right now things are crazy because the other bigger capilla is under construction and so we are sharing our very tiny one-ward Capilla with Barrios 1 and 2. We have classes in the Bishops office and got permission to already have 2-hour church 👌. So nice to have that this past Sunday!

So far it seems like miracles are falling from the sky. We had a girl text us out of nowhere saying she wants to come back to church because she moved back here and wants us to give her the lessons to review the doctrine. We found four new people to teach in one week (2 from just updating area book so technically they already had them) and one of the other ones was a member reference who is so prepared! At the beginning of the lesson, she was kind of nervous, but at the end she hugged us like 27 times and said we are her daughters here because her reals ones are still in the Dominican Republic. She kept thanking us for teaching her that the hole she feels in her life and be filled with joy! I've never seen such a difference from the beginning to the end of a lesson.

This PDay we made the mistake of going grocery shopping right before mediodía the weekend before Christmas. It was the craziest--the line went around half the store. We had to come back during mediodía and... No one. When will I learn that shopping during mediodía is so much easier lol.

Keep on Iluminando El Mundo everyone!

Os quiero,

Hermana Ritman

Preguntas:

Have they started celebrating Christmas yet? They start around Thanksgiving even though it's not a holiday here and end on Tres Reyes Day, when they get all the gifts (they get like one on Christmas and the rest on Jan 6th)

What are Spanish Christmas traditions? I ask and they all say "eat jamón" and I'm like "don't you do that every other day of the year though??" Is it a big holiday? The season is big, but the actual day isn't. Reyes is bigger. How is your Spanish coming along? I'm at that awkward stage where it's coming more fluently but then I speak faster and don't notice all the mistakes I'm making. But better I guess. What is the weather like right now? Are you warm enough? I would be warm except this piso has no heating. There's a tiny fan heater that has permanent residence on a stool next to my desk and sometimes I keep it in my lap. How are you doing communicating with your new companion? Is she helping you learn Spanish? I'm surprised with how much I can say to her! It's super nice. I perfect her pronunciation when we do our reading and I try to speak English to her in piso and tell her English vocab. She's already fluent though and she learned Cátalan. I'm learning a lot of Spanish vocab and idk just how to actually phrase things. How is the work going in Malaga? You said that you are in the Malaga third ward, if that the only ward there or is there a Malaga first and second ward? Yup so there's a first and 2nd and ours, the 3rd is doing great! We have so many strong members and return missionaries and member references?? Like how does that even happen idk? They're just so cute like someone got a Libro de Mormón from me at church because she knows her friend likes Chris and we wants to wrap it up and give it to them for Christmas. I love it!

Nicole was able to send links for the last three weeks.

Jerez Week 17

https://photos.app.goo.gl/SPrtwxemEcaS3tTZ9

Jerez Week 18

https://photos.app.goo.gl/acdm7HQcR39J1ZUY7

Malaga Week 1

https://photos.app.goo.gl/hidQLHCn5LARoLWi9

0 notes

the-final-straw-blog · 6 years

Text

A-Radio on Anti-Fenix from CZ, updates on #PrisonStrike & #CharlotteUprising + music

This week we'll be rebroadcasting a recent update from A-Radio Berlin on the repression called Operation Fenix in Czech Republic against anarchists there. Following that, we'll hear some music from Wildspeaker, Cara Neir and Allochiria. First, text from the intro to the A-Radio Portion: "In the context of the International Week of Solidarity with Anarchist Prisoners (23.-30th of August 2016), we had the opportunity of talking to a comrade from Anarchist Black Cross (ABC) in Czech Republic. The interview gives a short summary of the repression that started in 2015 and explains the singular cases and their current development, but deals also with the problems the movement had in the beginning to show solidarity. Last but not least, you get very good advice on the topic of solidarity and what to do yourselves. Since the interview, another comrade is in prison. Lukáš Borl, who had been living underground, has been arrested by the police on September 4." More info on the case at https://antifenix.noblogs.org/ Announcements Strike Updates This was a statement originally posted to itsgoingdown.org, which we have shortened for broadcasting. It pertains to updates on the September 9th prison strike, with some thoughts about how to move forward from here. For more such thoughts, you can check out the most recent IGD cast which includes interviews with IWOC organizers and resisting prisoners in Merced, CA. One thing is not in question: September 9th is now officially the largest prison work strike ever to take place within the United States. This strike against prison slavery that began on September 9th, the 45th anniversary of the Attica prison uprising has now entered it’s third week. According to organizers with Support Prisoner Resistance: "As of 9/21 we have tracked 46 prisons and jails that experienced some kind of disruption between September 8 and 21st. This total includes both lockdowns reported by officials (some of whom deny that the lockdown was protest related) and reports of protests from prisoners and supporters (some of which did not lead to lockdowns or full strikes). Of these, 31 facilities experienced a lock-down, suspension or full strike for at least 24 hours. Those 31 facilities house approximately 57,000 people. That is a guess at the minimum number of prisoners affected by the nationally coordinated strike. There is likely much more going on behind the prison gates that we do not yet know about. We receive new information on a daily basis. In some places the strike lasted a day or a weekend, but in some, it seems to be going strong 12 days in." The strike has also grown out of the original expectations of many organizers. For instance, the strike has spread into both men and women’s prisons, into county jails, and has lead to not only work strikes, but hunger strikes, organized marches and protests inside facilities, expanded communication of prisoners to the outside, and full fledged uprisings. Despite a media blackout that is fueled by the advertising of corporations that make billions from prison slavery while the mainstream press drones on about politicians which vow to only expand it – the strike is only continuing and bringing more people into our networks. On the outside, thousands of people took to the streets. In Durham, NC and Brooklyn, NY, freeways were blocked. In Oakland, corporations profiting from prison labor were attacked. In Portland, streets and stores profiting from prison labor were occupied and shut down. In Austin, people shut down a facility showcasing products made by prisoners, and demonstrations, marches, and rallies were organized throughout the South. Across the US, noise demonstrations outside of prisons were organized, marches were held, and graffiti, banners, and posters were placed around the walls, freeways, and towns and cities of the US. Across the world, people also took action in solidarity with the prison strike. From Serbia to Sweden, Greece to Australia, Mexico to Spain, people released statements of solidarity, held demonstrations outside of prisons, and took action against corporations that profit from prison slavery. Moving Forward: In order to proceed, people need to develop a strategy around supporting the strike. This means figuring out if and how you can support a facility near you taking action, how you can link up and build connections with prisoners, how you could build up your organization or crew to carry out this activity, and also how you could carry out actions which push forward the strike. 1.) Support the Strikers: Holding a demonstration outside of the facility. Holding a demonstration outside of a corporation connected to prison labor in solidarity with the strike (especially if that is what the prisoners are working to create). Hold a call-in campaign to the prison to demand that the prison meet the prisoners demands and end repressive measures against them. Hold a letter writing night to make contact with the prisoners. Contact IWOC for more information if you have no established contacts. Hold a fundraiser for established groups such as the Free Ohio Movement or the Free Alabama Movement. Remember prisoners are the front lines of this struggle. We must support them and their activity as well! 2.) Build your Squad: Raising money so you can continue or begin to engage in prison support work. Host a letter writing night to better connect with prisoners already engaged in action. Host a call-in event with a prisoner who can discuss the conditions that exist where they are striking and how people on the outside can support them. Contact IWOC for more details. Host a speaker, Skype presenter, or open discussion on the strike to move people from passive support to active participation. Plug people into the organizing and get them involved. Organize a BBQ or social event where people discuss the strike, update people on what is happening, and read off actions and communiques. 3) Keep it Lit: Organize a noise demonstration outside a facility taking action or one closest to you. Organize and take action at a corporation profiting from prison slavery. Get creative! Drop a banner in solidarity with the prison strike. Organize a night of wheat-pasting flyers. Get people together and go out on the town and put up posters and flyers supporting the strike. Write graffiti and drop banners. Already, our comrades across the world are standing with us in solidarity. In a statement released by the ABC Solidarity Cell in Greece, they have called for international supporters to also take action in support of the ongoing strike on October 1st. The September 9th strike has been inspiring, but to stop now and simply step back and wait for the next eruption would be to loose out on bringing new people into our movement. To also stop taking action now when prisoners across the US are still on strike, still on hunger strike, and still risking their lives would be to betray everything that they have worked for. Now is the time to build. Now is the time to grow. But it is definitely not the time to stop. Repression at WCW Women's prison in Gig Harbor, WA To support prisoner resistance, from an anonymous prison staff in the state of Washington: “I would like you and supporters to know that there was a symbolic protest at Washington Correctional Center for Women in Gig Harbor on September 9. Three women refused to go to work in the prison library. The emergency response team was dispatched and the women were taken to Segregation. At their hearing last week, they were given 20 days in seg, and are facing reclassification and probably the loss of their jobs. In my opinion, this was a peaceful, non-violent expression of their opinions meant to draw attention to the issue of prison labor, and the response was much more disruptive than the event itself. The library has been closed since September 9. According to DOC, this was the only action in the entire state of Washington.” Support for Amir Davis, Kinetic's Son In March of this year, the son of Kinetik was accused of stabbing Warden Davenport at Holman prison in Alabama. He was then shipped to Donaldson. He has since been assaulted, harassed, and tortured in Solitary Confinement. If you support FAM and the work we do then let Kinetik’s Sun know his sacrifices for change were not in vain. Those willing, drop him a postcard and those able, put a small donation on his books via the ADOC website. Amir “Jaja” Davis #268646 G-4 WE Donaldson CF 1000 Warrior Lane Bessemer, AL 35023 In Revolutionary Solidarity, Kinetik Justice To see a list of more people who have been explicitely targeted by officials in response to the Prison Strike, you can visit https://itsgoingdown.org Seeking #CharlotteUprising interviews As most of you are probably aware, following the police murder of Keith Lamont Scott in Charlotte NC (who was killed while sitting in his car reading and waiting for his kid to get dropped off from school), there have been riots in that town which have lasted days. The mainstream media coverage of these events has been predictably terrible, following all the racist tropes we have come to expect from the likes of CNN and FOX. With an aim to combat these narratives, we at The Final Straw would like to put out a call for submissions or interviews that people would like to see broadcast on this show. Any interviews would be done from an explicitely anarchist perspective. For listeners looking for a good writeup, check out:

https://itsgoingdown.org/reportback-charlotte-uprising/

https://itsgoingdown.org/revolt-queen-city-personal-accounts-day-2-charlotteuprising/

https://itsgoingdown.org/charlotte-solidarity-actions-across-us/ If this is at all interesting to you or anyone you know, give us a holler at [email protected] Playlist: http://www.ashevillefm.org/node/17633

Check out this episode!

#anarchist #podcast #interview #feminist #antifa #anticapitalist

0 notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 3, Chp. 6″

A.N.: I split the chapter in half b/c I wanted to end on a button before going into the DJ stuff with Disa in the next update! Enjoy. Be sure to reblog/comment if you like it!

CW: Some mention of sexual assault. Some violence.

youtube

"So many tried before And I've waited patiently In the end it's always wrong It's so hard for me to believe That you can keep it goin' Couldn't stop if I wanted to So baby if you take my hand Everyday can feel brand new Even when we disagree Ain't no need to get loud Everything is worth a kiss Baby that's what I'm talkin' bout"

Amerie – "Talkin' About"

Fear was all around.

After Erik and the others witnessed the first attack in Miami, another foreign submersible showed up minutes later off the coast of Wilmington, North Carolina.

"What the fuck is happening?" Disa whispered as they kept a vigil around her TV.

The dinner party broke up with her friends on cell phones scurrying to be in their own homes. Erik was left behind with Yamilet and Hollis. Alexis offered to give him a ride, and he didn't want to leave, but Hollis was hugged up on Disa by then, and staying would cause animosity.

Riding in the backseat of Kwame's Honda, Erik watched Alexis speak on the phone to her parents in Michigan. Her Spanish flew off the hook when she spoke to her mother. Kwame didn't know what was said, but Erik caught every word. Her mother was terrified and wanted her to stay safe and indoors.

Erik's cell vibrated in his pocket.

Grandpop.

"Jaja, are you safe?"

"I'm on my way back to campus, Grandpop. We're fine here, don't worry."

"I called Bakari to see if he could find out anything. Seems like every day this country has pissed somebody off."

"Chickens do come home."

"Hope they don't roost on us. You know Black folks be the first to get the worst."

"I'll call you when I get to my dorm."

"Please be safe. You all I got, boy."

"I'm good, Grandpop."

"Make sure you call me."

Erik hung up. The fear in his grandfather's voice reached out through the phone and touched his spirit. The older Erik became, the more frightened his grandfather seemed. Their last conversation the week before had been long, complicated, and full of his grandfather trying to guide him into passive behavior on campus. Focus on classwork. Don't get caught up too much in campus activities with Chocolate City. When Grandpop handed the phone to his cousin Nevaeh, she sat outside the front stoop where they used to sit and play as children and told Erik the truth about Grandpop's fears.

"He sees your mother in you. He won't say it out loud, but he's afraid you may be hurt like her one day."

"So he thinks I'ma get murdered out here?"

"Don't say that Jaja—"

"I am her. She raised me to be the person I am. Your Mom had a hand in that too."

"My mother wants you to come home. She wants the elders to do a cleansing for you. To protect you."

"Tell Auntie Rolita I'm good. Give that cleansing protection to Granpop, aight?"

That wasn't the first time he heard that sentiment.

Erik's grandmother Melissa essentially told him the same thing but directly to his face on his last visit to her in New Jersey. He wasn't close to his grandmother. She wasn't a kind woman, not like Grandpop. After his mother's wrongful death in prison, his grandmother tried to take him from Oakland to live back east. Erik acted a whole ass fool on a summer stay… his first summer without his parents. He raged and had crying jags that lasted hours. He beat up kids on the block and cursed out his step-grandfather. His uncles tried to intervene and Erik fought each one until the police were called to contain him.

Two officers surrounded him on the front porch and he had his fingers hooked in the grappling fighting stance of ulwa, the martial art of Wakanda.

"Stop it, Erik! You're acting just like Califia and look where it got her, all this fighting and for what?! Do you want to end up like her? Dead in some hellhole?! Or be like your father, stabbed by some ghetto rats?!"

Erik lost it. He attacked the cops and was sent to a Jersey juvenile detention facility until Uncle Bakari flew out to get him. He brought in another lawyer friend who specialized in juvenile cases and Erik was released due to trauma. The courts there made him attend mandatory therapy for the rest of his stay there, but Grandma Melissa shipped him back to Oakland the moment his court-ordered therapy ended.

The rage.

It festered inside his small body and the resentment he felt toward Grandma Melissa spilled over onto Grandpop. Erik acted an even bigger fool in Oakland. He hooked up with a local Blood affiliated gang and played the part of a genius child by day, and ran the streets at night. Granpop pleaded with him to honor his parents by being a good boy, but Erik was so lost then. The rage had taken root in his blood. He couldn't shake it. It was more soothing to rob, fight, smoke weed and roam the streets than listen to the one man in the whole wide world that loved him the most.

Erik was picked up by the Oakland police as he stood watch for some gun deal to go down in a trap house. A large pot-bellied Black cop put handcuffs on him and by the time word got back to Uncle Bakari in D.C. the courts removed him from Grandpop's care and placed him in several foster homes in East Oakland. The last straw was in Richmond when Erik tried to kill an older teenaged foster "brother" when the boy touched him in a way that Erik knew was sexual assault. The older boy misread Erik's introverted quiet nature as being a passive mark and grabbed for his crotch when he waited to take a shower before bed. The seventeen-year-old attacker had to have his retina re-attached, and his jaw wired after Erik was done with him. All he remembered as the authorities dragged him out in another pair of handcuffs was the relief in two other foster boys' eyes. Their victimizer had finally gotten his due thanks to a small boy with haunted eyes and the fast fists of his mother and father.

Juvie became his new home for six months.

Once Erik was released back to his grandfather he tried to stay on the straight and narrow but everyone knew him as Califia's kid. The boy whose father was killed for running guns. That was the rumor that went around. Uncle Bakari stepped in. Arranged for Grandpop to give him guardianship over Erik. It saved his life. Brought him closer to his grandfather.

Erik cried for months begging to come home, begging to return to Oakland and Walter and Nevaeh and all the things that were familiar to him. Grandpop stood firm even though it broke his heart not to have his beloved baby boy near him. The only link to his stolen daughter. The old man stood firm and only had weekly video chats with Erik even though it broke his heart to have him so far away.

Uncle Bakari transformed his life. Returned structure and respect. Returned love of self and hope for a better future. With the help of his mother's loyal friends in Martha's Vineyard, London, Brazil, and on a reservation in California, his extended family stepped in for N'Jobu and Califia and raised a boy into a young man. They all breathed easier when he was accepted into the Naval Academy.

Grandpop began to sense something was brewing after Erik left his Stark internship. Whatever high gloss that blinded them to Erik's new straight and narrow must've faded. Grandpop stayed on him. Grandma Melissa told him to stay out of campus politics too. The road to hell was paved by helping other people who wouldn't help themselves was her motto to him. Califia had gone out to save Black people, and they killed her. N'Jobu placed himself in an area of poverty and crime to be a role model of a good working-class Black man, and it killed him. Melissa wanted him to have a Boule life like her. Martha's Vineyard in the summer, Fortune 500 job, respectability, a cleansing of his pedigree from the son of a controversial murdered activist to a young man with a safe, predictable life in the suburbs.

They sat in traffic.

It seemed like a lot of people were swarming to get home. When they arrived back at M.I.T., Erik was exhausted and ready to sleep for hours. Kwame walked with them to their dorm building and Alexis dismissed him from trying to walk her to her room. Her boyfriend's lips curled down in a frown, but Erik left them to work it out as he made his way to the elevator.

Inside the commons, Erik's dorm mates watched laptops and cell phones as a TV blared the latest updates. Tension was high. His cell vibrated. Texts from Aunt Serah in London. Aunt Soliel in Sao Paulo. His cousin Marisol called him directly.

"JaJa."

Marisol's voice made him pause.

"I'm good over her. Don't worry."

He hurried her off so he could take a shower and sleep.

The next morning the President of the United States, a dough-faced blowhard, demanded justice for the fallen soldiers and Coast Guard casualties, but the U.N. convened quickly. Over the next few days, the U.S. President huffed and puffed, building up a large Naval presence in the Atlantic, but the Atlanteans, who were named by the U.S. government as the culprits, had disappeared.

On a rainy Sunday night, Erik ate a bowl of oatmeal soaked in butter and brown sugar and watched the flatscreen in the commons as a cable station aired a U.N. summit. Ten other dorm mates sat spread about watching the same TV as King T'Chaka Udaku stepped to a podium to address the assembly in a taped clip that made the rounds online. Erik witnessed for the first time the manipulative power T'Chaka had over people. Chest puffed out in his royal robes, T'Chaka gave a stern warning to other nations of the threat Atlantis had to the civilized world. The clip jumped back to a 60 Minutes TV interview, and Erik sat up in his seat. Lesly Stahl hosted the segment, and they all watched King T'Chaka and Prince T'Challa walk into a luxury hotel suite.

"My man got on all the drip, check out that shit!" Rasheed said.

"Daddy cold rocking all that ice too! Pops is draped!" Darcy said slapping hands with Mark who nodded at the TV.

They were impressive men. The Udaku Royal House. Erik's lips grew tight and his eyes narrowed.

"Nigga walks like your arrogant ass," Darcy said glancing over at Erik.

"Look like you too," Tamir said stuffing his face with potato chips.

"No, he don't," Rasheed said.

Tamir paused the screen and stood up. He pointed to T'Challa's lips and forehead.

"Same crease, same fat mouth pout. Hair 'bout the same too. Nigga just darker-skinned," Tamir said.

Erik grew uncomfortable when a few of the other students took a peek at him to confirm.

"Shit, we all come from slaves and we mixed up with a whole lotta tribes. We all might be related to them," Darcy joked.

Erik stuffed oatmeal in his mouth and stared at T'Challa. The resemblance was there. Especially the walk. Erik couldn't deny that.

The King of Wakanda perched himself in a high-back chair and behind him, Prince T'Challa sat tugging on the jacket of his pale blue designer suit.

Small talk commenced, and then Leslie hit the King with his reaction to the Atlanteans becoming aggressive in American waters.

"It is rare for the Atlanteans to become so visibly public and this aggressive toward others on this side of the world. It is imperative that other nations prepare themselves for more caustic behavior such as this. I have warned the U.N. and your President of the vicious nature of the Atlanteans. They are not to be trusted when they behave with such barbaric actions."

"Have you had interactions with the leaders of Atlantis?"

"In the past, my father and his father before him have tried to bring Atlantis into the fold of humanity that seeks peace and prosperity for all."

"Why should other nations listen to Wakanda and your leadership? You are a pastoral people, and forgive me for saying this… I don't mean to be rude… but you have no military power or far-reaching political influence to dictate what other nations should do. Clearly the Atlanteans have the technology and a naval force on the level of the U.S.-"

"Do not underestimate the voice of a pastoral people. We may not have an impressive GNP or the resources that you Americans seem to worship in other G7 nations, but we are an ancient people with wisdom to share for the benefit of all."

Erik saw it then.

The glint in T'Challa's eye as his father spoke.

How uncomfortable it must feel to have a nation no smarter than a toddler speaking to a hidden powerhouse that could wipe America from the history books if they chose to on a whim. T'Challa wanted to slap the taste out of Leslie Stahl's condescending mouth.

King T'Chaka laid out a plan of action for America, and in the subtext, Erik heard the manipulation laced throughout. Wakanda was positioning itself as the great moderator. T'Chaka was already becoming revered as an elder statesmen in Europe and China. The seductive voice of wisdom would lull America into viewing the King that way too.

The man was a cunning trickster.

"From what we've learned in the last seventy-two hours since the attack in Miami, Atlantis claims that the U.S. has overstepped its bounds with deep ocean drilling and crossing territories in international waters—"

"What bounds do they speak of exactly? Environmental concerns are legitimate points of contention, but where have they been letting us know of their world? They made an unprovoked attack near American soil… murdered American citizens, but now there is talk of drilling…"

By the end of the interview, he had Leslie laughing with him, asking him for nuggets of cute ancient African colloquialisms, and then she asked T'Challa a few questions. Princess Vivienne of Monaco came up, and that was the one time T'Challa smiled. The camera cut to a picture of the Prince and Princess having a romantic moment in France at a tennis match. The Princess looked deeply tanned with her hair in thick twists looking more Black than she ever had back in Monaco. He remembered his time with her there when he traveled with Tony Stark. He remembered having her in her bed too. And T'Challa finding out. Erik smiled knowing he had something that belonged to his rival. The man didn't even know it even as he stared at Erik while he wore dark shades to cover brooding eyes that they both shared from their bloodline.

"She fine, yo," Rasheed said as another picture of Vivienne popped up, this time showing her with her royal family on vacation in the French Riviera. She looked more ambiguous there, her mixed heritage making Leslie gush over her beauty.

The interview ended with a final shot of King T'Chaka with T'Challa by his side as they entered the U.N. building with the American Ambassador. Erik finished his oatmeal and went to their kitchen and cleaned up his dishes. King T'Chaka was reeling in supporters. What was he planning? His current public persona was so different from the ultra-isolationist stance Wakanda historically took with the outside world. Did they want to plan global dominance before Atlantis did?

His father's executioner played chess in front of an American audience and they fell for it. Erik gripped the edge of the sink to calm the shaking in his hands. He clenched and unclenched several times before he went to his room and flopped on his bed to finish work on a paper.

Things were tense on the international political scene for a few weeks, but like anything American, people went on about their business as if it didn't affect them. The Atlanteans disappeared. Congress bandied talks of war, but then videos of illegal drilling from the U.S. side showed up online and a few countries felt Atlantis was justified in flexing. No one could find the submersibles. The Atlantic Ocean was scanned, crisscrossed by subs, destroyers, and divers, but no traces of the Atlanteans were detected or found. It shook the U.S. up. But King T'Chaka's authoritative voice and knowledge of those people brought him closer to the U.S. and the U.N. He was asked to join a special council. Checkmate.

Erik kept busy with school, but he made time to listen to Disa every night. The first big snow came down, and she invited him over for another dinner. This time the meal was in honor of her ex-boyfriend Samir's birthday, and she cooked traditional Yemen foods from his mother's recipes and the man cried when she brought him into her dining room.

Platters were piled high with chicken and grilled fish with two round silver pans of fresh-baked kubana. There was lamb broth soup, carrot rice, savory peas in a tomato base, and stacks of flat bread to break into pieces for them to eat with their fingers mainly.

"Bismillah," she said and they all ate.

Disa served Turkish coffee to go with the dessert of round donut-holes fried and dipped in overly sweet liquid syrup. While the others drank wine and coffee, Samir sipped on lemon rosewater and smiled the entire time as they all feasted.

Erik liked Samir. He didn't feel weird about Disa being with him a long time ago. They were teenagers then, and it didn't sound like a serious relationship. He was Disa's first college boyfriend, and they broke up after two months knowing they were friends for life.

At the table, Samir taught Erik some Arabic words for the few utensils they used at the table. Samir and Disa were impressed with how fast Erik memorized the words. Disa corrected his pronunciation and later in her living room, she read the words of the Suras she had hanging on her wall near the TV.

"What does this one say?" he asked.

A gold and green frame that had a gorgeous Arabic script in silver hung behind her DJ set up.

"Oh, that's not from the Quran. It's a poem by Nizar Qabbani."

She read it to him in Arabic by heart and smiled.

"It says, 'Because my love for you is higher than words, I have decided to fall silent.' I hung it here because I love sharing music on my turntables, and once I get behind the wheels of steel, I don't have to talk. The music does it for me."

"What about that one?" he said pointing to another framed script.

"Hmmm, that is from Khalil Gibran. 'One day you will ask me… which is more important? My life or yours? I will say mine… and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life.' My father gave that to my mother years after they divorced. She gave it to me when I came here. It's a gorgeous frame, but the words are sad. Like my parent's marriage when I got older. Funny though… they are better friends now and spend more time together now that he's ill. I guess the thought of losing him smoothed over some of her pain from the past. I sometimes think they've fallen in love with each other again."

Her eyes glossed over the script and then she turned on some good music and conversations flowed. Erik was surprised to see Svetlana back with her husband, Matthew. He learned that Disa allowed hard conversations and her friends accepted that. There were discussions about U.S. foreign policy and speculations about the Atlanteans before there was wild dancing with more drinking and the presentation of a small cake for Samir. Samir didn't partake of alcohol, but he was drunk on his friendship with all the people present. He planted sloppy kisses on Disa's cheek and grew emotional when they sang Happy Birthday to him.

Erik savored the feeling in her home. He kept very few people close to him and he envied the ease in which Disa brought people together to relax and enjoy one another. She welcomed him among her social group and he attended more dinner parties. She didn't allow him to sit back and observe; he had to take part in conversations and defend positions that others disagreed with. Disa held his feet to the fire when he pushed back on giving too much personal information out.

It came to a head when Alexis and Kwame attended a raucous Saturday night soiree and Disa held court at the head of her dining table and congratulated Alexis on securing a fellowship in Spain for the summer. The cold February night called for hot toddies and spicy hot apple cider and Erik watched Disa gush over Alexis and brag about her mentee to all the others. Alexis admired Disa as much as Erik did, and he reached out and patted Alexis's hand. The wine he drank made him show public affection for her and Kwame didn't like it, especially when Erik gave Alexis cheeks kisses the way Disa did all her friends in greetings and departures.

Erik was surprised that Kwame never once confronted him about sleeping with Alexis. Erik ended their sexual union months ago, right after the first appearance of the Atlanteans when they all fled Disa's home like it was War of the Worlds. He had slowed down all sexual connections the past few months once he came into Disa's orbit. The dinner conversations, his studies, and his tracking Wakanda's moves at the U.N. kept him preoccupied. His physical needs took a back seat as his mind went into overdrive. Even Hollis had him thinking beyond the box in class.

Erik touched Alexis and Kwame picked up a glass of water and drained it to the bottom before he sat forward in his chair and threw Erik's business on front street.

"Is Califia Stevens your mother?"

Erik nearly broke the stem on his wineglass.

"Who is that?" Alexis asked.

Kwame glanced around the table.

"I've been listening to you speak at these dinners for months and there was something about you that made me look up some stuff—"

"Who is Califia Stevens?" Yamilet asked grabbing for her cell phone.

Erik's eyes dropped to his plate of salmon and yellow rice. His intestines knotted up. Hearing some stranger say her name out loud like that froze him. As if she were some footnote tab on a google search. His legs pushed his seat back, and he nearly bolted from the chair.

"You don't have to answer him, Erik," Disa said.

Her voice held him. Gave space for him to breathe normally once more. The knot in his guts twisted its way into his chest and anchored itself in his throat. Alexis cradled his fingers bringing the physical world back to him as he exhaled quickly.

"Oh wow," Yamilet said. Her eyes darted over to Disa.

"She's my Mom," Erik said, his voice fragile.

"The women in Brazil… the ones who started those marches for… Negra Lia…" Yamilet said.

"The Sao Paulo 4. She was one of them. Lia was my Aunt. My mother—"

"Was a powerful woman," Hollis said.

Erik's professor had been quiet but in a jovial mood all night and he and Erik shared a productive conversation before the meal comparing notes on cosmic ancestry and the latest theories on the physics of the universe. It was a heated and fascinating discussion and Erik felt at ease being around Hollis again. Probably because he viewed Erik as a helpless puppy around Disa. A non-threat.

Hollis wiped his hands on his linen napkin and took and good long hard look at Erik's face.

"Why would you bring up his mother, Kwame?" Disa asked.

"I was curious—"

"Liar," Alexis said.

"I was. He sits here at every gathering like some pompous know-it-all and never gives personal information about himself like the rest of us do. I just want to know who I'm eating with and I found out. His mother tried to kill people doing their jobs to protect people from extremists."

"Extremists?" Hollis said.

"She killed a cop."

Erik grabbed the knife near his plate and almost knocked Alexis over in her chair when he jumped up and clutched Kwame's throat. He slammed the man down on the dining table knocking away food and wine bottles as he jabbed the knife just under Kwame's left eye. The man struggled and gripped Erik's hand to release the chokehold. His eyes bulged.

"Those cops killed my aunt! They murdered my mother! Don't you ever fucking say shit about her or I'll cut your throat out right here on this table. I'll kill you!"

Disa's guests scattered from the table. Hollis rushed over and stood a safe distance from Erik. Disa stood right from her chair.

"Erik, let him go, please!" Alexis whispered behind him.

Hollis moved closer and put a gentle hand on Erik's shoulder.

"He's not worth the trouble, Erik. Your mother was not an extremist—"

"I don't want to hear her name coming from his mouth!"

"Okay… okay… it won't. Release him and he'll leave. We'll make him leave. No harm, no foul."

"I should cut your tongue out-!"

"Erik… I will make him leave. He's no longer welcome here," Disa said.

She moved over and wrapped her hand around his knife-wielding one. He felt her lips near his ear.

"Just step back. He's gone," she said.

He tensed as her fingers pulled his hand away from Kwame. Hollis removed the knife and Erik stepped away, breathing hard, his eyes wild in his sockets.

"Kwame, get your things and get out of my house."

Kwame slinked away from the table rubbing his neck. His eyes darted to Alexis, but she had her arm wrapped around Erik's waist.

"Alexis, take him to the guest room, let him calm down there. Hollis?" Disa nodded her head in Kwame's direction.

"Come on," Hollis said guiding Kwame out to the living room.

Alexis guided Erik through the house to the other side where he had never been before. The guest room was a sleek furnished bedroom with its own restroom across the hall.

"Sit," Alexis said.

Erik sat on the bed and let Alexis stroke his face with her soft hands.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" she said.

He sat in a daze. So ready to kill for his mother.

Erik heard chatter in the living room, and then Disa walked into the room.

"I messed up your gathering," he said standing up.

"Don't worry—"

"I'll leave too."

"No. You will stay here. You're in no shape to drive to the dorm right now. Alexis, can you stay here with him? I'm clearing things up with Yamilet—"

"I'll clean up. I made the mess—"

"Erik… listen to me. I need you to stay in here and relax your mind. We have everything under control," Disa said.

She left the room and closed the door behind her.

"She'll never let me come over here again," he whispered.

"Don't say that. She's very fond of you. Kwame was the asshole."

Erik pushed his body back on the cool indigo blanket and closed his eyes. He still felt his mother's ghost in his heart.

Chapter 7 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes

@soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illlest

@terrablaze514

@l-auteuse

@amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92

@purple-apricots

@blackpinup22

@hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@bugngiz

@stariamrry

@honeytoffee

@meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

@eye-raq

@writerbee-ffs

@chocolatedream30

@childishgambinaa

@mygirlrenee

@thewaysheis—awkward

@tchallasbabymama

@lahuttor

@goodieyaya

@post-woke

@soufcakmistress

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@retroxvailles

@cydneyrenee4

@nizzle-mo

@cecereads209

@childishgambinaax

#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First #Volume 3 #Erik Killmonger Fanfiction #Killmonger #Black Panther Fanfiction #Killmonger at MIT #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka #T'Chaka #T'Challa #Uzumaki Rebellion #Atlantis

40 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 5 years

Text

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 2

Written for @vfordii’s birthday....almost two months late. BUT THIS TIME I HAD A REALLY GOOD EXCUSE.

Chapter 1

Sunlight glares through the gaps in the blinds, slanting over the popcorn ceiling, and for once, since -- since everything happened, Shirayuki opens her eyes and knows exactly where she is.

Even more surprisingly, she doesn’t mind.

That’s not to say she doesn’t miss it, that even as she stares at the knobby plaster she isn’t wishing that it was tented hangings tacked over exposed rafters, that it was soft light filtering through the high window and shimmering curtains. She does, and a part of her always will, but --

But she can trade the scent of bacon and cedar and attic must for the vanilla and spice coming from the kitchen now, for the grassy smell of green tea brewing. For today, at least.

Glass jars clink open and closed, metal spoons swirl against ceramic lips, and she -- she gets up. For the first time in forever, it feels easy.

There are some things that she won’t be getting used to, not any time soon. One is how there is no longer a whole house between her and the kitchen, so when her door creaks open, Busha’s waiting, eyebrows lifted over the rim of her mug, arms crossed over the formica top of the galley’s bar.

“Well.” She sets the cup down on the counter, mouth twitching at a corner. “Someone is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning.”

It’s such a normal thing to say -- such a Busha thing to do, waiting to waylay her in the kitchen like this -- that she nearly forgets they aren’t back home, that this isn’t just every other weekend morning since she’s been a baby. Not until she sees how Busha’s eyes don’t quite settle on her, until she realizes that it’s only the creak of the door that let her grandmother know she was there at all.

“Mm,” she hums, aiming for positive but also noncommittal. Even still, Busha makes that knowing look, and even if it’s only directed in her general area instead of at her, it’s still annoying.

Shirayuki sighs, ducking into the kitchen. It’s only to be expected; when a boy invited a girl over in Busha’s day, they might as well have announced their engagement. So of course her grandmother assumes this is -- is romance, that after seventeen long years, Shirayuki finally likes a boy. She doesn’t even know his name, but Busha is already picking out china patterns, already planning out their Saturday date-nights and how he’ll come to dinner on Sundays, how they’ll go to colleges geographically close to each other and visit on long holidays and how he’ll propose the weekend of their graduation, all done up in their gowns and summa-cum-laude tassels. There will be a small, sweet wedding a year later, probably in a barn somewhere out where she grew up, and maybe even great-grandbabies --

Normal stuff. The kind of things Busha imagined for her mom, back before Mom went off and -- ah, well, had her own...less thought-out plans.

Busha starts her own humming as she bustles around the kitchen, almost unbearably pleased with herself, and Shirayuki would like to -- to straighten this out, to point out that her and Zen barely even talked as themselves last night --

But there’s no way to explain that her good mood isn’t because of Zen, that it isn’t because she kissed a boy or because she had a good night with her crush, but that -- that --

That for four hours, she was Lynet. Lynet, whose talents border both science and magic, who makes tinctures and casts spells and whose sister is trapped in their ancestral castle with an evil knight-slash-sorcerer, but at least her problems are fictional. They can be fixed.

“Where’s JaJa?” she deflects, plucking a muffin from the cooling rack. It’s still warm in her palms; she bobbles it to keep from scalding herself as she peels back the paper wrapper. The vanilla scent is even stronger now, and she can catch cinnamon and orange too, melty cranberries peeking out enticingly from the sides. “Is he still asleep?”

Busha’s mouth rucks up, annoyed. “No. He’s down around the corner for coffee.”

Shirayuki coughs into her muffin, glad her grandmother can’t see her grimace. Around the corner is Busha’s way of avoiding saying McDonalds, which is apparently where a bunch of the vets from the VFW meet every week. Ostensibly it’s some sort of coffee-cum-social-hour thing, which Shirayuki likes the sound of on paper -- after all, JaJa needs to have friends here in the city too -- but...

But she’s also not naive. If anyone misses the smell of bacon in the morning, it’s JaJa, and she has her suspicions that his friends might also be dodging the watchful eyes of wives and grown children. After all, she doubts that they’re all ordering salad, no dressing off the breakfast menu.

Busha isn’t stupid either, but she’s also not one to hurl accusations. Until she finds him with a receipt for a sausage and egg McMuffin with extra bacon, she’s happy to pretend he’s as faithful to his diet as he is to her.

“Oh right,” Shirayuki mumbles around a bite of cranberry goodness, taking the mug of green tea her grandmother holds out to her. “It’s Sunday.”

“He should be on his way back soon.” Busha settles against the counter again, smiling over the rim of her cup. “It looked like you enjoyed yourself at that...game of yours.”

Shirayuki nods, practically shoving muffin in her mouth.

“I hope you thanked that Wisteria boy for a good time,” she tells her archly. Busha clearly doesn’t think she spent four hours on a particularly rousing game of Parcheesi. “You were over there a long time.”

A full mouth saves her from having to give an answer, at least. Between four-hour make out session with a cute boy and four-hour shared fantasy adventure, Shirayuki has a good idea of what Busha would prefer to believe was taking up her time.

“I will,” she chokes out around a swallow, because well -- she’s not wrong. She should thank the Wisteria boy.

Just not the one Busha is thinking of.

Hey.

Shirayuki blinks, and behind the lids of her eyes, the letters are tattooed there in white, teasing her with their strokes and loops. It’s been -- she tilts back her head, looking at the garishly red numbers on her alarm clock -- two hours, and all she has is -- is this. Hey. Three letters she’s been staring at for so long that they’ve begun to lose all meaning.

And -- for the twentieth time -- she deletes them. Who even says hey anymore?

Everyone, probably. Shirayuki groans, dropping her head into her pillow and just -- counting. Counting probably will help. She read that somewhere, maybe. Counting and breathing.

What would really help would be knowing how to do -- this. Texting like a normal person. Having friends like a normal person.

Not exactly something she’s ever had to do before, growing up where everyone had landlines and the only places she could possibly be after school were home or one of the three houses within walking distance that had kids her age. Hanging out hadn’t required a phone, just...walking down the ramble between their houses and making sure you didn’t twist an ankle in a gopher hole.

But she lives in the city now, where people have wi-fi and kids get kidnapped or something, and at the ripe old age of seventeen years old she’s supposed to know how to -- to use all this.

The first time she texted Kihal she’d written everything in a single block of text, like an email, and been promptly told she sounded like her fifty-year-old aunt.

That is not the impression she wants to give Izana Wisteria, whose house lights respond to vocal command.

With a steeling breath, she lifts her head, and scrolls back in their chat history. It’s one of the longest she has; a couple of times she actually has to scroll and then wait for it to load. By the time she gets to the beginning, she’s feeling -- steady, emboldened.

It’s fine; she can do this. She has done this. She just needs to see how she even started this whole conversation and --

Shirayuki, I presume This is Izana Zen told me you were interested in trying out tabletop

Her head drops. This is impossible.

SOS I need help

is it boy stuff?? tell me its boy stuff

no?

lie to me and tell me its boy stuff

I mean, there is a boy? but it’s not like that?

okay good enough proceed

is hey a good way to start a conversation or is that weird?

Shirayuki sets her phone down on the bedside table, settling back against her headboard. She doesn’t -- she doesn’t need to stress about this, not like she has been the last few hours. She has plenty of homework to get ahead on; she can just...set this all aside for a minute, let Kihal get back to her. It’s not an emergency --

She springs for her phone the second it buzzes.

i mean its pretty standard, she writes, and even though Kihal isn’t sitting here, talking, Shirayuki can hear her voice going flat, dubious. is this for flirting purposes or does this have to do with your weird nerd thing.

its not a weird nerd thing. Shirayuki grimaces. Lots of people play D&D now, it’s not just -- just a nerd thing. but I wanted to thank Izana for letting me play.

jsyk this is the most wholesome and nerdy thing you have ever done and i approve of you sticking to your aesthetic like this.

Shirayuki frowns. I’m being polite

i know i love it

She sighs, flopping into her pillows. This would all be easier if she got herself into normal situations, the kind she could just use google to navigate, but there’s no WikiHows for roleplaying. Or, well, this kind of roleplaying. She’d checked, just before she had to look up how to delete internet search history.

She doesn’t even know if she should say anything. Maybe D&D is a...a Fight Club sort of situation. The first rule about non-sexual roleplay is that we don’t talk about non-sexual roleplay. See you next Saturday.

It would at least explain the lack of, you know, literature.

i think you can say hey, Kihal replies, finally. zen should have given you a primer on this or something

Her hands clench. Zen.

She’ll have to see him tomorrow.

And be normal.

She groans, throwing her pillow over her head. She not meant for this sort of pressure.

oh come on its not like he can judge he plays as a fantasy prince or whatever which is just like him btw i should have known that’s what zen wisteria does on weekends

I can still be weird somehow I shouldn’t talk too much about it but then does it seem like I’m not interested? I like playing Lynet

you are def worrying about this too much zen may be stratospherically rich but he’s an okay person or whatever im sure he’ll be cool

I’m way more worried about being the weird one

lol but wouldnt it be funny if zen turned out to be the weirdo? maybe he’ll want you to call him MY LIEGE omg

oh my goodness it would be Your Highness but oh my goodness

your pedantry is noted MILADY

There’s no reason to think he’ll be weird about it, really there isn’t.

But she can’t think of anything else as she stares up at her ceiling, tracing where the streetlight slots through the blinds.

lol what if he calls you LADY LYNET in front of like teachers, Kihal had written with an almost manic glee. what if he thinks lunch is like the ROUND TABLE omg this is too good

he didn’t before, is all she had to say, and even then, she knows it isn’t enough.

THAT YOU KNOW OF lol, Kihal replied. She hadn’t said much more on it, not until they’d said goodnight and she’d added, with an emoji that Shirayuki couldn’t help but feel like was a little too indulgent, have fun with your knight in shining armor

Shirayuki groans, rolling over. This is -- this is a tomorrow problem.

Hi. It’s Shirayuki. I just wanted to thank you for hosting this weekend I had a lot of fun

It’s while she’s watching the bare brick of her neighborhood give way to the smooth clapboard of the suburbs that she decides: she’s just going to pretend like nothing’s different. Sure, she now knows that Zen and Kiki moonlight as kingdom-saving royalty on the weekends, but -- but it’s not like that has to change anything. There’s no reason for her to assume things will be weird or -- or different, not until she’s there and it’s happening.

Her resolve lasts until her feet touch the pavement, until she sees the bronze lettering of Abel Wisteria High School stretch over the archway, and then --

Then her knees go jellied, heart fluttering a mile a minute. Maybe, if she manages to survive today, she can just convince Busha they need to move again.

Her thigh vibrates, and it takes her a long minute to realize -- her phone.

Glad to hear it

Shirayuki stares for a long minute, trying to reconcile her nerves with -- with this. Izana Wisteria texting her in the full light of day.

It was unexpectedly refreshing to have a new player I trust I will be seeing you this Saturday?

She shuts her jaw with a click. Izana -- he wants her to -- to --?

She’s being invited back. Not just as a polite end to the session, but -- but --

The phone nearly flies from her hand as someone shoves past her, and she realizes right in front of the bus drop off is probably not the best place to be having this conversation. She just has to get to class and --

She grits her teeth. She just has to get to class, and manage to be normal with Zen and Kiki too.

No problem. She -- she can text Izana Wisteria now; she can do anything.

Hopefully.

“Shirayuki”

Every hair stands on end at the sound of that laconic voice, and not for all the nice reasons it usually does. This is it, the Bridge to Terebithia precipice; this all either leads to adventure or tragedy, and she never wanted to swing across the ditch to find out --

“Shirayuki.”

Her head swivels, and Kiki is looking as perfect as she always does, jeans tucked into tall socks tucked into boots, every button on her plaid shirt in its appropriate hole in a way Shirayuki has never managed. The hand she’s raised lowers back down to the desk, no hesitation or self-consciousness in the movement, just -- the surety that she’s been seen and her attention is wanted.

She turns back to Zen, and Shirayuki just -- wishes she could be Kiki for a day. To know what being that confident was like.

And it’s that that gets her legs moving, that makes her take the swing, sliding into the desk right in front of her. Kiki spares her a glance, a friendly smile tilting her lips, and Zen --

Zen looks like he might faint.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment of working lips. “How was your --? You had a good --?”

He coughs, reddening under Kiki’s flat stare. “There was a weekend?”

“Yes?” she tries, wincing as her voice squeaks.

Kiki lets out an amused huff, folding her arms under her chest. “Zen want to ask if you had a nice weekend.”

“Oh.” She blinks, swiveling her neck toward him. “I see.”

“But he’s also aware he pretended to be King Arthur in front of you,” Kiki drawls, feet kicking up on the book rack under her chair. “And he doesn’t know if that was too weird for you.”

The tension rushes out of her all at once, and she smiles, relieved. “I had a great weekend.”

Zen’s face splits into a boyish grin, his cheeks pink. “Good. I mean, great. That’s great.”

“I’m glad we’ve gotten all that out of the way,” Kiki interjects, flat. “Maybe Zen can stop considering a last minute transfer to prep school.”

His head whips toward her, betrayal clear on his face, but -- but Shirayuki’s just so relieved that things are normal that she only laughs, only smiles and says, “I had a lot of fun. I hope I did okay?”

“Lynet was great,” Zen rushes to assure her. “Though I still think Gwenhwyfar would have been --”

“Boring,” Kiki supplies with a smirk. “It was a great call to make a character with both offensive and supportive casting -- after all, we’re all sort of...”

“Physically inclined?” Shirayuki offers. She doesn’t know exactly what all the classes do, but even from one session, she can tell whatever magic the rest of the party uses is generally for making them hit harder and better.

“That’s a gentle way to put it.” Kiki grins. “I’m looking forward to your quest, too. We’ve just been gallivanting around doing fetch quests for the past few months.”

“It’s for the people,” Zen mutters, a prince to the hilt. “It’s important.”

“Of course it is,” Kiki replies with no conviction. “But it’s about time we got something meaty.”

YES sorry autocorrect yes, I’ll be there on saturday

The enthusiasm is appreciated

I’m not imposing am I? I know I came in with a quest I don’t want to take over the game

Not at all No need to apologize for bringing in plot I admit I had been...concerned about the balance of the game A new player can upset the dynamic of a party But my fears were clearly unfounded

Oh...good

You and Obi fit in just fine

Her hands freeze over the screen. Obi. She hadn’t -- hadn’t forgotten about him, of course, not when Lynet spent a whole scene rolling around with his tiefling on the floor of her lab. It’s just -- just --

Even looking at his name makes her skin feel tight, makes her heart beat hard in her chest. And she...likes that.

Have you coordinated with Obi for this weekend? Izana asks, like -- like they’re some sort of unit. He told me you’re on the way. There is no need for you to take a bus.

Her fingers hover uncertainly. um not yet

Let me give you his number, Izana says, taking away her excuse before she can even think it. I look forward to seeing you both this weekend

She stares at the ten digits and bites down on a scream. Great, she manages. thanks

“Hold up.” Kihal’s palm waves in front of her face. “I’ve had to hear all about your nerd night insecurities re: the trust fund twins, but you’ve never mentioned cute college boy?” She sits back with a huff, arms folded over her chest. “I thought we were friends, Shirayuki.”

She wishes her skin were like Kihal’s; at least then she might have a chance of covering up the blush working its way up her neck. “I didn’t say he was cute.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kihal nips the phone from her hands, thumbs scrolling lightning fast. “Because if he wasn’t cute, you would have mentioned him before, but now you are freaking out about sharing air with him for like, tops ten minutes, so not I know he is.”

“It’s fifteen minutes,” she protests lamely. “And he did try to kill my character. He might be a jerk.”

“But still cute,” Kihal counters with a shrug. “And he already drove you home, so you know he’s not some asshole.”

“Well, yes,” she allows, hesitant. “I just don’t want to -- to inconvenience him or anything. He probably has better things to do than cart around a high schooler.”

“First, he’s going to the same nerd thing you are, so no. Second --” she drops the phone onto the table -- “doesn’t seem like it.”

hi its Shirayuki pick me up @7 on saturday?

def

She can feel the blood draining from her face. “What --?”

“Do you think he knows I mean the nerd thing?” Kihal wonders aloud. “Maybe I just got you a date.”

“That’s --”

“Man, maybe I should join your nerd night,” she mutters, leaning back on the bench. “Zen’s brother is hot too, right?”

SOS SOS SOS I don’t have anything to wear

wear? i thought this was just nerd night not a DATE

it’s not but i should wear something appropriate

what like a robe and a wizard staff or something

. . . .

i thought college boy isnt cute so it doesnt matter what you wear

it’s not about Obi being cute

oooooh so he IS cute nice

focus please its just Zen’s house is REALLY nice

omg what like the dress code is white tie by default because he’s got money

no it’s just intimidating there’s marble in the foyer, Kihal they say it foi-yay

this is like the best info I’m gonna say foi-yay a dozen times to wisteria on monday but seriously im sure whatever your wearing is fine you dress like a cute little elf naturally

is that a compliment?

if ur going to ur nerd night it is

“Shirayuki!”

She nearly drops the phone at the pound of Busha’s knock, fumbling it midair until it lands squarely in her palms. “I’m here!”

“So is your friend,” she says in that pointed tone Busha thinks is subtle. “He’s waiting.”

I gotta go, Shirayuki texts, shoving the phone into her bag. he’s here

She sprints into the kitchen, but it’s far, far too late -- Busha and JaJa are already at the door, all smiles, crowding Obi. Who looks...nice.

She’s only met him the once, but there was something about the baggy band t-shirt and torn jeans that seemed -- like him. Something in the way he slouched around in them like a second skin, kicking up his thick-soled boots on the chair across from him, like it probably didn’t cost more money than either of them had ever seen at once.

But he’s not wearing that now. Tonight he’s -- polished, button-down over a thermal shirt, non-ragged jeans, hair looking like a brush might have been briefly introduced to it before he went out the door --

It looks very...date-ish.

“Didn’t have to drive too long, did you?” JaJa is asking, tugging on his sleeve to pull him further into the apartment.

“Have you eaten yet?” Busha may not be able to see like she could before, but she can scent skinny boys. “We still have some kielbasa and cabbage on the stove. I’m sure you could have some while Shirayuki --”

Shirayuki stomps on her boots in record time, snagging a metal tin off the counter. “I’m ready!”

Obi startles, gaze jumping from Busha to her. His eyes go wide -- it’s got to be a trick of the light, how gold they look -- and he rounds his shoulders, the smallest bit.

“Hi,” he manages with a smile she might consider shy, if it wasn’t on him. “You -- you want to get going?”

“Oh, but surely you can stay for a little bit,” Busha insists, stepping aside so he can see into the kitchen. “I made cake --”

“SURE,” Shirayuki says, far too loud, pushing past her grandparents with a warning look. “I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

Obi ducks his head, letting out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, I think Izana feeds people who make him wait to the koi out back.”

She blinks. “They have koi?”

He grins. “Oh boy, you don’t even know.”

The only thing she needs to do in a car is sit, but even still, her body doesn’t seem to know what to do near Obi.

Her fingers wrap tight around the tin in her lap, the rolled metal lip digging into skin. She’d been doing well the walk down, looking at the google earth photos of Wisteria Manor Obi pulled up on his phone -- there is a koi pond, and even though she denies it, she really wouldn’t put it past Izana to feed some guests to it if they annoyed him thoroughly enough -- but now that they’re in the car, something...changes.

It’s like standing in front of the eel tank in the aquarium; she can feel the charge to air, like there’s something right on the cusp of happening but she doesn’t know what it is, won’t know what it is until -- until --

“What’s that?”

A long finger taps the lid of her tin, ting ting ting, and lightning zings down her legs, leaves them wobbly against her seat.

“Um,” she hums, trying to put her feet flat against the floor, trying to ground herself. “It’s -- cookies?”

A laugh huffs out of him, his eyes rounding. “Wow, trying bribery this early in the game? You that worried about your chances?”

“No!” she yelps, clutching the rim until the rolled lip leaves divots in the creases of her fingers. “It’s a host gift! It’s -- it’s polite.”

His teeth bear down in a grin. “That’s precious.”

She can feel the heat on her face, knows she’s burning from ear to ear and probably from chin to hair as well. “It’s not!”

His eyes flick over to her, and in the dark all she sees is gold before he turns back to the road. “Okay,” he says, insincere.

Her lips press down, a bulwark against her impulse to explain herself, to tell him this is the way she was raised, that she doesn’t understand how everyone here thinks of customary politeness as something -- something cute and rustic. Something exceptional.

That’s not really small talk material. She barely knows him. He doesn’t need all that -- that baggage from her, not when he’s doing her a favor.

She sneaks a glance at him from the corner of her eyes, taking in the brushed hair, the nice clothes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head.

His head swivels to stare at her for a moment. “What? Why?”

“For, you know.” She waves her hand nebulously behind them. There’s no graceful way to say for interrupting your date. “Back there.”

Narrow eyebrows arch toward his hairline. “Oh. Don’t worry about it.”

She grimaces. Sure, he can say that, but it’s not like --

“It’s cute.”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Your grandparents,” he clarifies, starkly reminding her of the embarrassing circus by the front door, how Busha had tried to feed him -- “It’s cute. Them seeing you off.”

“Oh,” she sighs, trying desperately not to sound mortified. “Yes. That. Great.”

His eyes slant toward her, eyebrow cocked. “Was there something else?”

“I just...” She bites her lip. “I only mean that -- that I’m sorry you had to come pick me up.”

His brows furrow. It’s hard to tell in this light, but for a brief moment, illuminated by streetlight, she thinks she sees -- uncertainty. Maybe even something like regret.

“I mean, I’m grateful!” she assures him. By the dubious look on his face, she doubts it’s helping. “But since you were coming from -- from --” your date -- “somewhere.”

That makes him blink, make his eyes round in surprise. “Coming from somewhere?”

“Yeah.” She gestures at him, trying to encompass the whole...look. “You’re dressed up really nice.”

It’s not like she knows him well, and Obi’s skin in that sort of copper tone that makes sorting out this sort of thing difficult, but --

There’s some pink up on his cheeks. She’s almost certain of it. “I -- I always look like this.”

It’s not like she can really say with any authority how he dresses typically; aside from tonight, she’s only seen him the once, but -- but there was an easy casualness to the way he wore his torn up jeans, work boots crossed over at the ankle; and these clothes --

Well, it looks like someone’s got a rod down their spine. Or maybe -- a book perched on their head. Some reminder of what good posture looks like.

“But last week --”

“I was in a hurry.” His shoulders round over the wheel, making his voice little more than a mumble. “I dress nice all the time.”

She knows her mouth is hanging open, just slightly, but words are jockeying for place on the tip of her tongue; things like, I don’t think you’d say ‘dress nice’ if that was your normal.

“Ask anyone,” he snaps, defensive. “I do.”

She’s not sure what makes her want to prod at him like this, but she’s ready to, ready to tease him about how only Izana knows him, and he’d never spill his secrets unless it benefited him in some way, but she’s interrupted by the looming gates of Wisteria Manor. Obi leans out, getting them buzzed through, and by the time he’s back in the car the moment feels...gone.

It’s fine. Maybe she can suggest Beaumains gets a change of outfit too.

“What’s that smile for?”

She startles, twisting in her seat, right into where he’s leaning inquisitively over the center console. “Oh, um...”

It would be rude to tell him that she was daydreaming about how to tease him. Also, she seems to have misplaced her ability to word good getting so close to his grin. “I just...like smiling?”

He lets out a huff of a laugh as he turns away, throwing the car into drive as the gates clang open. He says something as they pull away, but something happens in the vicinity of the engine, a grindy clunking that sounds like gears failing to catch for a solid second, and she can only just make out, “...trouble.”

Her instinct is to open her mouth, to protest, but --

But instead she settles back against the seat, leaning her hand casually against her chin. Trouble.

“--do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

All she can picture is sharp, white teeth. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met --”

Maybe it would be all right to be trouble. At least for him.

The Wisterias have a valet for their guests -- Obi argues with him on the veranda, reluctant to hand over his keys, even if it’s just to a well-loved Honda that probably saw its best days when Clinton was president -- but it’s still Izana who greets them at the door, polite smile firmly in place.

“Are those cookies?” he asks mildly, after inviting them to take off their hoodies, though he doesn’t readily provide a location to which they’ll go.

“Yes!” Shirayuki pipes, hunching her shoulders over the tin. “I thought -- it would be polite?”

Izana takes the tin as if he half expects it to explode. “I didn’t expect you to be the sort that resorted to bribes.”

“It’s not!” she sputters out, clapping her hands to her cheeks, wishing it could keep them from burning. “I just -- it’s a host gift.”

“A host gift,” Izana echoes softly, staring down at the snowman on the top. She probably could have found a less...festive box, but at the time, she’d thought it seemed friendly. “How lovely.”

For a moment, they all stand awkwardly in the hall. Then Izana glides into movement, gesturing to the hall beyond with a hand and nod of his head.

“Come on then,” he says, tucking the tin under his arm. “We’re just about to start.”

Shirayuki slips in front of him, headed toward the basement door as the boys fall into step behind her. They lag behind, just slightly, but not so much that she can’t hear Izana remark, “I didn’t realize you had plans tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Obi returns, cagey.

She can hear Izana’s eyebrow raise. “You’re all dressed up.”

She shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t, but --

“This is how I always look!”

She covers it with a cough, barely.

“Oh,” Izana says, so mild. “Of course. How silly of me to forget.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Dungeons & Dragons AU #my fic #ans #there is a stunning lack of actual tabletop play in this #but Shirayuki is absolutely one of those people who would spend a weekend worried #that maybe she was weirder than the people who have been playing Arthurian Knights flavored D&D for the past three years #also you may all rest assured #that obi spent nearly an hour trying to decide what to wear #and probably texted torou like a half dozen times #wondering if looking nice was too much #and Torou spent the whole time laughing at the fact that SHE'S SEVENTEEN OBI #you spend YEARS telling me you don't want to date ever #and then decide you want to date the one girl YOU CAN'T DATE #IT'S NOT THAT I WANT TO DATE HER TOROU I JUST THOUGHT MAYBE I SHOULD LOOK NICE #torou: uh-huh. SURE

11 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 4 years

Text

“Wet Sugar” [Part 28 of 30]

Summary: Erik and Yani’s lives are about to change permanently....

youtube

"I'm a fish in an aquarium Cut off from the outside world The water's always lukewarm And I observe

Hardly anyone takes notice of me But I am, here Quietly floating My lips, moving Just like yours

Always in motion You, never seem to rest Through my reflection I watch you Why do you keep me here, like this…"

Me'Shell Ndegeocello – "Aquarium"

"Come on Sweet Pea, it's okay. Come out from there…"

Yani stuck her head under Sydette's bed and saw her daughter curled up with her doll Miss Penny in the fetal position.

"It's just a bad man on tv it's not real," Yani said.

She reached her hands out for Sydette and the girl crawled from under the bed and sat on Yani's lap.

"Oh, I know that sound scared you. We'll watch something else."

Yani carried Sydette back into their living room and switched the channel to a cooking show. She wasn't expecting a violent news report to interrupt the comedy show they were watching. Her daughter eased back into her chest but Yani could feel her trembling. Touching Sydette's face, Yani kissed her daughter's forehead.

Two months and her daughter was still having night terrors and panic attacks because of Huntsman and their last night at the compound. Even Yani felt a little anxious when she walked around her apartment at night, afraid that someone would come to the door, break-in, and finish what they started on that night. Killmonger said he handled all those men. She wasn't so sure sometimes, especially knowing about Klaue's different minions from all over the world.

It had only gotten worse with Sweet Pea.

Loud sounds on tv or in real life brought either sudden tears or her baby running to hide. Sydette had finally stopped going to the front door and trying to find Killmonger. Yani no longer heard her baby girl asking, "We go find Baba now?"

Yani asked her mentor at the hospital for help finding a therapist that dealt with children and she was able to recommend a wonderful doctor for Sydette. The therapist was a friendly older white man with gentle milky blue eyes. Yani told the partial truth of what had happened to them. Sitting in the man's office while Sydette played with some dolls the therapist had in his space, she explained that they had been robbed while staying in a rental property with her boyfriend. She told him about the guns that were used on them, and she even explained how she and Sydette escaped on the beach. That was all she revealed. Afterward, she sat back and watched the man speak to her daughter just to get to know her. The therapist wrote a lot down, and when it was over, they set up appointments to have Sydette come in twice a week.

Once the therapist gained Sydette's trust after two visits, he had her use dolls to tell him what happened from her point of view. Sydette was so talkative and descriptive.

The man had Sydette coloring while she talked along with more doll play, and there were also sessions with Yani talking with her little girl to help develop coping skills when Sydette did run and hide.

Holding her child on her lap, Yani did what the therapist told her to do. She acted calm and regulated her own breathing so that Sydette copied her and brought down her anxiety. She acknowledged what Sydette was feeling and let her baby dictate how the conversation would go. It was hard though. Sydette tended to ask the same questions about the bad guys coming back. Yani often caught her acting out the attack with her own dolls, and it broke her heart. Bedwetting increased and going to bed at night was a difficult ritual and her daughter no longer wanted to sleep alone in her room. Yani allowed her to stay with her.

Sydette tended to self-soothe frequently with her thumb in her mouth, something she had never done before. She also dragged around a blanket that Killmonger bought for her and twisted her fingers frequently along the edges of the pink satin material whenever she saw something that reminded her of that night.

Sydette reached up and touched the curly lace front Yani wore. She was switching out three different wigs to cover up the scar on her head from the bullet that struck her. It hadn't healed all that well and the scar brought back bad memories.

"How are you feeling now Sweet Pea? Sad? Scared…?"

"Sad."

"Oh yeah? It's ok to feel sad."

"And scared."

"Mama is right here for you. You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head and pressed her face into Yani's chest.

They sat together until Sydette tugged on her pants.

"You need to change your pull-ups?"

"Yes."

Yani closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Sydette had been potty-trained, but now she was back to wearing pull-ups again because of so many accidents during the day.

"Come on."

Yani walked her to the bathroom and cleaned her up. After replacing the pull-ups she made sure to get them back on their evening routine. Making dinner together. Pork n' beans and hot dogs. Yani sliced up cooked wieners and let Sydette drop them into a pot of beans mixed with barbecue sauce and brown sugar. Keeping a daily routine helped Sydette a lot, but Yani was worried that Sydette would never get better.

Yani felt that her own therapy sessions were less important than getting her daughter back on track.

Plus….she had another concern that was twisting up her world.

And she needed to talk to Twyla about it and no one else.

###

Linda's eyes showed no glimmers of shock, surprise, or any concern at all.

Erik arrived in Sweden after a two-week trip of seeing relatives and solidifying his plans to take out Klaue en route to Wakanda. Linda picked him up at the airport and her enthusiasm at seeing him was the best Academy Award-winning performance he had ever experienced. He hugged her and allowed her to kiss his cheek, but then he went straight into work mode.

"How was your flight?" she asked.

They stood by the luggage carousel and waited for Erik's duffle bag and metal suitcase.

"Fine. How's Klaue?"

"Good. Calm actually, which is not normal for him. He seems pretty confident now that you have landed."

He grabbed his duffle as Linda picked up his suitcase. She ushered him to a cab outside and Erik watched her closely. Her eyes flicked over the attaché that Erik held in his hand.

"Things good with your family?" she asked.

"Cool breezy. I'm ready to get to work."

Her eyes were playful and Erik tried to keep his face neutral, but he felt himself grinding his teeth together.

The two-story hideout in Sweden was pretty swanky. Isolated and guarded by a new crew of security that Erik didn't know. Pure muscle men that Klaue planned on taking to Korea with them.

Erik handed over the attaché that Klaue needed, and he learned that Klaue was using it to essentially blackmail the C.I.A. into buying the vibranium from him. Linda acted nonchalant when she saw Klaue getting what she wanted in his hand.

Settling down into tracking the artifacts that would eventually arrive in London, Erik observed Linda's behavior with much more intensity. There might be a Plan B to her treachery. She stayed on several computers for twelve hours a day, and he never caught her sneaking off to try and contact anyone. The moment she saw Erik, she had to know her plans to rob Klaue had been foiled. Erik was alive and in her face. It didn't matter to him that she thought Yani and Sydette were accidental collateral damage. She would have to pay for what she had done.

Rising early one morning, Erik stepped out onto a patio and made a call to his Aunt Serah on his personal cell.

"JaJa."

Serah's voice sounded happy to hear from him.

"Can you face chat, or nah?"

"I am walking into my apartment now."

Erik switched to audio and video and adjusted the earbuds he wore.

"You look good," she said.

"Busy, but I'm maintaining."

"Bakari and Dante said they enjoyed seeing you."

"It was good to be home."

"How can I help you?"

He watched his Aunt take a seat in her kitchen.

"I need you to do something for me. And when I ask you to do this, don't ask why."

Her eyes took him in and she drew in a deep breath.

"What is it?"

"When the London exhibit hits, I don't want you to be there for the first week of the opening. Call in sick."

His face was serious and he waited for her to push back and be nosey as she was prone to be.

"A week?"

He nodded.

It had to be a week. It would take a few days before the arrival for Linda to get in with a job and start taking over surveillance. Erik had already shown their micro-crew the layout for the museum and also the main players. He couldn't leave his Aunt out of the staff photos he showed everyone, but he could keep her away from what they were planning to do.

"I have some vacation time stored up."

"I will let you know what week to leave," he said.

"JaJa—"

"Auntie…please…"

His eyes darted around to make sure he still had privacy.

"Fine. I will do it."

"Thank you. I have to go now. I'll chat with you soon."

She blew him a kiss and Erik went to find Linda.

He found her on her laptop posted up near Klaue in the dining room. She was creating a fake visa and London I.D. for herself.

Klaue sat staring at his own laptop while drinking his third cup of coffee.

"Ross is ready for the transaction," Klaue said.

"I found a plane to get us out. We can jump to Japan, and then Indonesia—" "You take care of all of that with Limbano. I'm working on getting our money upfront before the trade-off. Any word on when the exhibit is happening? I really don't want this to drag out."

"A few months. Be patient."

Klaue smacked Erik's shoulder and sipped on his fresh brew.

"Pre-paid gigs now. Impressive," Erik said taking a seat next to Klaue. He poured himself coffee from the pot sitting on the dining table.

Linda looked at him and the curl of a smile on her lips made him want to punch her. He needed to find something to do or else he would reveal his hand.

"Going for a walk," Erik said.

He left the house and walked around the grounds. The air smelled clean and it helped him clear his head.

He was ready to move.

Being in Sweden gave him time to watch the news on the regular. King T'Chaka would be at the Vienna International Center to help bring about the ratification of the Sokovian accords. Erik hoped the man would return to Wakanda in time for him to stomp him out. He didn't want to challenge the throne while his Uncle was out of the country. He needed him and T'Challa there in person. It would look like a reckless power-grabbing coup d'etat if Erik ran through Wakanda while they were away. No…he needed to follow the letter of the law in his father's homeland. Reading his father's journals, he learned of N'Jobu considering making a play for the throne before he was murdered. It wasn't enough to be a rebel. True power was claiming the throne with a legitimate justice claim. He wanted to kill T'Chaka and T'Challa on their home turf in front of their people. Under their own laws. Their rules. There would be no questioning of his ascension to the throne with their blood on his hands.

Blood on his hands…

His thoughts turned to Yani and Sydette.

It still pained him to think of them. God knows he tried to put them far in the back of his mind as he could, but he couldn't stop the occasional random memories that came at him. A certain odor in the house would remind him of a meal he cooked for his girls. A song on the radio put him back into the kitchen of Klaue's house with Sydette holding onto his hands and dancing as Yani fussed at them for being in her way as she cooked. As hard as he tried to stay busy and mentally occupied, they would creep into his psyche. His trip back to the states helped a lot when he visited his family, but the moment he stepped on the plane to Sweden he fell into a funk. Seeing Linda only brought the island back into sharp relief.

Erik walked back into the house to find some good liquor. He needed to drown his thoughts.

Stay the course.

Focus.

###

Yani stirred in a handful of potatoes into the fish soup she made on Twyla's stove. The fragrant home-made broth she fixed made her own mouth water.

"Don't put no okra in it. I nuh want to feel that slime in my mouth," Twyla said.

"Too late," Yani called out.

"Argh!" Twyla groaned.

"I didn't put a lot in. Barely a handful."

Yani put the soup on simmer and washed her hands.

Sydette played with two new Barbie dolls her paternal grandmother bought for her on the floor. The tv was on a cartoon and Twyla sat on her couch flipping through a fashion magazine.

"You alright?" Twyla asked.

"Yeah."

"You look funny…"

Yani glanced down at Sydette.

"Can we talk in the kitchen?" Yani asked.

Twyla eyed her and then tossed her magazine on the couch. They left Sydette to her dolls.

Twyla lifted up the lid on the soup and took a big whiff.

"Smells like Auntie's."

"Be done soon…Twyla…?" Yani laced and unlaced her fingers together.

Her cousin sat in a chair next to her.

"Yeah?" Twyla said.

"I'm in trouble. I…I messed up…"

"What happen?"

"Don't be vex…"

Yani's hand instinctively went to her belly.

Twyla's head tilted to the side. Her eyes got big and then she sucked her teeth.

"I don't want to hear that…Yani…last time yuh ask mi not be vex…oh dammit cuz…yuh had Sydette…"

Yani's hand covered her eyes and she felt fat tears squeeze from her lids.

Twyla jumped up from her seat and stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway to check on Sydette. She turned back to Yani.

"All this stuff you two are dealing with, and now…yuh telling me you carrying that man's baby?"

Twyla sat back down on the chair and touched Yani's hand.

"I'm not trying to be mean…I'm just. Dammit. I was worried about this happening."

"I'm not keeping it."

Yani wiped her face.

"We said we wouldn't have no baby together. I'm not going to term. I made an appointment in the states. I need you to keep Sydette for me. I'm going to fly to Florida. There's a clinic in Miami that will help me deal with this. I just need you to keep quiet, and watch my Sweet Pea."

"You're going by yourself?"

"Yeah. I don't want anyone to know. Just you."

Twyla squeezed Yani's hand.

"I didn't mean to sound like a bitch about it."

Yani shrugged.

"How far along are you?"

"Two months."

Yani stood up and went to the stove.

She lifted the lid on the soup and stirred it, needing something to do. Needing to be away from Twyla's eyes.

They hadn't been careful.

Especially for the last month they were together. A part of her thought she wanted it to happen. As careful as she had been in the beginning with him, they had become careless in the end. Her rigid birth control taking had slipped and she had no one to blame but herself. She hadn't been taking her pills at the same regular times she always had. The early morning was her normal time, but sometimes she took them in the afternoon, or at night. They had set themselves up for failure. Especially when she allowed him to ejaculate inside of her so often. She had irregular cycles and thought this was another scare like last time. She ignored the first month thinking the stress from the attack was the cause.

She beat herself up. His last few words to her was to not let anything stop her from going to school. Now she was carrying his seed and breaking every promise she made to herself. Killmonger was just as responsible, but now he was out of her life.

"No one can know about this, Twyla."

"My mouth is shut. I'll keep Sydette for you."

Yani covered the soup again. She felt Twyla's arms go around her waist, her cheek pressed close to hers.

"I'll carry this weight with yuh cuz. Okay? No worries."

Yani's head dropped down. Twyla turned her around and Yani buried her face in her cousin's neck.

"I can't go backward," she whispered into her cousin's skin.

"When are you flying out?"

"Next week. Thursday through Sunday."

"You shouldn't go alone. I'll go with you. I'll call in sick to work—"

"I don't want—"

"Calm down…calm down. We'll get Monice to watch Sydette. We'll tell her we're going to visit Kendall. We can see him when we get there, then disappear. He'll be busy doing his club dates and no one will suspect anything if we actually don't see him. It's just a Miami girls trip. Dry your eyes."

Yani nodded.

She was happy that Twyla would come with her. She didn't want to go alone, but she wanted to stay discreet.

"Mama…"

Sydette stood in the doorway and Yani wiped her eyes. Painting a wide smile on her lips she grabbed bowls from the cupboard.

"Ready for some fish tea, love?"

Sydette nodded.

"It'll be okay," Twyla said.

Yani hoped so.

###

Erik's hands slid up her thighs.

They were browner from the sun and so warm to the touch that Erik found himself heavy sighing as he touched her.

The sun beat down on his back and he could feel the hot searing heat making his keloids tingle.

She tried to wiggle back from him and he dragged her legs back to him.

"Nah…get back here. I want you right now. Just like this."

He used his strength to lock her legs down, and when he sank down into her, her lusty shouts made him smile.

Sweat dripped down from his face and onto hers. He threw his head back and a hard exhale fell from his mouth.

"Fuck…baby…!"

Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him, like she was trying to convey something to him on a deeper level.

The muscles in his ass clenched tight and his voice cracked when she said his name in his ear.

"Erik…"

He bolted up from the bed.

"Shit," he gasped, his fingers clutching his sheets.

Glancing around the bed, Erik saw that he was alone in his room. He shut his eyes tight and caught the fading sensations of being with Yani once more. Falling back onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. The warm tingling sensation on his skin disarmed him. He actually felt her hands on him. He could smell her scent still. Lucid dreams had happened to him before, but this one was much too powerful. His hand drifted to his groin and the erection that greeted him there was slick with his semen. He gripped his dick and the throbbing in his hand surprised him and he found himself ejaculating while being awake.

"Ah, fuck…"

Fingers wet, skin drenched in sweat, Erik rolled his face into his pillow and fought the urge to reach out to her. Although his body was yearning for the sexual contact, Erik just wanted to lay up with her and hold her. He missed the weight of Sweet Pea on his chest and Yani snuggled against him.

Erik dragged himself off the bed to clean up the nocturnal emissions. Red eyes greeted him in the bathroom mirror. Had he been crying while dreaming? His heart thudded in his chest and he touched the left side to feel the sensation. His gut told him something was wrong.

He grabbed his laptop and sat back on the bed.

Using an old avatar, he tried to check her social media, but she had deleted everything. It was smart on her part. Kept her off the radar. Twyla's accounts were locked, and Kendall's had become strictly business. When he typed in her name only pictures of her from Kendall's or Chez's fans popped up and they were very few compared to when she had been active online.

His fingers itched to call Twyla, but he refrained.

It wasn't right to try and bounce in and out of her life. She had money. She had support. She would do what she had to do to take care of herself and Sydette.

He shut down his laptop and went outside to walk the grounds. One of Klaue's new security team eyed him hard when he stepped to the rear of the house. Erik waved him off and continued meandering under the moonlight. The acute sensations of feeling Yani's presence had finally faded.

But something tugged at his spirit.

Something felt amiss.

###

Yani sat wearing a paper medical gown in a room filled with five other women dressed the same.

They all sat in a silent queue that they probably never thought they would find themselves in.

Yani kept her head down and stared at her bare feet encased in sandals. A woman sitting adjacent from her stared at her head, and she regretted not wearing one of her wigs. She still felt very self-conscious about the scar. Only part of the hair grew back and the rest was small but vivid scar tissue. Shiny like one of Killmonger's keloids.

Her heart jumped when she thought of him. She worried the thin material of the medical gown with her fingers as her nerves ratcheted up. A thin Latino looking woman was called to follow a Doctor's assistant and Yani could feel the collective anxiety from all the other women and herself as they watched the woman go through a door that closed with a loud bang. She wished she could text Twyla just to have something to do to occupy her mind, but her cousin was posted up at the hotel they were staying at awaiting her call for when the procedure was done.

Procedure.

Yani closed her eyes.

When she first found out she was pregnant with Sydette she was so ready to go to a clinic and terminate. Fidgeting in her seat, she couldn't imagine doing that. But that was only because she had Sweet Pea now, knew her, loved her. It seemed like such an easy thing to do back then especially when she was so angry with Chez and how that pregnancy came to be.

This one was different. It was an accident. A loving accident.

Her tummy flip-flopped and she felt her leg shake a bit with nerves. Another woman was called to go away. Yani was next if they were going in order as they had been.

An older white woman with tight crows feet around her eyes opened the door soon enough and looked Yani in the eye. Yani stood up and tried to close the back of her gown that had begun to stick to her backside from nervous sweat.

She was taken into a sterile room and asked to lay back on a cool blue gynecology chair with a protective white hygienic cover. The assistant helped her place her legs in some stirrups and adjusted her backrest for comfort.

Yani felt her blood pressure rise up and her breathing grew erratic.

The assistant's voice was raspy as she spoke from a protective mask.

"Try to relax. I'm going to place Misoprostol against your cervix. It will soften it for us, and then in two hours the doctor will come in and we'll start. Okay?"

Yani nodded but when the woman touched her thigh to let her know she was about to proceed, Yani tensed up and her hands went to her stomach and covered it.

"Stop, please."

The assistant stared at Yani and pulled away from her.

"You need a moment?"

Yani nodded and felt the small prick of a tear in her eye. She covered her face with her right hand.

"I'll come back—"

"I'm nervous."

The assistant gave a small sigh and when she was about to say something more, a Black woman with a short gray 'fro walked in.

"She's nervous," the assistant said.

Yani watched the Black woman approach her side. The woman touched her arm and gave it a soft pat. Her hand was warm.

"It's alright," the woman said.

"I'm sorry—"

"No need for you to be sorry. This isn't easy for any woman. Even the ones who act like it's no big deal. I'm the doctor who will be working with you. How would you like for me to proceed?"

The doctor reached out for her hand, and Yani accepted the comfort.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head back and exhaled.

###

Twyla drove to the side of the non-descript building and Yani walked to their rental car. She climbed into the passenger seat and burst into tears.

"Oh…cuz…it's alright."

Twyla caressed her scalp and turned Yani's face toward her. "I couldn't do it."

"What?"

Yani shook her head and covered her mouth.

"You didn't-?"

"No."

Twyla held Yani's hand.

"They are going to kill me back home."

"No. Disappointed…yes. But they will love this one like Sydette."

"Yuh disappointed with me?"

"I don't want to see you struggle again. You are supposed to be a doctor, Yani. It just gets harder with two babies."

"Yuh think I should abort this one?"

"I can't make that choice for you."

"They had my legs up and were prepping me and I just…I thought…this was an accident, but it didn't have to be a mistake. I know it don't make sense, and everyone will think I'm just a stupid woman who can't keep her legs shut. I want to be selfish for this child, for its father's sake. Killmonger…he's a good man. We all know he ah bad man when him with Klaue, he said it himself. Him clear on that. But I know he wants to be a good man. In his own way. I don't know where he is, but I want to have this good. This baby is good. Hear mi?"

"I hear you, Yani."

"I have enough money for now. It will just take me a little longer to finish school. But I won't have to struggle like before."

Yani wiped her eyes again.

"I want him to have something good in the world. I want to keep my baby."

Twyla stared out of the window.

"He was so loving to us, Twyla. I know you think I'm stupid for this—"

"I never said that. It's just hard having a child alone. It's why I never did it."

Yani snuck a glance at her cousin.

"You ever regret your decision with Devon?"

"No. The choice was easy for me. It turned out to be the best thing for me. I won't tell yuh what to do. This your decision."

Twyla regarded her face with concern.

"Once we leave here, there's no going back, Yani. I mean, you could make another appointment—"

"No. I've made up my mind. My parents are going to hate me, no matter what you say, but it's what I want to do."

"Crazy gyal. Lord ah mercy I can already hear Auntie sucking her teeth."

Yani smiled even as she felt new tears falling down her cheeks.

She was accustomed to working hard her entire life. She'd just have to be on the grind even harder for Sydette, school, and this little one.

"Can yuh come with me to tell Auntie? I want her to know before my parents. I have to get my house in order."

"Be ready for her to have a fit…although…"

"Although what?" Yani asked, hesitation in her voice.

"She really liked that big nigga."

Yani's lips trembled and Twyla squeezed her hand again.

"She really did," Yani agreed.

"I really liked him too. Lord, here we go again!"

Twyla started the car and Yani rested her head in her seat and closed her eyes.

###

Twyla stood in the kitchen doorway as Yani sat on a loveseat with Sydette seated next to her.

"Yuh understand what Mama is saying? You will be a big sister," Yani said.

"In there?" Sydette said pointing to Yani's belly.

"Yeah, the baby is in there. I'll get a big stomach like Sandrina."

"Can I talk to the baby?"

"Anytime you want."

Sydette leaned forward pressing her ear to Yani's stomach.

"You in there baby? Can yuh hear me?"

"You like being a big sister?"

Sydette nodded.

Yani's eyes swept over to her mother and her Aunt Leona. Her mother's face was tight, but she found strength in Leona's firm stance that Yani's mother not scold her or talk down to her. Leona herself was disappointed at first, but then she immediately steeled herself to support Yani when she told the rest of the family. Everyone knew who the daddy was, and they all knew the man was never coming back.

"The baby sleep in my room with me?"

"Yes, love. When it gets a little bigger."

"Will I have a brother or a sister?"

"We won't know until it gets here. What do you want me to have?"

"A brother."

Paula stood up and walked over to Yani, taking a seat next to Sydette.

"Your life is in your hands—"

"Mommy—"

"Let me finish. We didn't do right by you the first time…when you had Sydette—"

"Don't—"

"Listen. Your Daddy and me saw how hard you worked to raise your child on your own. I'm sorry we were so hard on you. We nuh treat yuh how we should have and we can't change that. But we can be better this time. I'm not ashamed of you, Yani. I know yuh think that. Yuh just make things tough on yourself and we don't want you to struggle like we did raising alla you girls. I'm sorry…"

"Mommy. Forget that—"

"Yes. Forget all of that past stuff and let's focus on getting this new pickney here healthy and in one piece," Leona said.

Sydette jumped down from the couch.

"Where yuh going, Sweet Pea? Yani asked.

"I have to use the bathroom."

Yani watched her daughter run to the bathroom on her own.

The evening was pleasant and her mother cooked dinner for all of them. Yani ate her fill of beef patties with fried rice and Sydette spent the night in their bed touching her stomach and talking to her sibling with soft whispers.

###

"JaJa."

"Auntie."

Erik could see on his cell that she was standing outside of the Museum of Great Britain.

"The exhibit arrives in July. The opening will be on 15th."

"Thank you Auntie."

"I put in my request for vacation time."

"Good."

Her sharp eyes took in his face.

"Whatever you are about to do…be safe."

"Always."

Erik hung up and turned his eyes back to the small touchpad he watched outside on the backyard patio.

King T'Chaka sat in the United Nations, his voice confident as he addressed the assembly. How fitting that he should speak of peace and harmony among countries when Erik was preparing to bring that work to his own country's doorstep.

How fitting indeed.

Chapter 29 Here

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30

#wet sugar #killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens #n'jadaka #black panther fanfiction #uzumaki rebellion's pantherverse

99 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 4 years

Text

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Vol. 2 Chap. 28

Summary: N’Jobu and Califia take Erik back to Sau Paulo, Brazil after major changes in Oakland...

youtube

"This world is still afloat No, not in Noah's boat We've only lost the vision Of the stars we're meant to be

Another broken heart Another lesson learnt Another harvest eaten Another night is gone A new day's begun Even your dreams they can be real"

Zero 7—"This World"

Califia watched her son write furiously in his journal.

Erik spent time sitting at their kitchen table most evenings writing and sketching just like his father. He was excited and antsy and she hadn't seen her son this happy in weeks. Sitting across from N'Jobu, Erik seemed to be in a world of his own.

When N'Jobu sat Erik down to give him just a tiny bit of their future plans, their son beamed with satisfaction. They both had no idea that the boy was unhappy with Oakland and his life there. Every day Black life wore Erik down, and instead of dealing with a child sad about leaving behind friends and family, Erik was eager to go far away. N'Jobu didn't tell Erik the possible troubles that awaited them. That would come in time. He was only told that they would be moving out of the country in a year and that he should not talk about it with anyone, not even close family.

Califia wanted to reveal their plans to her father and grandmother when they were closer to leaving. Nana Jean's health was a consideration for travel, and Califia had to prepare herself for the reality that she would possibly have to leave her and Dante behind if Nana was not up to the drastic change.

Erik was watching her.

Califia caught Erik's eye at the table as his busy hand paused in mid-scribble.

"Erik?" she asked.

N'Jobu stopped writing and stared at their son too.

"I want to go march for Auntie Lia," Erik said.

N'Jobu's eyes regarded Califia's.

The anniversary march.

Activists in Sao Paulo planned a huge memorial march for Negra Lia with the blessing of her family. Soliel and Aunjanue were part of the organizing happening there, and Califia wanted to attend that march too but there was the possibility of them moving at a moment's notice if this man N'Jobu trusted acted sooner. What was his name? Klaue?

N'Jobu put down his pen and looked at Erik.

"Are you sure you can handle going back there?" he asked.

Erik nodded.

"I want to be there. Marisol is going to march. I want those killers to know we aren't afraid of them."

N'Jobu glanced back at Califia.

"And you?" he asked.

"I feel ready to go back. That's our family. It will give us some closure," she said.

"I might not be able to go with you if things happen…I would like to be there too, but if I get word-"

"It's okay-"

"I can't say that I like the idea of you both being there again. I understand why you want to go, but…"

He stared down at his journal.

"If I am able to go, I will do so," he finally said.

Califia sauntered over to the table and sat on N'Jobu's lap. She kissed his forehead, and he raised his head up and pressed his lips onto hers.

"Aw, man…," Erik whined.

"What?" N'Jobu said.

"Should I leave?" Erik asked.

"Boy, what?" Califia said.

"You two start kissing and then…eww," Erik teased while making a face at them.

N'Jobu grinned.

"One day, Son, you will be grateful to be able to do this with a woman," he said.

"Y'all do it too much though."

"Mark my words," N'Jobu said.

His lips gave tiny smooches all over her cheeks and nose. Erik rolled his eyes and continued writing.

The house phone rang and N'Jobu continued kissing on Califia.

"I guess I'll get it," Erik said sliding off of his chair and padding over to the kitchen wall phone. Califia slipped N'Jobu a little tongue while Erik was gone.

"You keep doing that and we'll have to go upstairs," N'Jobu whispered in her ear as his tongue traced the curves of her left ear.

"Promise?" she said.

"Mom!"

Erik's voice made Califia jump off of N'Jobu's lap.

"What is it?"

Erik held the wall phone to her.

"It's Grandpop, Nana's in the hospital," Erik said.

###

N'Jobu watched Califia pace the floor outside Nana's hospital room. Dante and Erik sat on chairs against the hallway wall.

"Babe, sit down," N'Jobu said patting the empty chair next to him.

Califia kept checking her cell phone.

"He should've been here by now with them," she said.

"Junie probably got caught in traffic…Califia, please, sit," he said.

Nana's doctor came out of the room.

"You all may go back in. She may be a little lethargic because of the painkillers."

Filing into the room, they surrounded Nana and her hand reached out for Erik.

"It's okay, Nana," Erik said.

His son stood close to her bed and held her hand tight. Dante stroked his mother's forehead.

"They're downstairs! I'm going down to help bring her things up," Califia said.

"I can do that," Dante said.

"It's okay, Daddy. Nana, I'm going to be right back."

Califia leaned over and kissed her grandmother's cheek. Nana touched her arm, and her feeble hands shook. Califia stroked the woman's fingers and left the room.

"N'Jobu…"

Nana's soft voice propelled him to push a chair to her side. Erik stayed standing next to him.

"I'm here Nana…right here," he said.

"Come closer."

Her eyes struggled to focus, and when she finally held his gaze, she gave him a weak smile.

"…tried to stay as long as I could…"

"Nana, just rest. Save your energy."

She blinked several times and her head lifted, her eyes looking above him.

"Nana," Erik whispered.

Her eyes returned to N'Jobu's.

"Take care of my babies—"

A heavy cough shook her thin frame and Dante leaned over from the other side of the bed with a handkerchief. He wiped a bit of spittle from her lips.

"Ma, just rest," Dante said.

Dante clutched her right hand as N'Jobu hung on to her left hand.

"You were always a good son, Dante. I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

Dante's head dropped low and he wiped his watery eyes.

"N'Jobu…"

"Ma'am," N'Jobu answered.

Her breathing grew ragged.

"Take care of them all…please…and, JaJa…"

Erik pressed his face close to hers and N'Jobu let him take Nana's hand. She whispered in Erik's ear and held his hand in a firm grip. Her brow was covered in a light sheen of perspiration and Erik gave her affirmations of "Yes", "Okay", and "Uh-huh."

Eric finally pressed his forehead into hers and she kissed his nose.

"It's okay, Nana. It's okay. I'll tell her…Nana?"

Nana Jean's eyes closed.

Her doctor came back into the room with a nurse by his side. Dante still held Nana's hand.

Califia arrived with Junie and their other cousins.

"Wait! Wait!" Califia shouted.

N'Jobu touched her back as Dante pushed his face into Nana's covers and wept. Erik still held his great-grandmother's hand.

"Nana…Nana…I love you…"

Califia's voice grew soft and they all heard the heart monitor go flat. Nana's doctor turned it off.

"I shouldn't have left…I thought…"

Califia's wet face crumpled and Erik reached for her hand.

"It's okay Mom, I held Nana's hand for you and she said that when I hold her hand on this side, our family who passed on holds it for her on the other side. So when she let go here, they hung on there. See? Don't cry, Mom. She just went over there…to wait for us one day. She told me to hold onto your hand and Baba's too."

"Califia, hey…come here."

N'Jobu held her as she wept in his arms. The crying spread throughout the room and when Erik patted her back, she was able to face her grandmother once more.

"She looks peaceful, doesn't she? "

"She does," N'Jobu replied stroking her back.

They all sat with Nana for over an hour until Dante insisted that they allow the doctor to care for her remains.

"I have calls to make…I need to let the church know…" Dante said.

"I can do all that, Daddy," Califia said.

Dante nodded and they all left the room.

"Give me a minute," Califia said.

She went back into the room with Erik and the Doctor let her hug her grandmother one last time. He watched her touch Nana's thin hair as Erik held Califia's waist.

When she returned to N'Jobu, her spirit had lifted.

"Babe?" he asked.

"I'm good. I just wish I was here when she slipped away. I just needed her to know how much I loved her. How much everything she did for me all my life was…she…she saved me so many times. I tried to thank her every time I visited her these last few days. It didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted her to know my heart was always with her."

"She knew that Mom," Erik said.

Califia nodded and wiped her face. Dante slipped his arm around hers and they left the hospital in a solemn mood.

Erik did his best to cheer Califia up, and it worked. He had her laughing by saying Nana was only upset that she couldn't wear her best wig for the cute doctor.

"Only Nana would worry about looking cute," Califia said.

By the time they made it back to Nana's house most of the family who lived in town had arrived at the home.

Califia and N'Jobu greeted everyone and the family listened to Erik repeat the last words of Nana Jean. There were plenty of Nana stories passed around, and much laughter sprinkled throughout the tears. Dante had a difficult time with the realization that Nana wasn't coming home from a hospital visit this time and Califia rose to the occasion with Junie helping relatives ease into her absence. Phone calls and soft knocks on the front door occurred as neighbors came to pay their respects and give condolences. The Pastor from Nana's church arrived with fellow church members and Junie ran out to buy chicken and sides from a local restaurant to feed the house that was now stuffed with mourners.

A few hours later, N'Jobu went looking for Erik among the hustle and bustle of relatives crowding the house. He found him outside on the steps.

"JaJa."

He sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.

"How are you doing, Son?"

"Fine. I thought I would feel sadder, but, I dunno. Nana made me feel good. Is that weird, Baba?'

"No. Not at all."

"I know Mom is upset that Nana left without her saying goodbye, but I think Nana did that on purpose. Maybe she tried to make it less sad for Mom?"

"Maybe."

Erik looked out onto the street.

"Is there really a heaven, Baba?"

"I believe there is an afterlife, yes. I was raised to believe in a beautiful place. The ancestral plane. You die and return to your ancestors…spend eternity with those who helped create you."

"Even God?"

"Even God. In my country, Bast is a great cosmic energy that is infused in all living beings. You will see Nana again."

"And Lia?"

"She is family. So yes. All of your loved ones who have transitioned will be reunited."

Erik's eyes were shiny, and finally, the tears came. N'Jobu pulled his son against him.

"You were so strong for your mother. Do you know that? You helped Nana cross over in peace."

"I wish she could've stayed with us longer."

"She was very ill, Erik. And in a lot of pain."

"I know. Can she see me right now?"

"I'm sure she can."

"That means no matter where we go, she can be there with us, right?"

"Yes. In spirit."

Erik's chest shuddered. More tears fell.

"Can we move sooner?"

N'Jobu sighed and watched his son's face.

"Soon enough."

"I want to go to Wakanda, Baba. I don't want to live here."

"There will be a lot for me to do before I can take you to Wakanda, Son."

"I know. But I'm ready. Anyplace away from here is good. Will you tell Grandpop now?"

"Your mother will decide that. Now that Nana has gone, I don't know how your grandfather will feel about leaving Oakland."

"I will miss Walter. And Nevaeh."

"They will miss you too. But hopefully, in the future, you can visit with them. There will be so many changes and sacrifices son. There is so much more for you to know in due time. Thank you for being patient with me."

Erik threw his arms around N'Jobu's neck and they sat quietly together. Holding his son, N'Jobu felt emboldened.

"Can we go home now? I think Mom is ready. She looked tired," Erik said.

"C'mon. Let's go check on her," N'Jobu said.

N'Jobu walked back into the house and Califia slipped her hand in his when he stepped into the living room.

"Daddy is resting. Junie and Michelle are staying here with him," she said.

"You want to stay longer?'

"No. We can go. I'll come back over tomorrow. Junie is handling everything. Daddy is letting him too."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

They bid everyone farewell and returned to their townhouse. When Erik had showered and gone to bed, N'Jobu rested with Califia in their bedroom.

"You think you're ready for things like this, but when it finally happens…it feels so unexpected. I know she wasn't going to be here forever, but she was such a huge part of my life…a huge part of who I am. I miss her so much already."

"You and Erik were her heart and she's in a special place now. You heard what Erik said. Rest in that love."

"I will. I will."

He stroked her hair and held her hand against his chest.

"When should we prepare to leave for good?" she asked

"The next three months. We should begin sorting and packing. Not a lot, but things you want to take with us," he said.

She nodded.

"Do you want to sell the house?" he asked.

"No. I'd like to let Junie or Michelle stay here and take care of it. Keep it in the family. My father may want to sell Nana's house. Now that she's gone, it may be easier to convince him to come with us. We have options. No rush though."

"Erik is so ready," he said.

"I am too."

He stared at her. She ran her fingers across his naked chest and pressed her cheek against his.

"I feel this surge of movement in me. Like I can't sit still…this need to move far away is swirling in me. It's not even about going to Wakanda, but just getting away from everything, taking Erik someplace where he can be free. Be a child for as long as we can let him be one."

She lifted her head to look at him.

"You do whatever you have to do to make that happen for him."

"I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She dozed in his arms and he spent the rest of the night listening to her deep breathing.

###

Sao Paulo felt different.

There was crackling energy in the air.

Califia felt it all around her.

As she walked the streets with her father and Erik, their energy was different too. Although Nana's death was months ago, their family had bounced back into joy again being around Soliel, Aunjanue, Marisol, and Besouro.

So much eating. So much drinking.

Capoeira.

She couldn't record enough video of her father and Soliel's father playing with Erik and Marisol. Her fingers were blistered from drumming and playing the berimbau as her son flipped and fought with the best mestres on the planet. Their world seemed even more complete when Bakari joined them with Shavonne.

For once, Califia's soul was at ease. N'Jobu was there with them. Even with Nana Jean gone now, life was perfect.

They rented a little house near Soliel and her family, and N'Jobu quit his job. He created fake reports to be sent to Wakanda, and they lived it up in Brazil. He allowed her to listen in on some of his secret talks with his War Dogs even though she didn't know the language. He hid nothing from her.

Their temporary home in Sao Paulo was small, but Califia and Soliel had planning meetings for the big march there. Activists were fired up, and not just for Negra Lia. Three more police brutality cases had occurred in the states and another in Sao Paulo where a young teen was killed in her own yard when the Sao Paulo policia federal bullied and threatened smaller groups of protestors trying to support the upcoming larger march. Chasing young people through the streets, the policia federal shot bullets that struck the girl in her own yard. The child wasn't even part of the protest, just playing in her own yard and minding her own business.

The city was ripe for change. Not just in Sao Paulo, but everywhere.

Califia and Erik watched groups of Maori protestors doing sacred Haka for Black people killed in the United States. Indigenous people from Australia pointed out their own history of white and state violence against their own aboriginal people. It was a global pandemic of police violence against black and other non-white people everywhere.

Erik tried mimicking the Haka that he saw, and went online to learn more about it. It was the ferocity in the Maori people's eyes that enamored Erik. Especially when the Maori women did the Haka. The exaggerated rolling of eyeballs, the strong slaps to the chest and legs, the tongues thrust out and the loud shouts invigorated them both. The brandishing of the short patu clubs made Erik's eyes shiny with admiration.

"It looks like they are calling all the Gods in the world to come down!" he said in an excited voice as he shared video clips with her.

The fight was happening everywhere, and Sao Paulo was on the verge of exploding with the calls for justice floating around them. The kinetic energy to force change rippled through Califia's family.

She felt it from N'Jobu most of all.

When Erik was fast asleep, N'Jobu would be between her legs, his grunts and groans behind gritted teeth and fisted hands made her orgasms so intense she couldn't even see straight. They fucked like they were in college again, so much so that poor Erik made it a point to go for long walks away from the house in the morning because they were so loud.

Tangled up in sweaty sheets every morning, Califia would hold onto N'Jobu as his sated body pressed all his weight on top of her. He didn't even speak English to her when they made love now. The language of his homeland dripped from his lips and into her ears, and when he pulsed inside of her, all thick and juicy, the contractions of her body overwhelmed her.

They were blessed.

She was turned on by the aggression in his voice when he spoke to his followers. Rubbing his shoulders when he barked orders over his secured comm tab gave her a small glimpse of what he must be like when he was in Wakanda. The way the other Wakandan voices capitulated to him made her panties wet. She couldn't help it. Nothing on God's green earth was sexier to her than a man with total confidence and bass in his voice. He had even started wearing his gold panther teeth openly around them. The moment he shook off pretending to be a barber, she saw him step back into who he really was. It took her back to the time when she saw him in D.C., the time when she and Bakari saw him in his full glory.

Sometimes, when Erik was away with Marisol, Califia would lay in bed and listen to N'Jobu conduct his secret meetings online. If he sat in a particular chair in their small living room, she could leave the bedroom door open and watch his profile. His face was…fuck…his face was everything. His voice was everything. The clicks and growls from his language had her fingers busy flicking her clit and manipulating her soaked folds. She would pat her vulva and watch him, feeling the slick of her fingers get wetter the more he spoke. Covering her mouth with her hand, she would hide her intense release so as not to disturb him. This, in turn, would make her want to serve him.

She was compelled to be subservient to him.

Pussy dripping, she'd often walk into the room while he spoke and bring him things. Water. Snacks. She'd sit near his legs on the floor and rub his feet for him, or stand behind him and massage his scalp. She once was bold enough to wear nothing but his t-shirt while kneeling before him and taking his dick in her mouth. He muted the communications that day and allowed her to suck all up and down his erection while reports were given to him. When the call ended, he stayed in that dominant role. Barking orders at her to suck harder, take his length deeper. With those gold teeth in his mouth and that regal bearing of his just sitting in an ordinary chair, Califia saw him as more than a Prince. He was her King. She was more than ready to bow down to him.

He forced her to climb onto his dick and he sat back and made her work him over. He didn't move a muscle and she rocked and swiveled her hips, her smooth vulva so sticky with fluid from her own body. His dark eyes raked up and down her body and she whimpered as her pussy gushed all over his dick. His face looked hard, mean in his sexy way and she knew for a fact that he expected her to obey his commands to fuck him good. The brat in her came out, and when she switched up her wiggling and it displeased him, he reached up and yanked on her hair.

She bounced on him and he loosened his grip on her braids, but then she slowed down and he grabbed her throat. His heated gaze told her he was upset with her behavior on his dick and once he began talking to her with clenched teeth in Wakandan, she held still and listened. He still didn't move under her, and the raised anger in his voice spurred her to higher levels of bratty behavior: she broke eye contact with him.

A big no-no.

N'Jobu pulled her off of his girth and pushed her down onto his lap. His palm spanked the brat out of her until she was crying tears of torturous pleasure.

"Fuck me right!" He demanded.

She lifted up from lying across his lap, her ass cheeks hot with exquisite pain. He leaned back in the chair again and didn't assist her crawling back on top of him.

She bounced on him the way a King deserved to be served, his pants punctuating his own pleasure. The tipping point came for him when he watched her pussy clench around him and he gripped her waist tight and finally thrust up into her. She hung onto him as he cursed at her in Wakandan until he seized up and spurted hard and deep.

He made her lick all her juices from his dick before demanding that she sit on his lap while he took more calls. He fingered her pussy the entire time and dared her to make one sound as he did. She kept quiet and he punished her folds with frisky fingers for hours, only releasing her when they heard Erik returning from Soliel's.

He was everything and more to her, and he fell right into his royal status with her supporting that authoritarian energy.

Bakari joined her at the planning meetings for Lia's protest march. They were three days from the actual march and had already hit a snag. The police wanted to know the march routes ahead of time, and the core leaders were reluctant to give them.

"We could give them fake routes," Califia suggested, "or just a half-assed map."

"There's no way to control how many people show up. Or who will follow a sanctioned route," Soliel said.

Erik sat next to her as the fifteen adults in the room murmured among themselves on what to do. They needed a permit to fill the streets but many didn't want the authorities to know all their moves. At that moment, their permit was being held up.

Besouro stood next to Soliel, his face carrying a scowl.

"We march against our enemy and we have to give them a map of our plans?" he snapped.

Many agreed with him.

Califia stared at Soliel. Since Lia's death, she had taken on the role of community leader filling the huge vacuum Lia left behind. She could see the stress and worry on her sister's face. Aunjanue walked into the house with two more women from the community.

"There are policia federals outside," she said.

Califia and Bakari went to her windows and looked out. An unmarked car was parked down the street. Two white men dressed in jeans and soccer shirts walked across the street giving occasional glances to the house. A light-skinned woman stood next to another car talking on a cell phone, but she was no one Califia had ever seen before. N'Jobu swept the house for bugs every time they left their temporary home, so she wasn't worried about them hearing what was said inside.

She checked her own cell and let N'Jobu know the house had eyes on it. He had gone to get food for the meeting with her father and was due to return soon.

Bakari turned to look at the group.

"The eyes of the world will be on these marches. We know that there will be many around the world marching in solidarity. I say give them the routes so we can get the permit. The routes won't matter. If they plan on targeting any of you, it will be in front of the world," Bakari said.

Soliel glanced over at Erik.

"I don't think children should be there," Soliel said.

"What?"

Erik's voice piped up fast. He had been silent for most of the meeting, taking in all the ideas and suggestions.

"I want to march," he said looking up at Califia.

"I agree with Soliel. We use our children to do our battles with us and they end up getting hurt or traumatized. We should tell everyone to keep them at home. Just adults," Aunjanue said.

"Mom…that's not fair," Erik whined.

"JaJa, nephew, you are brave and strong and we all know you loved your Auntie. But these police are beasts here. They murdered a girl already—"

"Aunjanue…"

Califia gave a stern look to her friend.

"Cali, our children deserve to be children. Not warriors," she said.

"I agree," Bakari said.

"Man…"

Erik pouted and he sat back further in his seat crossing his arms.

"I'm not letting Marisol go," Soliel said, "It's too dangerous."

"Mom—"

"Erik, let the grown-ups talk. You are here to just listen right now," Califia said.

"We just want to protect you, Erik," Bakari said.

"You can't protect us all the time. That girl who died was at home. She wasn't in the streets. They will get us no matter where we are. I know you guys don't want me to see violence or get hurt, but I've already seen the worst of it. I was there when Auntie died. I was there when they bombed the street. They kill us here, and they kill us back where I live. I'm not scared to die. I want them to see that. I'm a kid, but I'm already a warrior. Mom, you raised me to be a fighter. Why would you make me sit in the house?"

"Because you are my son, and I want you to live to become an adult. I know you want to show your love for Lia, but this could get ugly—"

"It ain't fair…it ain't fair!"

Erik jumped out of his seat.

"JaJa."

N'Jobu's voice froze Erik in mid-stride.

Bakari walked over and took bags of food from N'Jobu as Dante walked through the meeting group carrying more bags to the kitchen. Califia reached out for Erik and pulled him back toward her and hugged him around his waist.

N'Jobu took in the room, and then his eyes fell back onto his son.

"There is a time for children to be children and a time for children to become adults. My, son, this is the time for you to be our child—"

"Baba—"

N'Jobu held up his hand.

"You will not go to the march, JaJa. Not this time," he said.

Califia felt Erik's body shake with anger and disappointment. She stood up and held his hand.

"C'mon…come with me," she said pulling him toward his room. N'Jobu followed her and closed the bedroom door. Erik turned and faced them both with his fists clenched.

"You said I could march before we came here," Erik said.

"That was before all the other killings," N'Jobu said.

"They kill us all the time. It doesn't matter—"

"You matter to us," Califia reasoned.

"And Lia mattered to me. All of us. I want to go. If you are both there, it'll be okay."

Erik's face wavered between wanting to cry and being full of hot anger.

"Baby, Lia would want you to be safe. Not going to the march doesn't mean you won't show the world that you care about justice…it's just that our children suffer so much trying to prove their humanity too, and you don't need that pressure. The adults need to do the hard work so you don't have to. I think you're worried that you'll disappoint Lia's memory, but you won't. Things have shifted in a serious way and these cops down here JaJa, they can be worse than the ones at home—"

"All cops are bad, Mom. No matter where they are. You say that all the time. They are all the same."

"I know I say that, and it's true, but the level of hate for us because she has been elevated in the world along with so many others…it's going to be tougher to keep you safe."

"Then you shouldn't go either."

Califia looked over at N'Jobu.

"We will go and you will stay. You can be mad. Upset. You can even feel angry with us for a long time afterward, but we make decisions for you because we know what is best. We love you. We protect you. We shape the world for you, my Son. Allow us to do this. In the future, you can march with us, but right now…for this particular event—"

N'Jobu's kimoyo beads lit up.

Erik stepped closer to them as they all watched the subtle glow of lavender on N'Jobu's wrist. N'Jobu held a finger to his lips and tapped a bead.

They heard the stern voice of a woman speaking rapid-fire Wakandan.

N'Jobu spoke to her and it sounded like he was giving orders. The call was short and when N'Jobu touched his beads again, his face looked determined.

"Klaue will be in Wakanda. Next week."

His eyes held Califia's and she felt a rush of adrenaline. They would leave for Malta soon.

"We're leaving?" Erik asked.

N'Jobu touched Erik's shoulder.

"Soon enough. JaJa—"

"Okay…okay, Baba. I won't go to the march."

Califia gave a sigh of relief. She couldn't focus on the work of organizing if she had to battle her son too.

"Thank you," Califia said to her son.

N'Jobu hugged Erik and pulled Califia in close too.

"Hey, we're ready to eat if you guys want to join us."

Bakari's voice rang out behind the bedroom door.

"Here we come," Califia said.

They walked out as a solid unit and enjoyed plates of steak and rice with the other organizers.

Soliel designed a mock-up of the protest route on her laptop and N'Jobu kept his eyes on Califia the rest of the night. They allowed Erik to stay among the adults and she was glad that he accepted not participating. She kept peeking out of the window with Aunjanue.

The undercover police were still lingering.

Soliel gathered the activists back into the living room and had three of them stand before the group wearing black coverings over their mouths and white paper pinned to their chests with black target rings painted on it.

"Lia always said we will always be a target if we don't speak out. This is what some of us will be wearing to the march. What do you all think?" Soliel said.

The others nodded their approval and someone suggested holding their hands bound in front of them to show that they were still treated like slaves.

It was going to be a long night.

She kissed Erik on his forehead and held him closer to her body.

Chapter 29 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes

@soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illllest

@terrablaze514

@l-auteuse

@amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92

@purple-apricots

@hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@bugngiz

@stariamrry

@honeytoffee

@meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

@eye-raq

@writerbee-ffs

@chocolatedream30

@childishgambinaa

@mygirlrenee

@thewaysheis—awkward

#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Vol. 2 #Prince N'Jobu #N'Jobu #Killmonger #Klaue #Black Panther fanfiction #N'Jobu Fanfiction #n'jobu fanfic

32 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

Text

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chapter 21

youtube

Summary: Prince N’Jobu meets King T’Chaka’s future new wife first...and his 9-year-old son Erik meets a bit of his mother Califia’s past back in Oakland...

"You make me feel like a natural man, yeah (A natural woman)

You don't even gotta waste time

It's just natural, romantic, yeah

And we don't gotta take it slowly

You could break my body, baby

You're all that I need, yeah

Perfect for me, yeah (perfect for me, yeah)

You're gonna make me feel like I never felt

And fall like I never fell

Care like we never cared

And love like we never will…"

Desire B & Marnino Toussaint – "Never Will"

Umama sat and watched N'Jobu as he ate a full breakfast. The sunroom was filled with fresh flowers from the royal garden and the overwhelming spread of gourmet foods before him actually made him miss the simple breakfasts with his woman and son back home.

Home.

His real home. Califia and Erik. They were his center.

"You are very quiet this morning," Baba said, staring at N'Jobu.

"He just arrived in the middle of the night. Jet lag, my son?" Umama said as she patted his hand.

N'Jobu felt the curious eyes of T'Challa and W'Kabi on him as the boys helped themselves to seconds and thirds of sliced fruit and sweet breads. T'Chaka was equally quiet, but N'Jobu sensed that he was waiting to speak more openly once they were alone.

"I am tired, but I will be fine," N'Jobu said picking up wild honey plum slices to add to the pieces of pineapple already on his plate.

Umama glanced over at T'Chaka.

"We will be attending the Ti'Azan Gallery opening tonight," Umama said. Her tone alone let N'Jobu know something was up.

"I am looking forward to seeing the new artwork coming out of Djata," Baba said.

N'Jobu watched his parents tiptoe up to their real reason for bringing up the gallery opening. They were so obvious that N'Jobu quickly popped a piece of honey plum in his mouth to keep from laughing at them.

T'Chaka sliced into his grilled pork breakfast medallions on his full plate.

"I am too. I hear that Matsimela's daughter will be accompanying him tonight," Umama said.

T'Chaka put down his utensils and stared at his parents with a slight smirk on his mouth.

"Stop it, you two," T'Chaka said.

T'Challa giggled and N'Jobu let a wide smile crease his lips.

"I hear that she is no longer training Dora Milaje recruits—"

"Umama, please. Enough. I know what you are trying to do. I will go to this gallery opening, and I will meet this woman. Is everyone satisfied now?" T'Chaka said.

"Ramonda, her name is Ramonda," Umama said.

"Is she nice?" T'Challa asked.

"Very nice, and she loves children—" Umama said.

"Umama—" T'Chaka said, his face looking defeated.

"I too look forward to meeting Matsimela's daughter," N'Jobu said, trying to rub it in.

"Perhaps you should be looking for a wife of your own, Brother," T'Chaka said. N'Jobu couldn't tell if his brother was being serious or not.

"My work would make that difficult—"

"I am thinking of changing some things. Boys, it looks like you are both done eating. Please excuse yourselves so we can speak privately," T'Chaka said.

Disappointment on their faces, the boys said their goodbyes and left the sunroom. T'Chaka waited a few minutes and then looked N'Jobu in the eye.

"What changes?" N'Jobu said doing his best to make his voice calm and nonchalant.

"Moving some war dogs around, bringing some back home permanently."

Acid churned in N'Jobu's stomach. He wanted to drink the water next to his plate, but he was afraid that his hand would shake if he did so.

"Why?" N'Jobu asked.

"New eyes, new patterns of intel gathering…besides, Umama misses you and I need you to fulfill your true role as my Ambassador. Therefore, it is time for you to return home, take your place as our representative in the world, and get married."

"Yes, I agree. It is your duty now son to be with us again," Umama said.

"I strongly disagree with that plan," N'Jobu said.

Silence.

He had to think of something to say to deflect and convince them all otherwise. He was not expecting this. And Bast help him, surely his brother wasn't planning on him staying there now. Califia and Erik's face flashed in his mind. He felt his forehead crease and his jaw tighten. He told his family not to worry. Told them he would return to them. If they kept him there, if his brother insisted that he stay, he would have to escape from the country, go AWOL, maybe even move Erik and Califia out of Oakland—

"Hopefully you have a reasonable timetable for switching out war dogs. I feel that any sudden changes would cause suspicion—"

"I have already begun the process."

"My intel has been very fruitful and I am embedded in that community fully. If I am removed—"

"All will be handled with a smooth transition. Your Intel has been fruitful and very important. But I need you here with me. Our people love you and I believe your presence here at home can help me turn the tide of dissent."

"There was a vid special about T'Challa turning twelve and they played the old recording of you singing to Bathwandwa when she was carrying him. The social chatter about you lit up the public for weeks, N'Jobu. Our people want to see you more, and your positive popularity crosses all political quadrants. You being here and standing by your brother's side could help all of our people," Baba said.

"This is true," T'Chaka said.

His people.

N'Jobu tried not to show any consternation in his being, but he no longer felt connected to Wakandan people anymore. His people were out there in the world.

"As it stands, Baby Brother, Ambassador Obi tells me he shall retire at the end of this next term and he is willing to start a transition team for you within the next two years. So, continue to do your work well for me, and tonight, let us see what wives Umama has picked out for us this time."

Umama laughed, but when she saw N'Jobu's face, she touched his hand again.

"I should…I should go get some rest. I feel a bit drained, and I need to be ready for tonight," N'Jobu said standing up suddenly and gripping the dining table with his hand to hold his balance.

Two years.

He had two fucking years left to do what he needed to do.

###

"Take your time, JaJa…there you go…there you go…."

Califia pressed the gas pedal of her car gently so that her vehicle moved slowly. Erik sat on her lap turning the steering wheel. They were in their own townhouse complex parking structure. There had been rain earlier in the day, but as the evening came down, there was only a slight drizzle, and no one was outside because of it.

"Not so fast, Mom!"

"I'm not going fast, we're barely moving!"

She held his waist as his hands clung to the steering wheel nervously trying to straighten out the front tires.

"Turn a little harder," she said. When her hands went up to help him, he leaned forward.

"I got it! I got it! Let me do it!"

They both started giggling as he made a wide turn back into their parking section.

"Let's see if you can park it," she said giving the car a little more gas.

"I can," he said.

"You got it, baby," she whispered as he guided the car into their parking space. She put the hatchback in park and pulled the emergency break up.

Erik leaned back into her and she kissed his cheek.

"You did it," she said.

Erik hopped out of the car and she followed him.

It was a good day for them and she was ready for a shower and some dinner.

"Don't forget to bring down your bag of Goodwill stuff. Grandpop is going to pick it up tomorrow when comes over to fix the toilet."

The downstairs bathroom toilet kept running after each flush and her father refused to let her call a plumber when he could fix it himself. He was worried about their income since she wasn't working.

She walked into her bedroom and lifted the bag of clothes she was donating from off of her bed and placed it onto the floor near the bedroom door.

Her laptop was on the bed and she flipped it on. She checked for messages from N'Jobu and was happy to see a taped face chat link. Before she could open it, N'Jobu was already online sending a private chat link to her. He must've been on his computer and waiting for her to log in.

She ran to her bureau mirror and checked her hair and face. Once she felt she looked decent enough for him, after rolling a bit of tinted lip gloss on, she hopped back on her bed and opened his link.

"Baby," she said, "Wow, look at you."

N'Jobu was dressed in an elaborate dark suit with a colorful gold scarf draped over one shoulder. His hair was freshly cut and he had diamond earrings studded in his ears. And those amazing gold slugs were back on his teeth. Moments like this reminded her that her man was royalty and when he was with his people, he showed up and showed the fuck out. Jesus, he was still so fine. She felt herself swooning.

"Califia."

"Huh?" she said.

"You okay?"

"It's you. I mean, damn N'Jobu."

"I'm going to an art show. Not my idea of fun without you," he said.

Art shows. Fancy meals. Servants. Chauffeurs. Bodyguards. High Society.

And here she was going through old clothes to donate and trying to figure out what to fix for her and Erik to eat in less than twenty minutes and hoping their toilet didn't overflow until her father could fix it.

"You look gorgeous. I'm jealous."

"How was your day today?"

"Good. Erik and I cleaned out our closets for Goodwill. We visited Rolita and her mother. Oh, my father is coming over to fix the toilet tomorrow. It started running—"

"Mom!"

Erik's distraught voice startled Califia. N'Jobu's face was full of alarm. She stood up and saw Erik standing in her bedroom doorway.

"What's wrong?"

He stepped forward and her eyes swept his body looking for an injury or something. All he had in his hands was a yellow t-shirt. He held it out to her.

"Oh, JaJa…come here, come here…"

She held her arms out for him.

"What is it?" N'Jobu asked, his face full of worry.

She pulled Erik onto the bed and let him rest his head on her lap. He was crying and Califia held up the t-shirt for N'Jobu to see.

"JaJa," N'Jobu whispered when he saw Lia's face on the old political t-shirt Erik loved so much. He must've gone through his closet again to check for old things he didn't want and found the garment. He had been doing so well. Seeing her face unraveled him.

"Son, look at me. Look at me," N'Jobu said.

Erik shifted his head on Califia's lap and she rubbed his back to calm him. N'Jobu stared at his little boy.

"She's still with you. She's still here with us. Let her have those tears for a little while…then show her how you will carry her within you. Okay?"

She felt Erik nodding his head but a pitiful moaning sound was coming from his mouth and she felt herself beginning to lose it.

BeStrongBeStrongBeStrong…..

"Baba, my chest hurts so bad," Erik said.

"I know. I know. That pain takes time to go away, and Lia doesn't want you to hurt like that for her."

"I want you to come home!"

The high-pitched wailing from his little chest made Califia feel so small without N'Jobu there with them.

"I want to be home with you too. But Baba has to work so I can take care of you and Mom. You have school tomorrow, so you'll be busy…and what about the chess club? Do you think you want to join…?"

The mundane talk of school eased Erik's breathing, and once N'Jobu had him talking about choices of high school and online courses for the following year, their son had stopped crying and sat up from her lap. N'Jobu even had him laughing about his favorite anime and Califia felt her body ease into a relaxed state.

"Feeling better?" N'Jobu asked Erik.

"Yeah," Erik said.

"I'll keep this and you can watch some tv until I fix dinner, okay?" Califia said.

"Okay. Bye, Baba."

"Bye, JaJa."

Erik stepped off of their bed and left the bedroom. Califia heard him head down the stairs. She looked back at N'Jobu and took a deep breath.

"That was rough," she said.

"It will come and go," he said.

She looked at his suit again and reached out to touch his face on the screen.

"I better go cook us dinner. Babe…you really look amazing."

N'Jobu stared at her and in that moment, she felt what he was thinking and it made her feel desired and loved. She broke eye contact with him and just looked at his clothes again.

"I will be offline for a few days. I just wanted to check in with you."

She nodded and saw him look over his shoulder.

"I better get going," he said.

"Okay."

His screen went dark.

Califia sat for a few minutes, quietly centering herself before she went downstairs to cook for herself and Erik.

###

The gallery was packed.

Once word spread that Prince N'Jobu was in the city, many favors were called in for people who desired to attend the opening to see him.

N'Jobu spent most of his time near his parents, escorting his mother whenever his father was hemmed up by supporters and friends. He took one moment alone to grab a glass of honey wine and to check out a small mixed media painting hidden behind a floating wall. The art piece in front of him was intriguing, a depiction of Warrior Falls that shifted its design perspective depending on where one stood. Looking at it from the middle, it looked like the Falls at midday. But if one walked past it from left to right, the sunlight moved as if it were a time-lapse of morning to night. Clever. He glanced down at the name of the artist on the title card underneath it.

"Interesting piece, is it not Prince N'Jobu?"

N'Jobu glanced to his right and noticed the svelte figure of a dark brown-skinned woman with short stylish locs swept to one side of her head. Kohl-lined eyes that reminded him of Califia's feline gaze peered back at him intently. Several thin silver choker necklaces encircled her throat. Her eggplant-colored strapless gown revealed shapely shoulders and the bone-white corset that cinched her waist drew his eye to the high shelf curve of her backside. Great Bast. Who was this?

"It is an engaging depiction of Warrior Falls," he said allowing his eyes to drift back to the art on the wall. The woman's direct gaze without the usual deference accorded him because of his status caught him off guard. He was accustomed to citizens fawning over him if they found themselves in his presence. This woman stood there as if he should know who she was. No automatic bowing or standing back from him, no "Your Highness," or "I shall leave you be."

She stood right next to him. Crept up on him in a stealth-like fashion. He stepped forward to re-claim his ownership of the space, but she stepped forward too and moved a little closer to him.

The hell?

He glanced at her again and then he tapped his kimoyo bead discreetly. Within seconds, Yejide stood near him.

"Your Highness?" Yejide said.

"Yejide!" the woman said rushing forward and embracing the Dora.

Now wait just a damn minute, N'Jobu thought as the woman brushed past him as if Yejide were the most important person in the world.

"Lady Ramonda!" Yejide said, standing stiffly, trying to stay on her task of assisting her Prince, but clearly excited to see….

Ramonda.

Oh, so this was the woman his parents wanted his brother to meet. A possible future Queen.

N'Jobu really stared at her now.

"Do not worry about him, I promise no harm will befall your charge," Ramonda said winking her eye at N'Jobu. He couldn't help by smile at her lack of deference now. She really didn't give a care that he was royalty.

"So, you are the Ramonda—" N'Jobu started to say, stepping forward to get a more proper introduction, but she turned her back on him and linked arms with Yejide pulling her aside, ignoring N'Jobu completely.

"How are you, sister? I have been hearing glowing reports about your work in the palace," Ramonda said.

Poor Yejide let her eyes focus on N'Jobu. He held up his hands freeing her to interact with the assertive woman.

"I am well, Lady Ramonda—"

"Is Ometeko still paired with you?"

"Yes…Your Highness?"

N'Jobu smiled and motioned for Yejide to leave them alone. Yejide bowed, gave Ramonda a look, and pivoted her legs in a severe military turn to refocus herself on her job.

"I remember when she first tried out to be a Dora. So timid. I was not so keen on keeping her in the ranks. But look at her now," Ramonda said as she turned on her heel to face N'Jobu again. She must've read something in his face because she smiled coyly and finally lowered her head to him, "I hope she has earned your respect, Your Highness."

"She and Ometeko, both. Lady Ramonda, is it?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Lady Ramonda Nkoli," she said.

"Daughter of Matsimela," he said.

"Yes."

Ramonda's eyes went back to the art on the wall.

"Did you notice the bit of detail on the waterfall?" she said moving closer to the painting and pointing to a spot near the top.

N'Jobu moved forward to see what she was talking about.

"It shimmers," he said as he looked at the mica flakes embedded in the blue of the water on the piece. His eyes met hers again and he found himself becoming more enchanted with her. All he knew about her was that she had been a Dora for his mother years ago while he was away in London for undergrad studies. She rose in ranks and was hand-picked to leave the Dora Milaje in direct action and to become a trainer for future Doras.

A server wandered into the area with fresh glasses of honey wine and Ramonda grabbed one and N'Jobu replaced his with a fresh one.

"Here's to interesting art," he said clinking his glass with hers.

"And to interesting people," she replied.

At that moment he realized she was flirting with him. Bast help him. All the disregard for protocol made sense now. Did she not know why she was really brought to this opening?

"I am going to check out the sculptures now. Please excuse me," he said moving past her.

"Do you mind if I come with you? I have not had the opportunity to see the sculptures myself. I have been hiding out here from my parents," she said.

For the first time, N'Jobu saw uncertainty in her eyes.

"Why are you hiding out?" he asked.

"I thought I was here to enjoy the art, but my parents…they are trying to set me up…introducing me to someone, and I am not in the mood to pretend like I am interested tonight. Do you mind being my buffer? Just for a little while?"

Now he was really taken in by her. She had no clue what was happening to her, and she unknowingly wanted him to keep her away from some random dude that happened to be his brother. He wanted to laugh out loud, but he grinned instead.

"I suppose I could assist you. You do not know anything about the man your parents have fixed you up with?"

"They have been trying to marry me off for years, and I keep telling them to let me be on that topic. But what I can I do?"

"Follow me," he said turning away from her.

He kept two steps ahead of her as she tried her best to walk next to him. Yejide followed them and when they reached the hall of sculptures, he got stuck for a few minutes greeting some dignitaries, and then he was able to move into the space.

He walked with Ramonda, always keeping ahead of her, and he could tell this bugged her until she caught on that he expected her to stay in her place when interacting with him. She finally got the hint that she was not on his level and he noticed that she made sure to stay at least two body lengths away from him and not shoulder to shoulder.

She was very critical of the sculptures, but the ones she did like, he liked them too. She had a sharp eye for detail and once they began talking about certain pieces, he learned that she was also a sculptor and almost went into art full time before she became a Dora Milaje. They talked and walked and after a time he had to ask her a question.

"Why did you leave the corps?" he asked, curious to know why she removed herself from that career.

"I missed being out in the field. When I worked for the Queen Mother, she always told me I should train up the Doras to be like me. That was such a high compliment. I loved working for her, and I was very happy training future Doras. But now…I actually would like to take a break and explore art again. I rented a small house near the Jabari mountains that I want to convert into a studio. However, I have to muddle through this thing with my parents. I made an agreement with them. They allow me a year of peace to sculpt without judgment of my life choices, and I would go on a few meet and greets with suitable men."

"You are not interested in marriage?" he asked.

"I am. But I would like to take this time to work with my hands in creative ways again. Not just teaching the Doras how to break necks in the most efficient way possible."

N'Jobu laughed out loud, and Ramonda smiled wide. Her eyelids crinkled at the corners when she did, and her lips made her mouth look inviting. How many hearts had she broken when she became a Dora and dedicated her life to the throne? He wondered.

"What are you looking for in a partner?" he asked.

She rattled off a litany of the usual things most people wanted, and somehow the topic switched to food and then politics and then art again. She was delightful and didn't back down from her convictions, especially when it came to opinions about T'Chaka. She didn't even care that she was speaking to the brother of the King. Her biggest judgment was that she felt that T'Chaka kept himself too far apart from their people. His way of ruling was impersonal and off-putting because he separated himself from society.

She was right.

Her eyes studied his face, and he felt himself becoming uncomfortable being alone with her in the section of the sculpture space they were in.

"I need to return to my parents. Shall I escort you to yours?" he said.

She looked disappointed. Her smile faded.

"I thank you for sharing your knowledge of the work here. I wish you success with your own artistic endeavors…"

Yejide stepped forward, and N'Jobu began to feel awkward trying to get away from Ramonda. It was a weird feeling. He wanted to hang with her because she was interesting and had unique insights on how the new art coming out of Birnin Djata really reflected the state of their country, but at the same time, this was to be his brother's possible courtship dance, and Ramonda was acting like N'Jobu had just broken up with her.

"I am sure the man your parents would like for you to meet here will keep you entertained."

Ramonda shrugged her shoulders.

"Hopefully he will be as gracious and as enjoyable as you, Your Highness," she said.

"I doubt that very much, but he can sure try," N'Jobu said getting her to smile again.

"Too bad he is not you," she said as her eyes caught a look at something behind him.

N'Jobu turned to see his brother walking up to them with an older couple along with his own mother.

"Ramonda, daughter, come and greet the Queen Mother, and King T'Chaka," the older woman said.

Ramonda's eyes grew wide, and she glanced back at N'Jobu again.

"Trust me, he is not as gracious or as enjoyable as me. But he will not bore you, Lady Ramonda," N'Jobu said.

"Lady Ramonda," T'Chaka said, reaching for Ramonda's hand.

N'Jobu heard the slight turn of pitch in his brother's voice. Ramonda was not what he expected. As his brother kissed Ramonda's hand, N'Jobu could tell that T'Chaka was smitten already. His eyes were glued to her face. Their mother looked pleased. Like the cat that snared the canary.

N'Jobu greeted Ramonda's parents and then he excused himself. His eyes sought out Ramonda's one last time before leaving. They were still bewitching eyes, her expression letting him know that she was not in a million years expecting anyone like this. And something else was there too.

Disappointment again.

###

Califia stood by the sound system and watched her class of dancers execute her choreography just short of perfection. It was Saturday and she felt a ripple of pleasure course through her body as she enjoyed the feeling of sweat and movement on her own body.

Dante stood in the corner uncovering his drum with his drum corps as they waited for her session to end so that his beginning capoeira class could begin.

"One last time y'all, from the top. Get it in!" Califia yelled as the dancers got into formation again. She saw Erik hanging near his grandfather watching, his right foot tapping in time to the massive beats that rattled the floor.

Califia slid her feet over to him shaking her hips, drawing his eyes to her face as she held out her hands encouraging him to join her. He shook his head while looking away from her and she pranced in front of him doing one of his signature moves that made him laugh.

Dante started warming up his drum. Joining in time to the music on the sound system. The bells hanging above the front door jangled and James walked in carrying his drum bag. Whenever N'Jobu was gone for a period of time, James was always there, watching over them. Dante convinced him to start drumming on Saturdays and James came faithfully, improving his technique.

The music really started rocking when the rest of the drummers joined Dante in playing and Erik finally eased in front of her following her steps. The two of them danced together in sync and James pulled out his cell to tape them.

"Go Erik, go Erik, go Erik…" the class chanted and her son leveled up his moves.

"Whatchu got little boy, huh?" she challenged and Erik stopped and bent his left knee, placing his hands on it and just letting his right-side move, popping his booty out, imitating the girls in the class.

The drums thundered and Califia spun around grabbing Erik's hands and pulling him closer to her.

"Aye, from the top again!" Califia yelled to the class as Dante walked over with his drum strapped to his waist and standing in front of Califia and Erik. The rhythmic hip hop beats flowed easily with the drumming as she danced next to Erik in front of the mirrors. Everybody that moved in the space was on point and when they reached the end of the choreo, Califia cartwheeled into a handstand and then swiped her legs around Erik.

Dante placed his drum on the floor and slid into the action, and Erik stepped back allowing his grandfather to play with Califia too, the three of them twisting and turning, their bodies bending and jumping. James moved in closer with his cell.

"Erik, say hi to your Dad so I can send him this," James called out.

Erik waved at the phone and Califia lifted him up from behind and Erik dissolved into peals of laughter as she twirled him like he was a carousel.

"Califia," James called to her and she looked at his phone and crossed her eyes while sticking out her tongue.

"Hey, babe," she said to the cell.

James turned his phone camera back on his face.

"JoJo, she was saying that to you, not me," James said.

The door bells jangled again and Califia put Erik down when she saw who walked in. He was a bit leaner and his hair was longer, but those deep-set eyes looked the same as when she first saw them when she was fifteen.

"Cedric," she said. Confusion prickled her face and she moved over to the sound system turning off the music.

"Thanks, everyone," she said clapping her hands and walking over to Cedric. The class scattered as the transition from one session to the next began.

"Hey," she said feeling awkward, especially in front of Erik who was watching Cedric curiously. Cedric stepped into her personal space and held out his hands for a hug, and she gave him one, making sure not to act overly familiar with him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Had a layover, decided to see if this place was still here—"

"Mom," Erik said handing her bottled water and standing right next to her.

Cedric looked at Erik when he heard "Mom" and a smile appeared on his face.

"Hey there, what's your name?" Cedric asked.

"What's yours?" Erik tossed back.

Califia stared at her boy and Cedric chuckled.

"Fair enough. I'm Cedric," he said holding out his hand.

"Erik," her son said shaking the man's hand.

"Strong grip young man," Cedric said.

Erik looked up at her face and Califia could really sense the internal interrogation going in Erik's head.

A layover in Oakland? She didn't believe that for one minute.

"How long is your layover?"

"Just a few hours. Just took a chance and…well here you are."

"Hi," Dante said sticking out his hand toward Cedric, "I'm Dante, her father."

"How's it going, sir? I know Califia from Martha's Vineyard. Grew up with Bakari."

"Yeah…oh, yeah, okay. Glad to meet you. Excuse me, I have a class to start. Califia, I can get Eugene to do the drum for me."

"Erik, do you mind helping Grandpop while I talk?" Califia said.

She could tell Erik didn't want to, more interested in this strange man talking to her. She wondered if his father told him to act like this while he was gone.

"Erik?" she said again and her son stepped away from her and reached for Dante's drum on the floor and moved it back with the other drummers.

Califia had Cedric follow her to a back section that had folding chairs set up. They seated themselves and Cedric surveyed the space. He looked back at her as Dante's students trickled in and began warming up on the floor.

"So…motherhood really agrees with you, Cali. You look great," he said.

"A little heavier," she said touching her stomach.

"It fits you," he said as his eyes glossed over her short leggings and tank top.

"I saw you and your son tearing it up through the window. That was pretty cool."

Cedric's eyes went to her naked ring finger and then glanced over at Erik again.

"Yeah, he's a great kid. Takes after his Dad a lot, so the two of them together can be a little crazy," she said letting him know Erik's father was in the picture.

"I just wanted to see you again. You don't really do personal social media, but I saw the website for here, and so…you know…"

She looked at his left hand and saw a wedding band.

"Married, huh?"

"Divorcing."

"Sorry to hear that."

"You?"

"I'm with Erik's Dad. Going strong," she said.

"I have two daughters and a son," he said.

"Oh, wow. You've been busy," she said laughing, "Pictures?"

He pulled out his phone and showed a family photo. Good-looking children. His wife…ex-wife, looked how she always imagined the woman he would end up with would look like. Conservative and perfectly coiffed hair. Good make-up. Body still trim. Children miniature versions of them both. Classy and safe. The oldest girl looked to be about seven.

"You keep up with Albert?" she said.

"He's still single. Has a son with a woman in Maryland."

Califia watched Erik keep the lead drum beat in place of her. They watched her father lead his class in basic moves.

She wondered if Cedric came looking for her to see if he could get next to her again since he was divorcing. She kept her personal stuff off of social media for N'Jobu's sake. The things she did have online were private and open to only a tiny number of people.

"Can I take you and your son out to eat?"

She had to admit she was curious about him. Curious about the goings on back in Oak Bluffs.

Free food for her and Erik and a distraction from missing N'Jobu.

Why not?

###

"But if Godzilla is a replicant and can regenerate whenever he wants to, why would they stay on the planet? They can't kill him, so why not go to a new planet?"

Cedric looked confused and starving for the answer to his question. Erik twirled his fork in his hand and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Because it's the only planet that can sustain life and they lost all their tech and can't rebuild their ship," Erik said.

Califia savored the French onion soup she ate along with her ribeye steak. Erik enjoyed a gourmet hamburger with sweet potato fries along with Cedric who ordered the same thing. Erik had been a little stand-offish with Cedric as he sat between them, but once Cedric mentioned that his daughter was into the new Godzilla animated series, Erik's eyes perked up and they discussed the show non-stop.

"But if the monster planet has the resources to create metal and a lot of their housing, why couldn't they re-build their ship too?"

"I don't write the show, I just watch it," Erik said and Cedric burst out laughing making Erik smile.

Cedric glanced at Califia, and she just shook her head.

"I need to use the restroom," Erik said.

Califia scooted over and allowed him to leave.

"Is he okay by himself?" Cedric said.

"Trust me, no one is going to snatch up my son if they know what's best for them. Thank you for asking though."

"This is nice," he said.

"It was good hearing about folks back east, Thank you for this meal too."

"Erik is…Erik is really sharp. His vocabulary and the way he thinks…school must be a breeze for him."

"He doesn't attend a traditional school for most days. He starts high school next year."

"High school? Holy shit. At 9?"

"Yep. It's a struggle keeping him grounded. His mind and ideas are so far beyond what traditional schools can do for him. He'll probably start college when he's twelve. His father and I are trying to figure out how to balance it out. It's hard keeping up with him sometimes."

"My eyes did glaze over a bit when he was talking about his science experiments at home when we were driving over. Half the time I didn't even know what he was talking about. Tetrach…tetris dee…parrodox?"

"Tetrachlorodibenzoparadioxin. Don't let it scare you. It's the chemical toxin made from wood burning. He's trying to figure out a way to clean the air when we get all these wildfires in California every year."

"Well, my kids are trying to figure out how to dress themselves neatly on their own. Yay."

Califia chuckled.

"Trust me, Erik is still a little kid himself in a lot of ways."

"I always wondered what a child from you would be like. It's you, but extra helpings."

They laughed together.

Erik returned with his own cell phone stuck to his ear. When he approached the table, he handed his phone to Califia.

"It's Baba," Erik said.

Califia's face froze.

"Could you excuse me for a moment? Erik, finish your food."

Califia moved from the table grabbing her purse and walking into the restaurant lobby. She glanced at her phone in her purse and saw that she missed three calls and a private face chat from N'Jobu. Erik probably blabbed about their meal with Cedric. She took a breath and tried to sound cheery.

"Hey! How are you?"

"Cedric?"

"Yeah. He had a layover and came around to the studio and saw us there. He's treating us to dinner before he goes back to his wife and kids."

She could've said home or family, but she wanted to soothe her man because she already knew his mind was racing in the wrong direction.

"Everything good on your end?" she said glancing over to their dinner table. Erik was chatting with Cedric and Cedric had a big grin on his face while listening.

"How long is his layover?"

His voice was tight. Dammit. They hadn't spoken in two weeks, Just emails and pre-recorded video messages.

"He has to leave within the next hour."

"Face chat me on our private line when you get home."

'N'Jobu, don't trip."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I can hear it in your voice."

"He just shows up out of the blue?"

"He had a layover and remembered the studio—"

"He's not Bakari or Soliel, or one of your college buddies from way back—"

"We're just having dinner and catching up. I knew him as a kid. We know the same people I grew up with—"

"You had a relationship with him. A sexual one. I'm never going to look at him like he's just an old homeboy."

"Ohmigod, is this going to be a big deal? Is it? Let me know now so I can hang up. I would think you would be happy to hear my voice and know that I am doing well. Getting out of the house and doing things with Erik. Who is doing great by the way. But since you are so worried about old dick—"

"Alright, alright. Chill—"

"You chill. Why are you so uptight? What did Erik tell you?"

"He said your old boyfriend took you two out for dinner."

"Old boyfriend? How did he know that? Did you tell him that?"

"No, so he must've picked up on something between you two that was pretty obvious—"

"All we are doing is talking and eating. He's telling me about his children, I'm telling him about Erik and you."

Silence.

She rubbed the side of her neck. Together for almost ten years as a family, and this man could still make her feel guilty for no reason.

"Finish your meal and get back to me when you can," he said.

Her jaw clenched.

"Califia?"

"Okay."

She hung up on him.

###

Umama was really pulling out all the stops for Ramonda.

An elaborate dinner outside on the moon observation deck high above the palace. The best wines from the family wine vault. The entire Udaku royal family decked out in clothing reserved for state functions. Two council elders in attendance.

N'Jobu ate his food and tried his best to appear pleasant, but he was upset. When Califia didn't answer her phone the previous day, he went to his go-to number which was his son. He caught Erik washing his hands in the bathroom with a video chat.

"Where are you?" N'Jobu had asked not recognizing the facilities.

"Mom's old boyfriend is treating us to dinner."

Erik said it so easily that N'Jobu thought he misheard for a second. Who the fuck was feeding his wife and son at a fancy restaurant?

Erik spilled the beans, describing the man, saying his name, and giving his keen observational skills. When Califia denied telling Erik the extent of her relationship with Cedric, N'Jobu wondered what they had done to tip Erik off to something sexual in nature to make him conclude that Cedric was more than a simple old friend.

When she hung up on him, he let his anger and resentment settle and he searched deep within to figure out what upset him so much. She said the man was married and had children. He had to take into account that he was once engaged to Zinzi, had sexual contact with her, and they were still good friends and he saw her once a year back home. Cedric hadn't been around for ten years. N'Jobu suspected that something was amiss in Cedric's marriage to make him go out of his way to see Califia. N'Jobu could only remember that horrible moment a long time ago when he sought out his woman and he saw her screwing Cedric hard inside their home. Screwing her like she was the breath Cedric needed to survive in the world. Saw that man's dick thrusting into his love and she liked it.

He could feel his body yearning for Califia in that terrible way it did whenever he was in Wakanda. And knowing that other man was in her vicinity, eating with his own child no less, it made N'Jobu rigid and ready to fight.

He concentrated on his brother.

T'Chaka was charming and funny and for a pleasant moment, he was almost his old self, acting the way he did when Bathwandwa was alive. Ramonda was drawing his good qualities back out. It had only been two weeks, but N'Jobu knew that his brother was in love. Ramonda cut the King no slack, and she didn't mince words if she disagreed with T'Chaka, and this made Umama smile so hard.

Although he didn't know Ramonda well, he could tell that she was liking T'Chaka. Maybe more than just like him.

The first dinner she had been invited to at the palace, with her parents in attendance, she had cornered him during the after-dinner libations and punched him in his arm.

"You knew everything," she said.

"I did, but I didn't know it was you until you harassed me."

"Harassed you?"

"All up in my face. Not giving me peace to contemplate art by myself," he teased. Those sharp eyes of hers made him feel strange again.

"I was so embarrassed," she whispered, "you were making fun of me."

"I was not!"

"Lower your voice," she hissed.

He lowered it, "I was minding my business…wait, why am I lowering my voice in my own home?!"

Ramonda rolled her eyes at him and left him standing with a glass of port in his hand. T'Chaka had glanced their way and N'Jobu decided to check in with him. His brother's eyes questioned the private conversation between himself and Ramonda.

"Your intended is angry with me," N'Jobu said.

"My intended? We are simply in the preliminary—"

"Stop. This is me, your brother. I know you. You are taken with her. Just pick a date and let us end this tiresome charade."

Ramonda walked over to them.

"Welcome back Queen Ram—"

T'Chaka thrust his elbow into N'Jobu's side, and N'Jobu felt a bit of wind get knocked out of him before he could get all his words out.

"I hope the dinner was satisfactory," T'Chaka said, and N'Jobu stood there enjoying the tinge of desperation in his brother's voice trying to impress Ramonda.

"It was wonderful, Your Highness. Thank you for inviting me and my parents. My mother wants the recipe for the pheasant crepes."

"And she shall have it," T'Chaka said.

Dear Bast, this was painful for N'Jobu to watch.

"What is wrong with your face?" Ramonda asked.

N'Jobu glanced at his brother first then looked at Ramonda.

"Nothing is wrong with my face—"

"You look like you are in pain," she said.

"I think Umama would like to see me…" N'Jobu said looking for an out.

"No one is looking for you," she said.

"Then I will look for someone," he said.

"Did your brother tell you how he made fun of me?" she said.

T'Chaka glared at N'Jobu.

"Hey…" N'Jobu said.

"Shall I have him arrested for you? I can place him in isolation from the fireworks if you would like."

"Fireworks?" She questioned.

A loud explosion erupted from outside and T'Chaka held out his elbow for her.

"Right on time," T'Chaka said as Ramonda took his arm.

"Thank Bast," N'Jobu said and Ramonda flipped him off without looking as N'Jobu walked behind the two of them.

"Ramonda!"

Ramonda's mother's voice called out from clear across the room.

"Sorry, Mother," Ramonda said.

N'Jobu grinned and Ramonda stuck her tongue out at him making him laugh.

This woman.

She could very well save T'Chaka.

Everyone congregated on the observation deck balcony and watched the fireworks that burst in fiery rainbows of color over the city.

"Are you celebrating something?" Ramonda asked T'Chaka.

"You," T'Chaka said, and Ramonda's eyes became coquettish. Had N'Jobu and the others not been present he was positive his brother would've kissed her.

The blossoming romance right before him made N'Jobu miss his Califia and his son. They should be there with them all watching the extravagant light show that was only happening because his brother was beholden to a woman that could probably bring him to his knees. N'Jobu knew that feeling well and welcomed it. Wholeheartedly.

"Prince N'Jobu."

N'Jobu glanced across the table and saw Ramonda's cousin Allem staring at him.

"Yes?" he said to the woman. Allem's full lips were stained red like the wine they drinking.

"Will you be attending the Star Light Ball this year?" she asked.

"I will be there," he said trying to remember the reason why Ramonda's cousin was there. Oh yes, a potential mate for him. Two more weeks and he could get on a plane and jet home. Hopefully.

Allem looked thrilled that he said he was attending the ball. He skipped it the previous year but felt it was best to go this year to stay the obedient younger Prince. Play his role until he could be away from the palace.

His kimoyo beads lit up. The signature was from Jax.

N'Jobu sent a quick message that he would meet his boys at Quantum, the new private bar outside of Djata. He needed a break.

When the formal dinner was over, N'Jobu left the guests and fled as discreetly as he could to his suite. He dressed down in jeans and a plain designer pull over, then hit a private chat line to try and catch his woman. She had ignored his apology texts and just let Erik touch base with him after their dinner with Cedric. Califia didn't answer, so he checked Erik's line. His son was connected. He made small talk, discussed school but then he seized the moment to pump information out of Erik.

"JaJa, what made you say that Cedric was Mom's old boyfriend?"

"I could tell."

"How?"

"I just could."

"Be specific."

The face chat they had was private, Erik was in his room and Califia was downstairs watching tv.

"Are you upset about this, Baba?"

"No. I'm just curious how you could figure that out without your Mom or I telling you that information."

Erik stared at N'Jobu for a moment.

"You don't like Cedric," Erik said.

"I don't know him. I have never met him."

Awkward silence. Erik was feeling out the situation, and even five thousand miles away, his boy could tell the truth. His eyes broke away from N'Jobu's.

"His voice," Erik said.

"His voice?"

"And his eyes."

"Help me understand, JaJa. Really, I'm just curious."

"He looked at Mom and talked to her the way you do. And you love Mom. So I knew he loved Mom too before he had a wife and kids."

N'Jobu gave a deep sigh.

"Baba," Erik said, his eyes contemplative and a bit guarded.

"Yes, my Son."

"Mom didn't talk to him or look at him the way she does with you."

N'Jobu gave his son a wide smile.

There was a knock on Erik's door. Califia walked in. When she saw N'Jobu's face she stopped moving.

N'Jobu felt his heart open up for her.

"Hey," she said, her eyes glancing at Erik.

N'Jobu held his hands under his suite desk and shot off a quick message to Jax that he would be late joining him.

"Can I tell you both a story?" he asked.

Erik's eyes lit up and N'Jobu watched Califia's body language.

"Sure," she said when she saw how eager Erik was.

N'Jobu needed to tell her in the stories of his people how he was feeling. He could tell she didn't want to have a private talk with him, but he wanted to connect with them both.

Erik picked up his laptop and carried it over to his bed. It was almost the afternoon there and a Sunday. Perfect. Sunday was always their family day of rest.

Califia crawled on the bed next to Erik and he watched their son lean back into her.

"I want to tell you the story of Entabeni and Sekmet. It is how a God from one world traveled across the heavens and saw his great love, a Goddess from another world, and did whatever he could to be with her, no matter what. And despite the fact that he was a jealous God, stubborn, quick to make assumptions…a ridiculous deity really, his heart was in the right place and needed to be with her for eternity."

Califia gave him a sly look.

"Baba, you're not good at disguising this story. You're talkin' about you and Mom," Erik said.

"Am I?"

"It's so obvious," Erik said crossing his arms.

"I am quite sure that this is an ancient story I heard from my own Baba when I was your age. Hmmm. Maybe I should choose another one-?"

"No, we want to hear this one!" Erik said glancing up at Califia.

"Yes, we want to hear this story," Califia said leaning her head back against the headboard.

Erik's eyes looked deep into his mother's and then he scooted his face closer to the laptop screen.

"Baba…"

"Yes, JaJa," N'Jobu said.

"Mom has that look in her eyes and that sound in her voice. The way you do it."

Califia looked at both of them confused.

"That is good, my Son. Very good."

He spun the tale for them. And his heart eased. No worries about Cedric. No worries about T'Chaka keeping him in Wakanda. No worries about what he had to accomplish while he was in his home country to secure a cache of vibranium.

At this moment, his very own Sekmet made him whole and kept him in her world. That was all that mattered.

Chapter 22 HERE.

#prince njobu #black panther #black boys bloom thorns first #blackpanther #erik kilmonger #erik stevens #Prince njobu smut #njobu smut #marvel cinematic universe #njobu #killmonger #erik killmonger #black panther smut #njobu fanfic #njobu fanfiction #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger fanfic #erik stevens fanfiction #erik stevens fanfic

26 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

Text

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chapter 14

youtube

"Breathe, breathe me in, taste my words, let me blow your mind I will take you far, far away I'll make you feel alright You've gotta crave it and chase it Until you're close enough to taste it I can give you what you need I can give you what you need…"

"Make You Feel" – Alina Baraz & Galimatias

April 10th, 20—

I find myself writing more and more as my son grows older.

Erik. N'Jadaka. JaJa.

I remember the night he was conceived so vividly. The urge to make him was so powerful that the moment I released within my woman I knew he was on his way. It is interesting to note the difference between wanting to have a child and having one by accident. When I talk with the men I work with at the shop, most of them had children not by choice, but by surprise. It is what Califia calls being caught out there. If they were with a woman and she happened to get pregnant the response has been either going with the flow, asking for an abortion or leaving the relationship. Some of these men learn to love their children but they are seen as a burden and not a blessing.

I find this way of thinking abhorrent. Granted, when I impregnated Califia the first time, it was not planned, but I was happy when I found out for an all too brief moment before I learned of her operation. I do not understand the thinking of men who behave this way. The second time I left America to return to Wakanda, all I could think about was having a baby with Califia. Erik existed in my mind way before I even reunited with his mother physically. He was real to me even when he was just a thought.

I remember when I came home from Birnin Zana and Califia revealed to me that she was carrying him. She was so scared. Fearful that she would lose this child too. But I knew different. This time I was with her. We wanted this little one together. And Bast blessed us from on high. I know this to be true. The day he was born felt a bit like I was being reborn with him. My hands caught him. I held him first.

Our son.

My world has never been the same since he has come into my life with his mother. I can not imagine living a life without the two of them being in it. Califia has given me the most supreme gift with my son. She is the only woman who could give me a child like him. I ponder sometimes what type of child I would have made with Zinzi or some other woman from back home. Because his bloodline is so different, uniting Califia's hundreds of years of genetic mixing and separation from Africa with my Wakandan pedigree, Erik is a rare jewel. The best of the Old World Africans and the New World ones. My beautiful son.

I find him writing at his desk in his room quite often. I suspect it is because he sees me writing all the time in my journal. He likes to emulate Califia and I. I caught him in our bedroom opening my journal, his curiosity getting the better of him to cause him to violate my privacy. I told him about going through my things without permission. I had no fear of him reading anything that would give my secret identity away. My words are written in my native language. He is beginning to learn the Wakandan alphabet. He is fascinated by the fact that we have more letter/symbols than English. I have been creating a separate journal for him, recording things that will help him understand my culture for when I feel it is time for him to know the truth.

He is sprouting up like a strong tree. He is seven years old now. About to turn eight. He is in the sixth grade and excels in math and science. He loves history and social studies.

Califia and I had to have a serious discussion last night about allowing Erik to attend a local high school part-time for math and computer science, or have him do independent study at home. It feels like every year he excels more and we have to decide what to do with his education. Califia wants him to have the balance of children close to his own age. We are always having slumber parties and play dates with children from her studio. His regular school day finds him around older students, while his extracurricular activities are filled with age-matched peers from our social circles. I think he finds a good balance, but he tends to like older people. He loves sitting with Nana Jean a listening to her stories, especially when she has a card game with what Califia calls a hen party; a group of older women who drink, smoke, play spades and gossip.

Erik has taken up drumming and recently received his fourth capoeira belt. I am very proud of him.

His Uncle Bakari is coming to visit him for his birthday and they will no doubt drum together and play the berimbau for hours. Bakari has been a true brother to me and he has taken my son under his wing as if we were blood family. I am truly grateful for all these years of friendship with him. Bakari and Shavonne found out that they can not have children of their own now. Shavonne suffered from ovarian cancer two years ago and had her ovaries removed. It was a difficult conversation to have with my brother Bakari, but he and Shavonne are considering adoption, and they have focused a lot of love on Erik over the years. They are like his second parents.

Tonight Erik is having a sleepover with his buddy Walter. They've been hanging tough since they first met in pre-school. Walter's parents are always happy to have their son stay with us. I think it is because Erik is a positive influence on Walter. Maybe they think Erik's smarts will rub off on their child.

My son is an introvert. He can be gregarious and appear extroverted when he is with his friends, but he has the tendency to hang back and take in his surroundings before engaging with people. We used to think he was shy once he started elementary school, but the reality is quite different. He observes. Slowly warms up to all that is around him. And then he acts.

He is very particular about how he looks and dresses. Likes things in his room and around him organized and clean. Neat.

Califia is doing well despite the fact that we did have a recent pregnancy scare. Her middle school went through a strike and the stress and worry affected her health. For about two weeks we thought she was pregnant because she had missed a cycle. I admit I was ecstatic. She was actually excited herself until she saw a doctor and it was confirmed that she was not with child. A week later her cycle resumed and we told ourselves that it would have been a welcome surprise. We have been very careful with birth control, but it is my desire to have her pregnant again. And I want her to have our next child in Wakanda. I want to conceive our next little one in my home country. I want a daughter.

Califia predicted it, and I have been holding off on speaking on returning to Birnin Zana with our family, but Erik has begun to ask me about home. He asks why he does not get to meet my family. I have tried to avoid direct answers by planting the idea that my family is estranged and that it is difficult to communicate with them. He seems to accept this answer. It is no different than Califia's relationship with her mother and brothers. They do not often see each other because of distance. My son does not push the issue, but I can see in his eyes that he knows there is more to the story than I am telling him.

I am writing this in bed.

Califia is asleep next to me. Her hair is all over the place and she is in a deep slumber. While the boys were downstairs watching tv and playing video games while lying on the floor with sleeping bags, I was able to sneak a spanking session with her. We did not plan on it, but I walked in from saying goodnight to the boys and found her reading a book in our bed. She had on one of my old undershirts with a T-back design that she liked and just a pair of yellow bikini panties. She turned over to look at me and there was something about the way she stared at me that reminded me of the days when she would be in my bed at my old grad school housing. I reached over and slapped her ass and just marveled at how thick and healthy and gorgeous she looked. Almost eleven years of me knowing her have gone by, and she still gives me a thrill when I look at her.

I made her get on her hands and knees and pulled her panties part way down to her thighs. I spanked her while stroking my dick. She let me play with her pussy with my free hand. My fingers were inside of her when she climaxed, and I let her walls just coat my hand with her slickness. Her pussy is incredible, that is the only way I can describe it. She probably thought I would ride her doggy style, but I just wanted to cum on her face. It is something that I derive great pleasure in doing. The primitive need to mark her with my semen is just a thing I crave if I do not cum inside of her. It makes me feel like I own her. She is mine. No one else can have the honor of painting her face in that way. When she looks up at me, when her lips are parted, when she is waiting for me to release, I just cum so hard that it hurts.

Tonight I had a lot of pent up frustration from work at the shop. Nothing serious, but I knew I was going to need her tonight to calm me down. I groaned so loud when I came, and even more when I saw how much I shot all over her face. She will not move once I have ejaculated on her. She knows I like to stare at her with my semen all over her. I just love to mark her in that way. Some deep-seated urge to watch my fluid drip down her beautiful freckled face. She gives me the most intense look and then I want to do it again. I like to have her wet and slippery and soaking when I am done with her.

I so badly want to wake her up right now and push my dick back into her. The older we get, the more I need to fuck her. She makes comments sometimes to me about how my sex drive should be slowing down. Most men my age reach a certain plateau in their sex drive. What she doesn't know is that my body is not normal. I was created by a man who ingested the heart-shaped herb before he was ever married. When my brother and I were conceived our DNA was already different, superior to regular people. As long as I take care of myself, my body will not slow down like the average man. Thus, my sex drive will not be thwarted. I will probably fuck the way I do now until I am a very old man…

N'Jobu saw a flicker of light under the bedroom door. The angle of the light let him know that Erik was in his room.

N'Jobu closed his journal and left the bed to quietly investigate.

Erik's door was ajar, and he was at his desk writing. Califia had bought him a large dark brown journal that she tried to closely match to N'Jobu's leather-bound journal for him. His face was hunkered down and his right hand was scribbling furiously.

"JaJa," N'Jobu said.

Erik turned away from his journal and looked up at his father. The light from his desk lamp gave the back of his head a halo effect. His baby 'fro looked springy with soft curls.

"Baba…"

"Why are you up so late? Is Walter still downstairs?"

"He's asleep. I wanted to write some things down."

"What sort of things?" N'Jobu asked stepping closer to Erik's desk.

Erik's eyes flitted away from N'Jobu's and glanced down at his writing hand.

"You won't tell Mom, will you?"

"Depends on what you're writing about. Is it something serious?"

N'Jobu took a seat on Erik's bed watching his son's face with curiosity.

"I don't want Mom to know because it's embarrassing."

N'Jobu leaned forward and kept his hands on his knees in an open stance to help Erik relax.

"Go ahead and tell me, Son."

"I had an accident…while I was sleeping…not an accident really…um…my penis…"

N'Jobu cocked his head to the side.

"Your penis what?"

"It got hard, Baba."

N'Jobu let a small smile peek from his lips.

"We've talked about this before. That's natural. Your body is growing and changing and sometimes while you are asleep you will have an erection even at your age—"

"I wasn't really asleep, Baba. I was kind of touching myself."

"Oh."

Oh.

N'Jobu made sure to watch his tone. They hadn't really had the masturbation talk yet.

"Touching yourself is also natural and good. It lets you understand your body and what feels good to you. It is best to do that privately, JaJa."

N'Jobu was beginning to feel like he needed to wake Califia up for this part of the conversation.

"I have a situation at school," Erik said.

"Okay."

Erik looked behind N'Jobu.

"Is Mom asleep?"

"She is."

Erik's face looked fretful.

"JaJa, you can tell me about it."

Erik took a deep breath and spoke with his head down.

"There are these two girls at my school. One is in my P.E. class and the other is in the classroom next to mine. They both like me…."

Erik's eyes glanced up at N'Jobu.

"…and I like them both. Joy, the girl in my P.E. class said I had to decide who I liked best and let them know back at school on Monday. Her and the other girl Amelle are going to wait for me in front of the flag pole. I can't decide."

N'Jobu kept his face neutral, but he was dying of laughter inside. The most stressful occurrence thus far in his son's school life was liking two girls. Two girls who demanded that he make a choice.

"You like them both equally?"

"Yes. That's why…that's why I was touching myself. I was thinking of them and my thoughts made me get excited and then that accident happened—"

"Erik, having an erection is not an accident when you touch yourself. It's okay to do that. Thinking of girls will make that happen a lot. Especially two girls that you like."

"I wanted to see who I liked better when I thought of them while doing that. But it worked for them both."

N'Jobu tried not to let the laughter inside of himself spill out and make his son feel ashamed. The logic behind his masturbation was too precious.

"What makes you like them both equally?"

Erik's face scrunched up a bit.

"I like that they are older than me."

"How much older?"

"Joy is eleven and Amelle is twelve."

An eleven-year-old and a twelve-year-old interested in an eight-year-old. Holy Bast.

"What else do you like about them?"

"They are both funny. I like humor in a woman."

N'Jobu laughed out loud at that. Erik looked sheepish but a smile came across his face, his soft dimples popping out in his cheeks.

"Go on."

"They are both pretty. And smart. I like smart girls. Joy plays basketball with me and Amelle can play chess and beats me sometimes. I like how Joy laughs and Amelle is nice to people who don't have friends."

"Hmmm, I can see how this can be difficult for you. They gave you until Monday to decide?"

"Yes. I came up here to write about it. I want to figure this out, Baba. If I choose Joy, Amelle will feel hurt. If I choose Amelle, then Joy will be upset. If I don't choose any of them, then they both will be mad. Then I won't have a basketball partner or a chess partner anymore for recess. Plus Caleb Baxter has been trying to throw salt in my game by telling me that I just want to be a player. I don't even know what that is really. I asked cousin Junie and he said I should ask you because you would know."

"Junie said that?"

"Yes."

N'Jobu clasped his hands together.

"I think you should get some sleep and not worry too much about Joy and Amelle tonight. We can talk more about it this weekend after Walter is gone. Okay?"

Erik looked relieved to have someone share his burden. N'Jobu stood up.

"Don't stay up too long. You don't want to leave Walter by himself downstairs. If you have any more accidental thoughts of Joy or Amelle, have them in private, understand?"

"Yes, Baba."

N'Jobu leaned over and kissed Erik on his forehead. "Goodnight, Son. Sleep well."

He left his son's room and returned to his own closing the door. He crawled under the covers and was startled to hear Califia giggling on her side of the bed, wide awake.

"Did you hear us?" N'Jobu asked.

"I heard everything," she said covering her mouth.

"Great," he said.

"Don't worry. I know he doesn't want me to know, so I will feign ignorance. But you were so sweet with him. God, he seems so young to be having these feelings and desires. I just want him to be an innocent little boy forever."

"I need to find out what Junie has been telling him about me."

"I'm sure he's heard Junie and Bakari talking about you when you didn't know he was around. But listen, I fell out when he said he liked humor in a woman!"

Califia covered her mouth again to keep her laughter down.

"Well, to an eight-year-old, a girl three or four years older is a woman to him," N'Jobu said.

"Wait! And then he said that other boy was throwing salt in his game…ohmigod that is all Junie right there!"

N'Jobu laughed with her and they tried their best to keep their voices low.

"Who do you think he'll pick?" she asked.

"My money is on the basketball player. You know ball is life with him."

"Nah, my bet is the chess player. She shows kindness to people who are scorned, and Erik has a soft spot for underdogs."

"Care to place a wager?" he said.

"We are terrible parents, but I got five on Amelle."

It never fails to happen.

Like an embedded natural alarm system, Califia can tell when N'Jobu has left their bed when she is asleep. She was in the midst of a pleasant dream about guacamole and her Nana's chicken enchiladas when she felt something off and broke away from her dream state. Her eyes popped open and she saw the book she had been reading wedged under N'Jobu's pillow. He was gone and his journal was lying on the nightstand.

She sat still listening for a moment, thinking he was in the restroom, but then she heard his voice in Erik's room.

"I don't want Mom to know because it's embarrassing."

Fully alert, Califia sat up and cocked her ear toward the door. Partway through their conversation, she had to hold her pillow to her mouth so they wouldn't hear her chuckling.

When N'Jobu returned to bed, she couldn't help but reveal her awakened state. After making bets about who Erik would pick, she and N'Jobu laid in their bed together not saying a word. Each probably lost in their thoughts about Erik.

"How old were you when you realized you liked a girl?" she asked.

"I think maybe I was five. It was a girl from a prominent family in Niganda. She used to kiss me under the table when my father would visit her father. I haven't thought of her in years. She was really something. Just a year older than me, but she was kind of worldly for a six-year-old."

"You were kissing at five? These girls after Erik are almost junior high age. What if they pressure him into doing things he's not equipped to handle yet?"

"He was mature enough to talk to me about something so personal right away. I feel that he will talk to us if he feels pressure or discomfort from the situation. I say we let him figure this out on his own."

"What would an eleven or twelve-year-old see in an eight-year-old boy?"

"Have you met our son?" N'Jobu said giving a sharp laugh to his question.

"I know he's very good-looking, but when I was twelve, the last thing I was checking for was a little dude."

"He's mature. Talented. Brilliant. He came from my loins. What are you missing?"

Califia slapped N'Jobu's arm.

"The conceit—"

"What conceit? I'm stating a fact. That's my seed. Have you seen him work his dimples at your studio when he's flirting? Have you actually watched him flirt with girls and women? The boy is a master."

"But is that manipulation or genuine interest? Boys use girls all the time. I don't want him to be a dog."

"Am I a dog?"

"What?"

"He comes from me. I'm raising him to respect and cherish women. Do you think he'd turn into a dog when I'm teaching him how to be a non-toxic man? He comes from you too. You don't tolerate any bullshit from men, and he sees that. You have to remember, when he was smaller, he wanted to be more like you than me. Would a dog spring from that?"

"I'm not ready for all this," Califia said covering her face and groaning.

"It's not about us being ready, but us preparing him to be a young man and then a fully-grown man."

"I know…but still…that's my baby—"

"He'll always be your baby," he said rolling over to face her.

N'Jobu held her until he drifted off to sleep. She stayed awake listening to his breathing. She could hear Erik and Walter up again playing video games even though it was past midnight.

She thought about what N'Jobu said about Erik flirting at her studio.

She allowed Erik to take her hip-hop dance class and she treated him just like any other student. There was one class for all age groups and the little ones had to keep up if they were going to hang with Califia. She often used Erik to demonstrate complicated steps, and when the class worked on the moves together as a large group, her son would slink to the back to dance next to people he was interested in. Sometimes it was to compete with older dancers, and sometimes it was to be near cute girls. He would simply dance and girls would flock to be near him. If someone had trouble with a step, he would talk to them and show them the move slowly. Then he would compliment them on mastering it.

Once he had their attention, he would move away to the front again and be next to her to show off his prowess at keeping up with her. And she played right into it by dancing with him in front of the mirror and counting off steps for him to further demonstrate. Her little boy was a beast with his moves and she often let him go off in class with the music, gassing him up as he killed any routine she put together. It was over when he freestyled and she would often have to shut him down when he went off and laughed at her trying to cage his groove. Then those damn dimples would come out and the class would hoot and holler. That little negro really did have some game. No wonder Joy and Amelle were demanding his attention despite his young age.

N'Jobu's hand drifted across her chest and he squeezed one of her nipples through the t-shirt she wore and stretched his legs out. She snuggled against him, placing her head on his chest.

"Are they still playing downstairs?" he asked while clearing his throat.

"Yeah."

"I told him not to stay up too late. What time am I taking them to the movies tomorrow?"

"Eleven o'clock matinee."

"Can we change it to later?"

"No, Walter's mom is picking him up from the theater, so make sure you call her when the movie is almost over so she can be waiting in the parking lot."

"You teaching at the studio?"

"Yeah, then I'm going to sit in on my Dad's capoeira class. I think it's time I get this final belt."

His eyes opened. There was a smile on his face. She could see it from the moonlight bathing them from the skylight.

"So a trip to Brazil?"

"Yeah. I'm ready. Erik wants to try for his next cord too."

"I'll get tickets for us then."

"The baptisado is around the time of the city council election. This could be Negra Li's year finally. If she gets in office this time around, we could really do big things there and in Oakland with our non-profit."

N'Jobu kissed her cheek.

"I'm glad I get to be around brilliant Black women."

"I think this will be a great experience for Erik. We can help Negra Li campaign and he can spend time with Axiel and the other old heads."

Califia tilted her head up.

"Are they in the kitchen?"

She heard pots and pans moving around and water running in the kitchen sink.

"Time for them to call it a night," she said jumping out of the bed to put an end to midnight snacking.

N'Jobu watched Erik carefully button his shirt for school. His favorite forest green button up. He had put aloe vera gel in his hair to make his curls shine and he couldn't decide on which pair of sneakers to sport.

"The blue or white ones, Baba?"

"White," N'Jobu said.

"How do I look?"

"Smooth."

Erik grinned. He took a deep breath.

"Just go with your heart, Son. It'll all turn out okay."

"I hope so."

Erik took a good long look at himself in his bedroom mirror.

Today was the day.

The choosing of a girlfriend and the ending of a friendship if he chose wrong according to Erik.

Califia kept up the masquerade of not knowing what was going on, but she still cooked him his favorite breakfast of waffles and bacon and came up with the pretense of having to ride with N'Jobu when he dropped Erik off at school because of car issues.

When they all rode over to Erik's school, N'Jobu made sure to park near the flag pole so he and Califia could scope out the main event without Erik really seeing them. They both watched him hop out the backseat and put on his backpack. He waved to them both, hooked his fingers in the backpack straps and trudged his way toward the flag pole.

"I think that's them…it is! There are the girls!" Califia squealed.

Two girls both wearing designer brand t-shirts and jeans waited by the flag pole. One was a short dark brown-skinned cutie who was a bit pudgy, and the other was an equally adorable skinny whip of a thing with bow legs, and golden-brown skin. Both had dark big bushy hair, and both had their hands on their hips when Erik approached them.

"Here we go," N'Jobu said.

Califia reached out and held his hand as they peeped the drama.

"Should we really be watching this? What if it goes south? There's no way I can pretend to not know if he comes home with a broken heart…oh, my poor baby!" Califia said.

"Hold tight, girl," N'Jobu said, his face animated but his heart in his throat too along with Califia.

"I can't watch," she said covering her eyes.

"Shh," he said.

"What's happening?"

"Stop hiding your eyes and just watch."

They both gazed over at their son as they watched his head bob a bit as he was talking, his hands gesticulating a bit as he explained his reasoning for whomever he was choosing.

"God, he looks so calm and diplomatic," Califia said.

They watched both girls listen, their faces betraying nothing until suddenly they both stared at each other then looked at Erik together at the same time. The dark brown-skinned girl said a few words and she looked calm while saying it. She then turned to the golden brown-skinned girl and pointed at her.

"Uh oh, looks like he picked Miss Bow Legs," N'Jobu said.

The other girl said a few words and then her fingers were pointing back at the other girl.

"This may be a flag on the play, lil thick Mama may be the winner," Califia said.

Both girls finally stopped talking when Erik resumed his words. When he was done, he placed his hands back on his backpack straps.

Both girls looked at one another again and then—

"Wait. Wait! What just happened?" Califia squeaked in the passenger seat.

N'Jobu started laughing and slapped a hand on his steering wheel.

"Oh, my Gawd! No he didn't!" Califia said.

"His choice!" N'Jobu said.

They both watched the two girls kiss each side of Erik's cheeks and walk on either side of him onto the school campus. All together.

"That boy chose them both, didn't he?" Califia said leaning back in the passenger seat and folding her arms across her chest.

"We don't know for sure—"

"They were both smiling and kissing his cheeks at the same time. That is all you!"

"Me?!"

"That's some N'Jobu Dumisani Udaku maneuvering. That boy knows what a player is—"

"Player? How is it playing when they both agree to it?"

"Shut up!"

N'Jobu laughed and started up his car. Califia looked at him with amusement in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who used to juggle several people at the same time. Polyamory is your thing. That's you he's taking after," N'Jobu said.

"Tuh."

"I guess our bet is moot now?"

"Clearly. Make sure you get the 411 when he comes home today."

"I'm going to mind my business and let him tell us what he wants us to know."

"You ain't right. How am I supposed to look at him at dinner?"

"Just like you normally do."

Califia shook her head.

"Califia, don't you mess this up being nosey."

"I won't."

"So, did anything exciting happen at school today?"

Califia felt N'Jobu's eyes on her face as she watched Erik tuck into his plate of rice and spicy plantains.

"No," Erik said reaching for a bowl of cauliflower.

She felt N'Jobu's foot nudge her ankle under the table.

"Erik, your mom wants to go up for her final cord at the next baptisado in Sao Paulo."

Erik's eyes got big. Califia spooned a bit of rice into her mouth. "For real, Mom?"

"Yep. You feel like training with me, maybe go for your next cord too?'

"Yeah!" he said, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Auntie Li is running for city council again, so we're going to help her out while we're there. That means we'll be gone for a while. Are you cool with that?"

"Yep!"

"Good. Baba will get the tickets for us early…but Erik, that means you'll miss computer camp this year."

"That's okay, I've been coding some stuff on my own and I can catch up on what I missed with Walter. His mom is finally letting him go this summer."

"That's good to hear," she said.

They ate more food and talked about mundane things, and Erik watched Califia interact with his father with great intent. When they were enjoying a slice of Nana's famous coconut cake, Erik seemed fidgety.

"What's wrong, JaJa?" Califia asked.

"Mom, can I ask you something?"

Califia glanced over at N'Jobu and his calm eyes telegraphed nothing out of the ordinary.

"Sure, go ahead, baby."

Erik's eyes drifted over to N'Jobu's and then he sat up a bit in his seat.

"What was it about Baba that made you like him so much?"

Califia felt her heart flutter. He was trying to share his new feelings with her in a round-about -way.

"Did you like him when you first met him?"

"She did not, Son—"

"Wait! When I first met you, I was in the middle of something important—"

"You barely wanted to give me the time of day—"

"I was starving—"

"So that's a no?" Erik asked.

Califia picked at her cake.

"I found your father interesting. And handsome…but he was already going after another girl when I met him."

"For real, Baba?"

Califia stuck a big bite of cake into her mouth and stared at N'Jobu. His face looked stricken, like he had betrayed his own son by being with another woman before her.

"Uh—" N'Jobu said.

"Uh, nothing. I was in the middle of talking to your father about his bracelet when this other girl walked right in front of me and took him away. Just like that!" Califia snapped her fingers. Erik's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Who could be better than my mother, Baba?"

"Say that, baby. Answer your son. Who could be better than moi?"

She could see already that N'Jobu wanted her to shut up. She could also see that glint in his eye that told her he was going to get her back later. Hopefully in bed.

"We were in University. Uncle Bakari wanted me to meet some new people so that's what I was doing. I met a lot of people there that night. Not just your mother."

"So what made you pick her?"

N'Jobu folded his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table while looking Califia dead in her face.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas…just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable…I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

Califia felt water prick her eyes, but she tried to hold back any tears. When she glanced back over at Erik, his bright eyes studied her face and she started to cry.

"Come here, girl," N'Jobu said reaching his arm out for her.

Califia moved out of her seat and sat on his lap. She buried her face in his neck and he stroked her back.

"Hey…hey…you know that's what you mean to me…" N'Jobu whispered in her ear.

Califia wiped her eyes and turned to face Erik. She cleared her throat and sat up on N'Jobu's lap so that she was leaning into him.

"One time I was visiting a museum with your father. We were looking at blankets and pictures from his country. We were still getting to know each other. Not exactly friends, but getting there. I asked him if he could take me to one place in his country, he said it was this river that was like a natural sauna. I was looking up at his face and I thought I could be with him forever. That was also the day he first kissed me—"

"Aye, you kissed me first!"

"Oh yeah, I did—"

"That's when all that started?" Erik asked.

"Yeah," Califia said staring at N'Jobu, ready to take his lips in hers right then and there.

Erik stood up and walked over to them. He wrapped his arms around Califia's waist and placed his head on her chest.

"I'm glad you found each other. I think you should apologize to Mom for letting that other woman interrupt your first meeting, Baba," Erik said.

"Apologize!" Califia demanded and N'Jobu kissed her instead.

Chapter 15 HERE.

#Njobu #n'jobu #eriklives #wakanda #black panther #blackpanther #killmonger #erikkillmonger #njobufanfiction #n'jobufanfiction

18 notes · View notes