#average looking aunt in bikini

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[Amherst :: from my files]

* * * *

A very nice piece by a master of his craft, Garrison Keilor:"

I love this September chill in the air. I love sweaters. They hide the age wrinkles on my inner upper arms. A stocking cap means I don’t have to comb my hair. Delicate souls are yearning for Florida and maybe catch a temp job as a consumer influence consultant, enough to pay for a condo with a pool, but not me, I’m not into influence and Florida brings out the bad taste in people and nobody wants to see an old man in a thong bikini. So here I am. 

I like the coffee here. I’ve figured out how the shower works and no longer stand under scalding water because I turned the wrong knob; I don’t want to go to Florida and stay in a motel with a crank for a shower knob and be burned alive while naked. So I’ll stay up North. Here I take a shower, wrap a towel around me, walk into the bedroom and sing, “O my love, my darling, I hunger for your touch.” In Florida, I’d go to the ER. 

The air is golden, smelling of wine and apples and woodsmoke. It takes me back to when I was 15, sitting in the press box and covering the football games for the Anoka Herald, my first paid writing job. And when I was 18 and a girl and I lay in a pile of leaves and made free with each other. Now I’m 80, the sky so clear I can see vast constellations, standing in the yard, aware of the universe and also smelling the rich spongy earth below my feet. An eternity of stars above, including stars that no longer exist but their light still comes to us, and I stand here in mystification, having unlearned so much of what I thought I knew about life, achieving this plain peasant life. It’s a second childhood. Someone told me the other day that “racecar” spelled backward is “racecar.” Amazing.

This is why I quit drinking and got my mitral valve replaced, so I could see beyond the average life expectancy and it’s quite worth the wait, to live in a state of wonder. Writing prose is a form of gardening, which my dad was good at, especially strawberries and asparagus and tomatoes. Store-bought tomatoes tasted like cardboard to him. (Now they taste the same to me.) My aunts Josephine and Eleanor were passionate gardeners. If my essays were as good as their cucumbers and lettuce, I’d be a major success, but frankly I like being a struggling octogenarian up-and-comer. People show me deference because I walk with a cane, and that’s okay, but I live in a very small world. My heroes are dead, my ambition is quite awake, I don’t believe in tragedy anymore, I believe in mystery. 

I am mystified by my grandson and what an excellent human being he has become. He is a bulwark and an inspiration. I had two grandsons but the other one took his own life one afternoon after school. He was a lively inquisitive boy in love with all of nature, especially animals, and had the ability to retain practically everything he ever read, and he’s been gone for five years and I haven’t accepted his death. I will always be mystified by it, as I am by my childhood friend Corinne who paddled a canoe out onto Lake Cayuga one moonlit night in 1986, her pockets full of rocks, and overturned it and drowned. It was thirty-six years ago but still vivid to me, especially tonight. 

Memory is tied to smell and on a September night chapters of life return to mind, unbidden. I’ve forgotten most of the books I ever read. Theology is of no use to me. I’m a child; I believe “All things work together for good to them that love God.” As a boy I used outhouses and now I walk into a men’s toilet and pee in a urinal and step back and it automatically flushes. I walk around with a device in my pocket the size of a half-slice of bread and I can call my grandson for a report on Gen Z or read the Times or do a search for “Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need.” It’s a sweet world. My beloved sent me out for a walk and here I am, going nowhere, looking at everything all at once."

[Thank you Ian Sanders]

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 22 of 30]

Summary: Erik and Yani face serious troubles...

Mature Audience. NSFW. Smut.

"Behind my pride there lives a me, that knows humility Inside my voice there is a soul, and in my soul there is a voice But I've been, too afraid to make a choice Cause I'm scared of the things that I might be missing

Running too fast to stop and listen It's time to step out on faith, I've gotta show my faith It's been illusive for so long but freedom is mine today I've gotta step out on faith it's time to show my faith…"

– "Strength Courage & Wisdom" - India.Arie

Erik was late arriving for breakfast in the front house. He jogged around the compound trying to offset tension in his body. Lack of sleep made him cranky. He felt like he was losing focus of the big picture.

The other mercs went through plates of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and grits. Erik put together a plate of lighter fare, some fruit, wheat toast, and a glass of orange juice. He glanced at Leona who replaced a platter of bacon with fresh sausage links and was surprised to see Yani's cousin Cee Cee in the kitchen pulling out hot biscuits from the oven.

When breakfast was over and the crew wandered down to the gun range to discuss departure dates and future rendezvous points, Erik straggled behind in the kitchen.

His eyes peeped Cee Cee again as he placed his orange juice glass in the sink. Leona wiped down the kitchen counter with a soft blue cloth.

"She won't work here anymore," Leona said with a soft voice.

Cee Cee leaned against the dining table in the other room watching him and Leona.

There was no need to ask why.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Leona nodded.

"Me too."

"How is Sweet Pea?"

Leona smiled big and wide.

"She good. Spending more time with her father…and sister…"

Erik went to the fridge and grabbed a bottled water.

"That's good," he said.

"She still ask about her Baba—"

"It's okay, Miss Leona—"

"Him don't need no explanation. Don't even talk to him about nothin', Auntie."

Cee Cee brought in empty bowls and brushed past Erik, shoving him a little.

"Cee Cee—"

"Fuck him. I told Yani he was just using her—"

"Quiet your foul mouth, gyal!"

Cee Cee looked startled by Leona's voice.

"Auntie—"

"We can still be cordial. Kind."

Leona's eyes took in Erik's dower expression.

"They are both doing well, Mr. Killmonger."

Erik left the kitchen, his legs moving so swift he could still hear his name on Leona's lips.

It hurt.

Like hell.

A physical pain that lodged in his throat and wouldn't leave his belly any peace.

He hated being at the compound. And now that she was gone for good, all he saw were dreary days ahead until he left that tiny rock.

During the meeting with Klaue and the other mercs, Erik once again found himself compartmentalizing his thoughts to keep sane. He also found himself looking forward to London. He needed to be around family, people who loved him, and to be in a new environment. What was once a warm paradise had now become a cold underworld.

Yani had turned all of her social media private. He had no more access to her or glimpses of Sydette. She cut off all contact. Blocked his number.

It hardened his heart. But it was for the best he kept telling himself. His bags were packed.

He was ready to vanish.

###

Linda was always hovering around Killmonger.

It drove Yani crazy.

Not because she cared about them being together, but because it was intentional on Linda's part.

The bulk of Erik and Linda's time together was spent with Klaue of course, but there were those times that Yani thought Linda was purposely being dramatic in front of her to get a reaction.

Touching Erik and grabbing on his arm after meals. Laughing a little too loud with him when Yani passed by with dirty laundry or cleaning supplies. Even when Yani used different routes to move around the compound, Linda found a way to be there.

"What's wrong with you?" Leona asked.

Yani stacked glasses and dishes in the cupboards then rinsed her hands in the sink.

"Nothing."

"Not with that face."

"Got a lot on my mind."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Just school stuff. Figuring out my schedule for next term."

Her Aunt watched her but didn't question her further.

"They still at the gun range?" Yani asked.

Leona glanced at the small viewscreens near the fridge.

"Yes."

"I'll be back—"

"Yani."

"Yes?"

Leona put her arms around Yani.

"I know it's not easy."

"I'm fine, Auntie. For real."

"I hear you say that, gyal, but mi know the truth."

"See you in a few."

Yani looked around her surroundings before she snuck a towel from the pool area and made herself blend into the foliage as she slipped down the hidden path. She hummed a little bit to herself as she pulled off her t-shirt. Adjusting her bikini top, she was glad that she opted to wear her swimsuit under her clothes. After a quick dip, she could throw her shirt and dark sweats back on with no one even knowing she had been in the water.

Reaching the final curve that opened up to the cove, Yani stopped and clenched her fist inside her bundled shirt.

Linda was sprawled out on a towel in a pink one piece. Erik was right next to her on his own towel, shades covering his eyes. A pounding pressure struck her left temple and a dark heat rose in her chest. The cove felt polluted with their presence. Nothing was sacred anymore and Yani wanted to cry. Why would he bring her down there? He knew that was her water…

"Taking a break?"

Linda stared at her as she smoothed out her beach towel.

Yani kept quiet. Erik didn't even budge. She wanted to kick sand on him.

"The water is actually a decent temperature," Linda said.

She stood up and walked into the water, allowing the water to reach her chest.

Yani pulled her shirt back on and turned around to head back to the kitchen with her Aunt.

"You down here too?"

Neal's predatory smile made Yani feel worse. Unger was behind him wearing trunks. She backed up from the two of them.

"The water is great!" Linda called.

Yani walked past the two men and when she glanced back, Erik was still sunbathing. He hadn't moved an inch.

Yani acted unbothered for a long time, but the last straw was watching Linda walk out of Killmonger's room giving her orders to bring him soup. Slinking around in a gauzy house dress and telling her not to disturb him. They probably fucked all night, using up another box of condoms, and expected her to clean their messy sheets.

That man had the damn nerve to make her bring him food to that bed. Just an excuse to rub her nose in his new sex life.

She wasn't hurting for dick though.

Zachary turned out to be a capable replacement.

The sex was…different. Calm. But satisfying.

They started hanging out together. Lunch dates. Occasional dinner dates. She brought him to social events with her friends and then finally brought him around family again. She kept Sydette out of the equation this time around. She didn't want to put her daughter through the attachment of another man who might not be a long-term partner. It was better that way. Sydette still asked about her Baba, but Yani kept her busy with daycare, play dates, and time with Chez.

Chez.

Who knew he could get his shit together to act as a father for once? Maybe Killmonger had knocked some damn sense into the man. Sped up his maturity. Being forced to give him Sydette was heart-wrenching, but in the end, it gave Yani the freedom to do things for herself on the weekends.

When Killmonger tried to tell her that he missed her, Yani became enraged. After screaming at him in Klaue's house, she was done. There was no way to be at the compound with him there. She went back to her apartment and blocked Killmonger from any access to her.

Zachary helped her forget. Especially that night when she saw Killmonger at the Bacchanal. He had the damn nerve to ask her to dance as if they were chummy like that anymore. When he walked up on her she wanted to spit in his face, tried her best to keep her hands to herself when she felt him standing behind her, all that body heat of his fanning out onto her. Thank God her homegirls kept him in check. They prevented her from clawing his face. Him standing there with short hair, almost clean-shaven, like he was pretending to be some new dude for her. Fuck him.

The lap dance she gave in front of the crowd was a declaration to him that alla her thickness was off limits to him for good. Once she was back in her apartment, she called Zachary over and finally gave him her sticky sweetness.

Strange though.

She gave Zachary everything on her couch, but not in her bed.

The bed that Killmonger bought her.

Each time she had sex with Zachary they did it in his bed at his place, or on her couch. Never her bed.

Different hands on her body, different energy around her, different conversations in her house made it easier to loosen Killmonger from her thoughts.

It wasn't full-proof though.

She caught herself having lucid dreams of Killmonger fucking her. She'd wake up with her pussy throbbing like she could feel him inside of her. Her slippery wet dreams felt so real. Swollen wet folds greeted her fingers when she woke up from those erotic imaginings. Bitterness slept in her mouth with his name still trapped there. Zachary would have his sheathed average length sink into her, and sometimes she would catch herself daydreaming of Killmonger in the middle of the act. Zachary could get quite worked up, but it wasn't the ferocity she was accustomed to. She wondered how long it would take to shake the ghost of that nigga's dick from her pussy. She wanted to hate that man to help her forget him. How could she when he still haunted her in her sleep and in another man's arms? It was crazy. But she knew it would pass. It always did eventually and then she was over it.

Erik seemed to be over it. He didn't bother to stay out of her way anymore, and when he passed her by it was like she was a non-entity.

She treated him the same and eventually, she became numb to his presence.

Almost.

Her last day working came once Leona received permission from Klaue to have Cee Cee trade jobs with Yani from now on.

Taking one last walk around the property searching for Jerome, she encountered a sobering sight. All the men and Linda hovered around Erik and Neal as they fought one another in an open circle. Hand to hand tussling. Shirts off. Both wearing loose joggers. Neal was using boxing moves that Yani was familiar with, but Killmonger was making moves that frustrated Neal. It was that capoeira he knew and some other fighting style.

Her heart thudded as she watched the two men give one another bruising punches. Neal lost his cool completely when Erik used his bare feet to strike his face with a series of tight cartwheels and backflips.

"Get him, Killmonger!" Linda shrieked as she tossed water from a bottle at both of them. Neal was able to get in some hard hits and when his fist made contact with Killmonger's cheek, something ignited in that man and his hands became swift weapons against Neal's chest and stomach.

The others urged them on and Yani felt herself getting queasy watching blood spurt from Neal's mouth and cuts from Killmonger's face from bare knuckles. Neal gave Killmonger a powerful uppercut that made him stagger back clutching his jaw. He flexed his neck and lunged for the man, placing him in a tight headlock. Killmonger punched the man and more blood flowed.

Neal twisted his waist and Killmonger shoved him onto the ground.

They traded more blows until Neal charged Killmonger knocking him onto his back. Yani gritted her teeth knowing the hard cement would break skin. Killmonger reached up and grabbed Neal's throat, his powerful hands choking tight. Neal thrust his hands up and broke Killmonger's hold on him. Rolling away from the leaner man's weak punches, Killmonger swayed his body in a dance-like rhythm around Neal causing the other man's frustration to bubble over. Neal reached for a thick broken tree branch lying on the ground and beat Killmonger with it. The abuse didn't last long once the branch was snatched from Neal's hand and tossed aside. Yani's Ex lost it.

Killmonger beat the man so bad that Unger and Shipley had to drag him away.

"Jesus…Killmonger…!" Linda shouted.

"Thought you were gonna back that shit up homie…said you could show me some things. Whatchu show me, huh? Nothin' nigga. You ain't want this—"

Huntsman helped Neal to his feet and away from Killmonger.

"Lemme go! I'm not done yet!"

Neal thrashed against Huntsman.

"Trust me, you're done. Go clean yourself up," Linda blurted, her fingers touching the wounds on Killmonger's face.

"Anyone else want a taste? All that talk…"

Killmonger spit on the ground. What splattered there was dark against the cement. He wiped his chin and his heated eyes darted around, challenging the others.

Linda's eyes were riveted to Killmonger's. She handed him a beer and he took a deep swig. Grabbing it away from him, she drank down the rest spilling it on her shirt.

"Making a mess," he said.

"You wish," she said.

Linda reared back and kicked Killmonger in the chest. Surprised, he dropped down and swept his legs against hers knocking her off balance. Linda recovered and threw up her fists to box him.

What was wrong with them? Was this their entertainment?

Yani couldn't take it anymore and left them to their violent play.

###

A sheet and pillowcase were tangled in the dryer as Yani pulled them out. She couldn't get the images of Killmonger fighting out of her head. Folding the linens, she wondered how he could be so brutal and willing to harm his own body when it wasn't necessary—

Killmonger barged in carrying a knit bag of dirty clothes. His left cheek looked slightly swollen, and he had a small bandage over his right cheekbone. He halted near the doorway for a second when he saw her, then went about his business of checking the washing machine. He tossed his clothes in, reached up for laundry detergent, and ignored her completely. He wore a tight t-shirt and camouflage pants. A Glock was tucked in the back of his waistband.

Yani continued folding sheets over on the wide folding table next to the dryer.

"There any more fabric softener?" he asked looking up at the shelf above the machines.

Yani reached under the folding table and lifted up a new bottle of softener. She slammed it on the washing machine and continued folding.

Killmonger took the bottle and opened it. He glanced at her for a moment and stuck the softener on the shelf above him. Lingering after his clothing load started, Yani felt irritated.

"You need somethin' else?"

"Nah. You?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

He sauntered over to the door.

"Why did you take her down there?"

"What are you grumbling about now?"

"That was my place…my private spot to swim and be alone—"

"You gonna stand there and whine about people swimming? You don't own nothing here—"

"But you know how I feel about that place!"

Yani's shrill scream shocked her own self, her fists clenched and pressed against her thighs.

"I didn't take her down there. She said she followed you and discovered it. You didn't do a good job of protecting your playground. She told the others about it. That's on you."

Yani reached out and struck him in his chest. She was shaking so hard as her nails raked across his keloids.

"What is wrong with you?! Bitch—"

He pushed her back against the folding table and Yani reached up and grabbed onto the silver chain he wore around his neck that had an onyx and silver ring on it.

"What you not about to do is have me come up out myself!" he yelled.

Grabbing her arms, he held them against her, his face hard and close to her face. His gold teeth gleamed in the laundry room light. Her hands shook furiously at her sides and she tried her best to keep tears from pressing out of her lids, but he saw it.

"Fuck, Yani…calm down…it's not that serious," he said placing his hands on her shoulders.

"It is for me."

"You right girl…you right…forget what I said."

She pulled back from him and started folding the sheets again. He didn't move from where he was and when she looked back at him, all she could focus on was the bruises on his face. It was like she was staring at a stranger. How did it come to this so fast?

She couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was closing in on her.

He reached out and cradled her neck, pulling her in close. His other hand stroked her arm and when she shuddered, he lifted her up and made her sit on the laundry table, her ass warmed up by a clean bed sheet.

"Hmmm…"

The groan in his throat was swallowed by her mouth when his lips sought hers out. His tongue pushed her lips apart and he leaned into her so her breasts pressed into his chest. The ring on his chain poked her.

She had forgotten what his mouth and lips felt like. No, that was a lie. She missed how his mouth and lips felt like. His tongue snaked around hers and her legs automatically opened wider for him. She gasped when he yanked up her shirt and unfastened her bra. Reaching behind himself he pulled his gun out of his pants and sat it next to her hand on the table. She watched him raise up his shirt and pull half of it over his neck, showing a chest and abs that were worked out more from when she last saw it naked.

Plunging his tongue down her throat again he stayed on her mouth until she felt her insides squeeze with anticipation. Hot breath in her ear, and hotter lips on her neck, Yani leaned back giving in more by the minute. He licked around her neck and she bent her head forward so he could lick her tattoos and give tiny kisses there.

His fingers hooked into the band of her loose cotton sweats and her hands jerked back to hold them in place.

His tongue slipped into her ear and the wet warmth made her stomach drop and her hands grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Baby…" he sighed, tugging on her pants again.

She let him drag them down, rocked her hips forward and lifted her ass to help him get them down to her ankles. He pulled down his pants and fisted his erection. His eyes sought hers and she felt all tension leave her body with a rising desire to join their bodies together again. She placed her fingers around his fat wet glans and squeezed. His eyes slammed shut and his mouth parted, the gleam from those gold slugs taunting her. Her skin tingled wanting him to bite her flesh. She placed his tip against her opening and when she enveloped his length, she didn't exhale until he was firmly rooted.

"Daddy gotchu all upset," he said digging in her pussy hard.

She gripped his length tight and his eyes stayed on her face.

"Taking it like a good girl…Daddy's good girl. All this dick…yeah…stretching this fat pussy out right. Don't be mad. Daddy's sorry…ohhh shit…you putting it on me girl. You still mad at me? Huh, that why you gripping me so fucking tight? You squeezin' Daddy's dick…ah fuck…keep squeezin' on this pipe….do that shit girl…punish me, Baby…teach Daddy a lesson…."

Yani's head tilted back, her mouth alternating between staying parted and becoming a tight pout. She felt so full. Zachary could never hit her walls like that. He was unable to hit the bottom of her pussy like Killmonger's extra inches. Her facial expressions must've excited him because Killmonger never looked away as he stroked her deep.

"Been keepin' this pussy tight for me…" he grunted.

He lifted up and pulled her pants all the way off so he could push her legs back on the table. The angle tugged on her clit and he rode that position while he continued watching her face. It was hard to keep her eyes on him as she closed them occasionally because she couldn't stand the intense pressure on her walls. He was moving in a way that prevented her from getting full contact stimulation on her clit. The tugging of her hood had her moaning under her breath. She wanted to scream but there was no telling who was around to hear her cries if she truly let go of what she suppressed.

"Look at me, girl. Keep them eyes on me. I like watching your face handle this dick-"

"Nigga it don't take this long to throw some clothes in the…oh, shit, my bad nigga—"

Shipley's flustered voice took in Yani's pussy being plowed righteously. Killmonger got in four more good strokes before he even stopped. Yani grabbed her shirt and pulled it down. She pushed off of Killmonger's dick and pulled on her pants.

Shipley's eyes stayed on her the entire time and Yani felt so much shame. The man held the door wide open.

"Yani!" Erik called.

She left, half walking, half running past Shipley and down to the cove barefoot.

Out of breath, she stepped into the water just to feel the coolness revive her feet. She would never come back there again. Not to the healing waters that caressed her toes, or the compound that had taken care of her since she was fourteen. She couldn't face any of the people. Especially Shipley. He would confirm that what they all whispered about was true.

The sun did a slow crawl to a blood-red sunset. Her body felt hot and sickened and embarrassed by the day.

She stripped and walked further into the water.

She wasn't shocked to hear a splash behind her as she swam further out. She heard his arms stroke through the placid water.

"Yani. You okay?"

He swam around her naked until he could see her face. They both tread in deep waters staring at one another. Killmonger tried reaching out to her, but Yani swam back to shore and pulled her clothes back on. She felt empty. Cold.

It hurt to walk away from her once special place.

And him.

###

On a lazy Sunday when Chez had Sydette, Klaue summoned her to the compound. Her Aunt texted her and said Klaue wanted to see her right away.

Yani was hesitant, worried that she would run into Killmonger or worse…Linda.

But the compound was quiet.

Klaue sat by his pool drinking a whiskey sour, and when she stood before him, he waved a hand for her to sit in the lounger next to him. She felt nervous, her eyes flitting around expecting Killmonger to show up and throw off her emotions.

"Sad to not have you here anymore, Yani."

Klaue's eyes were runny and pink. He had been drinking for quite some time. Salmon board shorts and a white polo shirt adorned his body. He offered Yani a drink but she declined.

"Here," he said, handing her an envelope.

A check.

Her eyes popped out at the amount.

"Mr. Klaue…"

"That should cover the cost of your schooling, lab fees, etc…"

Yani's heart sped up.

"Your family has taken care of this property for many years. I want to repay that…we want to repay that."

"We?"

"The bulk of that comes from Killmonger. He suggested some sort of severance package for you before he left."

"He's gone?"

Her eyes couldn't hide what she felt.

"It's always all work and barely any play. Family business. He didn't want me to tell you that he gave you part of that. But I wanted you to know. It's obvious that he cares about you and your Aunt. You got very close, didn't you?"

Yani turned her head away from him and focused on the check.

"Killmonger. Complicated. Volatile. Loyal. Easily my best…also one of the meanest men in the trade…and yet…"

Klaue stared at her.

She kept her eyes steady, but her fingers trembled. There was enough money in her hand to take care of herself and Sydette for the next few years. At least until she found a nursing position somewhere. It was beyond school tuition. It was a chance at a real life on her own.

"Thank you—"

"Thank him. He was the most generous. I'm taking care of school. He's taking care of the rest."

"Incoming call. Limbano, Robert."

"Duty calls. Excuse me."

Klaue lumbered up from his seat spilling a bit of whiskey. He shuffled down toward his main house and Yani ran to the front house apartment.

"Auntie!"

Leona sat in front of her tv with Cee Cee watching a nighttime soap.

"What is it?"

Yani shoved the check in her face.

"What is this?"

Leona's eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

Cee Cee grabbed the check.

"Shit!" Cee Cee yelped.

"Who gave you this? Klaue?" Leona asked.

"Klaue…but mostly Killmonger."

"Why him do this?" Cee Cee asked.

Leona's eyes stayed with Yani's. Auntie knew, Yani was sure of that.

"Quick, go put it in the bank!" Leona said shoving Yani out of the apartment.

Yani grabbed her Aunt's arm.

"Why didn't you tell me he left?"

"I didn't know."

"I gotta go!"

Yani ran all the way to her car and drove straight to the bank.

Once the deposit had been made, and she waited to make sure the full amount showed up on her deposit slip, she sat in her car and felt the full weight of regret. Pulling out her cell she typed him a message. Erased it. Typed it again.

She swiped his number and felt her chest and stomach get tight waiting for him to answer.

But he didn't.

###

"My God, Addae! Look at my nephew!"

Erik stared at his Aunt Serah as she held her face with her hands staring at him in her front door. He had surprised his play Aunt by arriving a day early. But the bigger surprise was waiting for him in his Aunt's visiting room.

"Fuck outta here! Watchu doin' here, girl!"

Erik ran up and picked up his play cousin Marisol and twirled her around. He dropped her back on her feet and took a good long look at her. Marisol was breathtaking. Skin so rich with unblemished dark skin. Onyx eyes. Perfectly symmetrical features that could be cute and loveable one moment, but fiery and capable of trouble in the next. It was hard to believe sometimes that his play cousin who had been an ashy-legged crybaby tagging after him through the streets of Sao Paolo, and annoying him to no end, grew up to be the raven-haired beauty before him.

"Auntie sent me a ticket since you were skipping us this holiday."

Marisol's voice was a balm to his ears, her Portuguese accent bringing him back to Brazil and her mother's beef dumplings and rice.

"Looking good, cuz," he said.

"And you're looking big. I see you are eating well."

She bent her body low to the ground, her ginga smooth, her hands rocking toward her chest.

"Ready to play already, cuz?" he said.

Erik countered her moves in a mirror-like fashion.

"Oh no, not in my living room with my expensive artwork in the way! Take that outside!"

"We'll stay tight Auntie," Erik said kicking up his foot and tangling it with Marisol's hands. His cousin did a front walkover and twisted her legs around.

"My God, you two can't be together for five minutes without testing one another!"

"Oi quem mandou levar! Essa carta pra sinhá! Oi quem mandou levar! Oia la Besóuro preto. Oi quem mandou levar…!

Marisol's singing voice stirred Erik's movement, his hands and feet flew faster and Marisol held him off.

Erik joined her in the singing and Serah picked up one of her standing statues of a Cameroonian warrior and moved it from their dangerous leg kicks.

"I see nothing has changed, you are both still hard-headed," Serah sighed, standing back from them. She began clapping her hands, keeping the song rhythm going.

Erik did a slow backflip and he swayed in front of his Aunt and sang to her another capoeira song.

"A capoeira meu amor…a capoeira me chamou…a capoeira meu amor…a capoeira me chamou…"

His voice was choppy but true, and Marisol joined him as he serenaded Serah.

"Such a charmer!" Serah said.

She grabbed Erik's chin and kissed his forehead.

"Go wash up. Dinner is ready and you are lucky I made a lot since we weren't expecting you until tomorrow night."

The moment Erik smelled Serah's cooking in the kitchen he had forgotten all about St. Thomas and Klaue and Linda and—

His cell phone chirped up missed calls that finally caught up to him in London and he scrolled and erased many that were unimportant. But a certain number popped up on his screen and he stared at it. No text, but a voicemail.

Yani.

"Thank you."

Damn.

She had the money and Klaue opened his big mouth.

"Yani? Who is that?"

Marisol stared at his fingers and he swiped the phone off.

"I swear, every time I see you, it's someone new."

"Shut up."

"It's true."

Serah headed to the kitchen as his Uncle carried his bags to a guest room.

Erik unpacked, and once dinner was served and eating commenced, he put away thoughts about Yani and focused on his family.

His Uncle Addae caught him up on the political happenings in London and other parts of the U.K. Serah gave him a couple of books covering ancient sculptures from Central and East Africa to help him pinpoint pieces he had to look out for. They spent two days going through her archives online and she used 3D imaging to give him a feel for shapes and sizes. He already knew the vibram tattoo on his gums would verify any authentic Wakandan pieces with vibranium in them. They took a family trip to visit a few museums, and Erik took discreet pictures of the layouts of each, prepping himself for future trips if the need arrived.

The rest of his time was used playing chess with Marisol, catching up on friends, family and old girlfriends back in Brazil, going out dancing with her and taking long naps together on the couch like they used to as kids after binging bad horror movies all day.

When his Aunt and Uncle went out to do last-minute Christmas shopping, Marisol made him take off his shirt so she could look at his scars.

Her face took on a pinched intensity.

"JaJa," she whispered using his family nickname as she touched the new lesions that had finally healed after his Angola trip.

"I did it myself. Didn't want to bother you with it."

"How many more must you take?" she said.

"As many as I need to get me what I want…hey…don't make that face. You know what it is—"

"JaJa…"

"I'm done talking about it."

He picked up his laptop and turned on some soft music, setting the computer down on the coffee table in front of them. He pulled his shirt back on.

"I'm not putting any more on your body."

"I do it myself now. No need to bother you with it."

His lips felt tight. Her eyes looked away from his.

"Who is that?"

Erik tried to change the screen images that played with the music on his laptop, but Marisol was too fast. Her thin dark fingers swiped his screen and pulled back the last three images that flashed past.

"JaJa…did you…did you have a child?"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and sat back on the couch. Sydette's big smiling face filled up the computer screen with his face right next to her. It was one of the last pictures he had with her that Twyla took when he said goodbye to his little girl. They were all dimples in that photo.

"She's mine, but she's not really mine—"

"Don't talk semantics. Is that your baby? Who is the mother? Wait…did Disa and you?"

"No. This baby belongs to someone else—"

"But is she yours?"

Marisol's dark coal eyes looked hopeful.

"No. Her mother is someone I was seeing."

"Show me."

"Not right now, Marisol…please…I'm not-"

"No worries. No pressure then."

She touched his face.

"JaJa…"

Yani still lived in his throat and deep in his chest. Shit. His own cousin could see her on his face.

Marisol patted his chest.

"She's a beautiful child. You both look very happy together."

"I was happy."

"You can't stay that way?"

"Nah…it's too complicated…"

"Hmmm, I've heard that before. This must've been serious. Complicated is in some Disǎ territory. This baby's mother have you wound up like that again?"

Erik's eyes cut away from Marisol's. She was so much like his mother in many ways. Able to read his emotions inside his silence. His fingers reached out and held Marisol's hand. Squeezed it. He leaned forward and scrolled through a photo folder and swiped open a picture of Yani and Sydette inside Klaue's car. The night he left her for Angola.

Marisol stared at the photo and he was met with bright white teeth from her lips.

"They are beautiful. Were you with them before you came here?"

"We didn't part in the best way."

"Do you ever?"

The smirk on her mouth was playful but understanding.

How many times had Marisol witnessed all his messy entanglements? Played referee when he was being sloppy with his dick? Jumped in front of women in her own home town throwing hands over him in public when he was being young and dumb and uncaring? Marisol knew so many of his darkest secrets and shared in two of them. Truth was, if she ever changed from being a teacher, she could be the most brazen killer.

She had a reason to be.

Years ago, they both experienced the trauma of their Aunt Lia's death at the hands of assassins, and that bloody history stained and bound them both. When he was nineteen and she was barely eighteen, they had done the unthinkable together. For revenge. For their Aunt and for his mother.

Erik touched Marisol's black shining hair. It looked like wet ink and smelled like the coconut oil he used to dress his locs in when he was younger. It was a calm smell. Familiar. Soothing. She smelled like coconut oil when she seared a sterile knife into his flesh giving him his first keloid scar on his collar bone. For the cop who captured his mother in Oakland and paved the way for her to be extradited and die a lonely death. Erik was fifteen then.

Marisol gave him three more when they both took out men in Sao Paulo, and he gave her the one and only marking on her body. Under her left breast. She had mixed an ancient concoction she found from an elder in Candomblé who had ties to some ancient maroon scarification rites. It was the start of the map on his body. The story carved into his flesh over the years.

Marisol was there from day one. She was the only one who knew the truth when his family questioned the strange rite. His Uncle Bakari may have suspected some things, but no one else was bold enough to ask for the truth. His past piercings on his face were just youthful experimentation before the Naval Academy. But the scars…

He leaned his head on Marisol's shoulder and she stroked his hair.

"Can you go back to them? Is it a done deal?"

He shrugged.

"You love them?"

He nodded and Marisol sighed.

"Maybe…maybe you shouldn't go through with your plan. This could be a sign for you…"

Erik pulled himself away from her and closed up the picture on his computer. The music still filled the room with hollow sounds.

"Does she love you?"

"She once did…now, I dunno. Like I said…complicated."

"You should fight for this then…wait…listen to me…sit down, JaJa. Hear me out. Perhaps what you really need is there. In that woman. In that little girl."

"I owe them, my parents—"

"Your parents would want you to be happy and free of this. Auntie Lia would want you to have your own life…I want you to have that."

"I'll have it after…"

Marisol leaned forward, pulling her soft shiny curls into a top knot as she moved away from him.

"You'd throw away a guaranteed happy life for an uncertain future? Uncle N'Jobu and Auntie Cali would feel hurt if they saw you now—"

"I feel them in here all the time!"

Erik clutched at his chest. The anger in his voice flew out and Marisol flinched and stepped away from him. He slammed his fist into his chest.

"I carry Baba and Mom in here everywhere I go and that woman…that baby…they pushed themselves in there too and I can't carry them all."

"Hey…hey…JaJa…listen—"

"No you listen! I owe them. My Baba. My Mom. I won't be able to fully rest until I have finished this for them."

They heard the front door open and Serah's excited voice calling to them. Erik jumped up and wiped his face. Marisol reached for his arm and squeezed it.

"We can finish this later—"

"Nah, I'm done talkin' 'bout it."

"I feel sorry for you."

"Don't."

"Fuckin' stubborn—"

"Like you ain't either."

Marisol pursed her lips and went to greet their Aunt and Uncle.

It was time for tree decorating and baking cookies and Erik was happy to see his Aunt feeling like a kid again wrapping gifts for all of them, and making constant face chat calls to Erik's Grandfather and Marisol's mothers. The energy was festive and light even though Marisol's words weighed on Erik's mind. She just didn't understand. He couldn't change his plans midstream.

He was satisfied knowing Yani had funds to build a foundation for herself and Sydette. That was enough for him. He could move on knowing she was good and the baby was good. That was all he could give them. Nothing else.

###

It came from one of the cruise ships that docked at the port a week before Christmas. Tourists came and went with the seasons for it was the ebb and flow of island life. No one thought to quarantine the sick little white boy from Wales when he first showed signs of the sickness, and when his parents trotted him out to a burger stand, the sickness spread among a few island adults and children. It wasn't until the boy died a week later from respiratory failure that health officials were able to trace where it came from.

When it hit St Thomas, it was like a firestorm and spread among the old and young children alike. Most adults were able to pull through, but several babies and toddlers did not. Five had died in two different hospitals already before Yani even knew her own baby was in danger.

"Hey Sweet Pea," she said watching her daughter climb up the stairs with her father. It was Sunday evening the time of handing over Sydette back to Yani so they could spend a few days together with her family before New Year's.

Chez held his other daughter Star in his arms, and Yani noticed right away that something was wrong with Sydette's sister.

"Is she alright?" Yani asked.

Chez held the little girl against his chest as he watched Yani pick up Sydette. Star's coloring was paler than usual and her sweaty brow concerned Yani.

"She hasn't been feeling too well the last two days."

"Take her to the doctor."

Yani stared at her own child. Sydette looked fine.

"Ursula is taking her tomorrow. We've been giving her liquid Tylenol—"

"Chez, I don't think you should wait. Take her now."

Yani reached out and touched the child's forehead. It was clammy and hot. Star had rapid breathing and her lips looked milky blue.

"She's sweating out a fever—"

Star's head lulled back.

"Oh God, Chez!"

"Star!"

Chez ran down to his car with the baby dangling nearly lifeless in his arms.

"I'm calling Ursula!" Yani yelled down to him.

She held Sydette tight as she spoke to Ursula letting her know the condition Star was in. Afterward, Yani jumped online to check for symptoms, and when she read of the children already dead, her stomach lurched. It was contagious.

Sydette looked fine and her temperature was normal. Pacing her living room, Yani called her roommate Nanette who went to Puerto Rico to visit her baby's father with Azriel.

"Don't come back to St. Thomas. At least not until after the New Year—"

"How is Sydette?"

"Alright. I'll keep you updated with news."

"Thanks, Yani. Do you think it was one of those unvaccinated kids?"

"The news doesn't say that here. It spread from China to Europe. Now it's here because of that little boy."

Yani watched over Sydette, feeding her liquids and bathing her carefully.

Later that evening Chez called her back.

Star had what the dead white boy from Wales had.

Yani was on winter break from school and she didn't have to take Sydette into daycare. Staying in their apartment, Yani looked after her daughter and prayed that she was one of the lucky ones. Star's condition worsened, and when she was placed in critical care, Sydette came down with the same exact symptoms.

Yani vacillated between anger at Chez and Ursula and anger at herself for her daughter's poor health. They should've taken Star in the moment she fell ill. Instead, the virus incubated and it was passed onto Sydette.

In the hospital, Yani sat near her daughter's bed as she was pumped with fluids and medicine that hadn't worked for any of the children that died.

Her Aunt Leona and mother stayed by her side as Sydette's condition became more fragile. A new drug was administered and for a few days, it looked like Sydette and Star were improving. Yani was able to get some rest then on an uncomfortable chair.

"Go get some sleep, your mother and I are here," Leona said as she passed her niece a paper cup filled with chamomile tea.

"I don't want her to not see me," Yani said. She was exhausted and scared.

"At least go stretch out in your mother's van."

"No. I want to be here."

All the ill children received round the clock care, and Yani's nurse training allowed her to be calmer than most of the parents on the same floor as her. Staying clinical and remaining alert in the room helped her a little bit.

Watching her baby girl shit on herself and sweat profusely with constant shivers was horrible to witness. Sydette had a fever so high that the doctors worried about her having seizures. Whatever this new virus was, it had the medical staff in a chokehold.

"A baby died on another floor," Yani's mother said walking in with two coffees in her hand.

"Why would you come tell her that?" Leona scolded.

Yani's mother tried to comfort her with a hug, but Yani's pressure was up. Her temples throbbed. She was losing her clinical edge. Sydette wasn't getting better. Star wasn't either. In fact, Star was declining rapidly.

Chez was in and out of their room, comforting one baby mother after the other. He looked distraught and heavily disheveled. His clumsy attempts at trying to keep humor among them to lighten things backfired and Yani found herself stressed even more with his presence. Ursula was constantly texting him to return to Star's room. All the waiting and doctors not knowing what to do wore them all down to gristle. Chez was pulled into two different directions. They would rip him in half.

"Just go be with them," Yani said with deep frustration in her voice. Star was the sicker of the two children and needed Chez the most.

She held Sydette's small hand and couldn't believe the weak little body withering away on the hospital bed was her child.

Twyla and her other cousins came to visit and hold vigil so Yani could eat and relieve herself in the restroom. The more people came parading into the room, the more frightened Yani became. Four days in, Star was put on a breathing machine, and Sydette was trailing behind her.

All she could do was cry.

###

Erik walked into his Aunt's flat full of good cheer and good lager. He went on a pub crawl with his Uncle Addae and they were both lucky that they were clear-headed enough to hail a cab and give comprehensible directions.

He was ready to crawl into a warm bed and sleep off a good buzz, but Marisol greeted him with his cell phone in her hand.

"It's been buzzing non-stop," she said.

"Why I left it to begin with," he said. His words were slurred and he kissed her cheek heading to his room.

"There are a ton of texts, JaJa. Someone talking about your Yani—"

Erik snatched his phone from her hand.

Fifteen messages in an hour. But it wasn't from Yani's number. It was her cousin. Twyla.

Erik swiped her number quickly. It was still early on the island.

"Big Man…"

Twyla's voice sounded all wrong.

"Twyla—"

"Yuh have to come here. Sydette is dying…she nuh 'gon make it. She sister Star passed away this morning. Please come back here. Fast. She's on a respirator and the doctor wants to remove it…"

Erik sobered up instantly.

"Dying?"

"That virus. It spread here. Sweet Pea got it and her sister had it too…and—"

The phone gave muffled sounds and Erik could hear Yani bawling in the background with her mother yelling in heavy patois.

"I have to go. Get here. Anyway you can…please. It's bad."

Erik held his phone for a long time to his ear, even after Twyla hung up.

"JaJa?"

Marisol touched his shoulder.

Erik bolted up from the couch.

"I gotta leave. I gotta get outta here—"

"Where are you going?"

Serah stood in the middle of the room watching him and Marisol.

It was the dawn of a new year, and his baby girl was going to leave the world. That had to be a mistake.

"I gotta go!"

Marisol followed him to the guest room and helped him pack his duffle bag.

"JaJa, what is happening?" Serah asked.

"I'll call you when I get there."

His eyes felt wild in their sockets and he could barely focus on his belongings being tossed into place.

"Marisol? Do you know-?

"He just has to get back—"

"My little girl—"

"Little girl?" Serah's face looked puzzled at his words.

He prayed that he would make it back in time.

Rushing out of the flat, he flagged down a cab that shuttled him over to the airport. He lucked out on a red-eye that could get him to St. Thomas. It was leaving within the hour. His body shook with fear. He was always too late.

When the vibram tattoo in his lip itched as he played basketball with his little homies at the age of 10, he ignored it until the sky above him glowed with streaks of blue clouds above his father's apartment complex. He ran so fast to get to that top floor…but he was too late.

When his grandfather placed him on a plane at eleven with his Aunt Shavonne and Uncle Junie to get to a Sao Paulo prison to see his Mom…it was too late.

Fate always fucked with him, held him back from going forward to get to the ones he loved in time.

All he had on his phone was the address of the hospital and a room number.

His anxiety crippled him on the plane and by the time he dropped down from the sky back onto that tiny rock, Erik was full of fatigue, sorrow, and anger at himself. The last time he saw Sydette in person, she was comforting him, lifting his spirits, and making him grateful to know her tiny soul.

Why did he give her a check instead of himself? What could money do for her now?

The dread in his chest carried him along with the cab ride to the hospital.

God please…don't let me be too late again.

Let me say goodbye properly this time…

###

Chp 23 Here

Tag List:

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@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30

[thatfairyfangirl]

Government Property

So I saw this on facebook and HAD to fic it

The summer sun beat down on your back yard relentlessly with not so much of a whisp of a cloud to deter the sun's rays. A bead of sweat trickled down your bare back, pooling at the red white and blue bikini strap before continuing to travel down as you emerge from your kitchen of your small Brooklyn home to the humble backyard, carrying a pitcher of lemonade in one hand and iced tea in the other. Once the bright sun hit you, warming you to your soul instantly, you paused, watching your family fawn and swoon over The Avengers who had shown up to your humble 4th of July cookout doubling as Steve's birthday party. With a chuckle you shook your head at how starstruck they all were at the fact the Steve you had been talking about for months was none other than Captain America himself! But even you had to admit there was something perfect about having him of all people manning the grill on Independence Day.

"Sissy! Sissy!" Your young niece called as she spotted her favorite aunt coming with the beverages, rushing to hug you...well, your left leg since that was as high as she could reach. "Did you see?! Hulk is here!" She squealed before toddling off to politely ask him to pick her up.

Something about all this just felt so right to Steve, it was just an average Independance day. No flash. No bad guys to beat. Just food, family and friends...how it should be. "You know, birthday boy, I put all this together so you could actually meet my family." You teased, placing a cup of lemonade at his side and a soft kiss on his cheek.  "I got the burgers, go enjoy yourself."

~ ~ ~ ~

Soon enough the summer heat gave way to a sticky heavy aired evening as you brought out the very patriotic birthday cake covered in a seemingly endless supply of candles….you may have meant to only put 100 on there, but you lost count somewhere along the way and now you were sure there were far too many. But the look on his face as he laughed at the sight made all the time worth it. And with the trite old song sung and slices of red white and blue cake handed out to all, you found yourself nestled into his lap, arms comfortably around each other and his chin resting on your head as you watched the fireworks coming from the Brooklyn bridge. "Thanks, Doll, I couldn't have asked for a better birthday." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath mixing with the early July heat to send chills down your spine.

Craning your neck you looked into his eyes with a smirk. "Not over yet." You teased lightly before reaching up to kiss him, leaving him to wonder just what else you had planned. It wasn't until the last of the avengers and your family finally left that he realized what that was.

The next morning he woke with the most blissful grin finding you still wrapped up in his arms. His fingertips traced soft, loving circles over your bare skin, until he found the spots where his love bites got a little too hard, purple and blue splotches dancing over your flesh around those hidden marks only he can see, making you in to his very own personal piece of artwork. "Mmm-morning baby." You purred gently as your eyes fluttered open lazily. "Good birthday?"

"The best." He assured you, planting a firm sweet kiss on your forehead. "Want me to make you some breakfast?"

You rolled over on to his chest, your fingers tracing with barely there touches down the red and purple you left on the side of his jaw and neck. "That would be amazing." You answered, placing soft kisses on the marks you made.

Breakfast, however, seemed to not be in the cards. Steve's phone began chiming relentlessly as he searched for his pants. With an aggravated sigh he nestled it between his shoulder and ear as he began shoving his legs in one by one. "Hey Tony, what's up?" You watched him with concern as his face dropped, the joy you had put there the night before vanishing with whatever Tony was telling him. "I'm still at (Y/N)'s, I can be there in five." Discarding the phone to your bed he looked up to you more sorry than worried about the fight to come. "I'm sorry Doll, looks like we'll have to take a rain check." He didn't tell you what impending doom was pulling him away, and he knew you preferred it that way. You weren't blind to the world, you saw the things out there...things that he was too stubborn or stupid to realize he probably shouldn't be fist fighting…

"Go save the world." You assured him, giving him a kiss goodbye for good luck.

~ ~ ~ ~

"What the Hell happened to you?!" Tony demanded seeing the deep bruising along his friend's neck peeking over his uniform.

"What? What's wrong?" Steve asked finding anything reflective to see what he was talking about, finally spotting the hickeys you left on him the night before. "Oh...I guess (Y/N) is stronger than she thought." He chuckled.

"Well, Cap, I am very disappointed in you." Tony teased as they readied the Quinjet. "Only teens leave hickies where the public can see them."

"You think I did these to myself pal?" He joked back.

"You know … You're right… I'm going to have to have a talk with your girlfriend when we get back." Tony quipped as he sat in the pilot's seat.

~ ~ ~ ~

Saturday spilled into your window draping the sun over you like a warm hug from an old friend. How you loved Saturday morning...and how you could easily sleep through most of it. Later today you knew you'd have shopping to do. But for now nothing was convincing you to leave this bed...until Ironman by Ozzy came blaring from your phone, telling you Tony was calling. With a sleepily annoyed groan you rolled over, grabbing the phone with a "Mmmmhello?"

“Excuse me little miss but you are in big big trouble” Tony scolded on the other end of the line.

“Wha...what time...?” You grumbled with a squint, checking the clock...7am…there must be something wrong. Suddenly with a jolt of adrenaline and worry you sat up, giving Tony your undivided attention. “What’s wrong? Is Steve alright?”

“He’ll live." Tony answered. "But you, however, you have been damaging Avengers property.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You asked as you hopped out of bed pulling on a pair of pants, readying to check on your boyfriend.

“Those hickies you left...clear as day...Captain America has an image to uphold, you know!”

You froze, realizing the love marks you left must have been visible in his uniform. “Tony, you shit! You woke me up and got me all worried over that?!” You could hear him laughing on the other end of the line. “You better hope to God I don’t march over to that tower and really damage Avenger’s property!” You add as Steve let himself in, pausing at the door, hearing you scream at Tony.

“Doll? Everything alright?” He asked with a worried tone, dropping his key on the kitchen table.

“Yeah...Just Tony being Tony.” You answered with a huff as you emerged from the bedroom to wrap your arms around the love of your life, giving him a soft innocent kiss hello, before turning his head to examine the bruises you made. “So is the world still in ending?”

“Not today.” He answered enveloping you in his strong arms. “Sorry about Tony...I didn’t think he was serious when he said he was going to call you.”

“Oh so you LET him wake me up at 7am...you are so lucky I love you.”

“No arguments there.” He agreed with a chuckle. “How about I take you out for some breakfast to make it up to you?”

[faangirl101]

Webbed and flirty, Peter x reader

Peter parker x reader

Anonymous asked: Could you write a Peter Parker x reader where the reader is Peter Quills daughter and when her and Peter meet its like flirting plus Tony and Peter Q being dad’s? Thank you

Authors note: all you have to know is that Peter Quiell is “papa” and Tony stark is “dad”

MASTERLIST

“Parker”, my dad, tony stark, turned his back to me as he whispered low into the phone. The rest of the conversation was hard to judge from the whispered words i actually caught.

“Today”

“pyjamas”

“tell your aunt it's the internship”

He was talking to peter parker, of course. I mean, i am Tony stark's daughter after all, did he really think he could hide the fact that spider boy is peter parker? We used to go to the same school, peter and i, and still after being extremely attracted to him, i did not once have a real conversation with him. Then we graduated and everything was lost, well until i eavesdropped on my dads and overheard them mention peter parker. After that it wasn't hard to figure out the rest.

Peter Quill, my papa (which i called him to not mix him him up with my other Tony), sat trying to handle the ipod he got from Tony on his birthday. “Yo”, he bumped his shoulder with mine “this thing can keep like, 300 songs, can you pinch me darling, i just wanna be sure i'm not dreaming”. I rolled my eyes, trying to look uninterested, even if a smile was threatening from him being this happy “Dad, its 2018, catch up”.

He pointed his tongue out at me before putting his headphone in. Music streamed out, reaching my ears.

I was bored again. “Daaaaaad”, i muttered getting up and started walking after Tony. “Not now, pumpkin”, he reached out a finger in front of me shushing me. I don't like being hushed, long story short. i tried to speak again but Tony hushed me again. “No you don't have to bring your own own pyjamas, i've told you i've already made you a new suit”.

Before any of us really could react, i snatched the phone out of Tony grip and placed it onto my own ear. “Heya peter”, i tried to calm my beating heart and rising blush. Tony tried to take the phone back but i slipped out of his reach and jumped up on the coach were Peter was sitting. “h-hey”, i heard the teenage boy stutter on the other line. “y/n Stark, Tony's daughter here, we went to Italien class together”. i heard a nervous laugh on the other line “right. Starks daughter. Ummm, we never really talked, not the same friend circle”. I felt the blush rising up in my scalp, no matter how hard i tried to cool it down. I saw Tony grimace behind the yellow sunglasses as he mouthed “give it back”. But i wasn't done messing with him just yet. “Well that's all going to be changed when you come here, Spider boy, i can't wait to catch up with you”, i said with the sweetest voice i had, fluttering my eyelashes even if dad was the only one who saw. Then i bounced down from the couch and handed Tony back his phone. He was surprised, to say at least, not only because i knew Peter was spiderman… but also because i just flirted with him. Dad gave me one last warning look before leaving the room with the phone pressed tight against his ear. Right before the door slammed shut i heard him say “That, Penis parker, is my daughter. She's off limits, don't look at her and don't even think of her”. I couldn't wait until Peter got here.

Two hours later, after 1 pound of makeup and the cutest summer dress i had Peter finally arrived to Avengers tower. My face was glistering of highlighter and my lips covered in a soft pink making them look more swollen. The dress was simple, yellow and off shoulder. The end of it reached my mid thighs and showed of my new shaved tanned legs. My hair was just half up and half down, to keep it out of my face. Okay, i will admit i made myself this cute because Peter fricking Parker, was going to show up. And… well because i wanted to piss of my dad. I looked in the mirror, grimacing in different “cute” smiles to myself. “Hey peter”, i said to my reflections while fingering on the end of my hair tipps. I wasn't being cute, i looked like a complete idiot. Plus, i had nothing on Liz, makeup or not. It was a well known fact about Peters crush and who really blames him. Liz was so cute and incredibly smart and supportive, you just couldn't hate her. Its weird i had two dads that both are considered beautiful but still ended up looking compelly average. “Peter”, i smiled honestly into the mirror “hows life?”. How's life? really? I blew out a nervous breath while fixing my hair. Maybe i should just stay up here, safe with a book.

“Y/n”, My papa called “That pete kid is here”. I could feel the familiar blush rising again, fuck, i never blush this often. “Umm, peter, Mr Quill”, i heard Peter correct him and just to hear his voice made butterflies scatter in the depths of my abdomen. “Coming!”, I called back as i took one last look in the mirror. At this point, he was probably dating Liz so it really doesn't matter what i look like. I swung up the door, tripping out in the corridor out in the living room. And my entire body went into “i'm screwed” mode. Peter fucking Parker got hit by puberty. Real good. His hair was longer now, flowing down his forehead in small curls. I could see pure muscles through his his tight star-wars t-shirt. His usual blue hoodie was wrapped around his firm waist, and i thanked god he made the day hot enough for him to take of the hoodie. He was taller now, at least a head taller than me. Jesus, this boy always found new ways to make me shake of adrenaline. I decided it was weird to continue to stare like this so i walked forward to my dad. Peter looked at me, his jaw fell open i shock at the look of me, but it looked like he caught himself when Tony gave him a warning look. “Peter!”, I smile at his t-shirt “ha, nice one”. He looks down the t-shirt which says “i could make a star wars pun, but i don't wanna force it”. He smiled back up to me as he rubbed the backside of his neck nervously “umm thanks, i like your dress”. I blush again, dammit. “Watch it, kid”, i heard Tony mumble under his breath. Papa put a hand dad's shoulder and gives him a meaning look. Dad seems to relax a bit of his husbands hand. “What are you working on”, I asked looking past Peters shoulder. On a table was peter suit firmly folded. “Well, Peter keeps cutting out the baby monitor protocol”, Tony put his arms over his chest stubbornly. I rolled my eyes “come on dad, he's 18”. Even if i know Dad probably mouthed my words childishly for himself i chose to look at Peter instead “you hacked into the suits safe system through the video cord right?”. Peter nodded and i laughed for myself “yeah, weak spot. That's how i hack myself into the surveillance camera he put in my room”.

Peter smiled impressed “well, i tried taking away the support wheel protocol with the same tactive but the video cord was too deep so i  needed Ned´s help, he was pissed at me cause he rather build the death star lego set with me…”. The Boys eyes shots upen as he looks down at the ground stumbling “why would you say that, peter”. His nervosity was adorable. “How many pieces?”, i ask and can't help but to look fairly intresseded. I'm such a nerd, jesus. Peter take a step closer like he's about to whisper “3803”. I wrinkle my forehead “what? no way? its like 4016”. He chuckles shaking his head “nah nah, its a common knowledge that its 3803 pieces”. I laugh mockingly at him “oh god, you're such a noob, everybody knows it's 4016, look it up, jar jar”.

He pretend to look offended by my comment “Did you just call me jar jar? i'm obviously Han”.

I take a step closer without really thinking about it “yeah? who am i then, obi wan?”. He gives me something i would judge as a flirty smile “More like Leia”.

We are so close to eachother now i can feel his breath on my face. I make sure to look at his lips before dropping my risky line “why? because you wanna see me in a golden bikini?”.

That shuts him up but i still catch him looking at my lips, if only for a second.

“Hey! Hey”, Tony push me gently out of the way “That's enough”. While Dragging Peter down to the lab i can hear him mumble something similar to “Kids nowadays”. Papa putts a arm around my shoulder “take it easy on your dad, kay?”. I nod but in the back of my head i'm screaming “lies”. My papa's beard tickle me as he bends down to whisper in my ear “yeah, by the way, keep messing with your dad. I haven't seen him this ireeterad since his and Stevens fight. he's really hot when he's bothered”. I groan pushing him away “Ewww, papa?! i didn't need to know that. Eeeww, pictures in my head”. Papa winked at me while clicking his tongue “plus i think that Peter kid really likes you. he's a good kid that would do  good to you”.

“Peter?”, i whisper scream while looking around the lab. According to JARVIS, Dad left about 20 minutes ago and Peter is still in the building. When i dint get an answer i tip toe further into the room “Parker?”. I hear a thumb followed by some swear words. On a bench, Peter sat grasping onto his head while groaning. I whine for myself before speaking out “I'm sorry if i startled you”. peter lets out a mix of a chuckle and a gasp “no problem, my spider senses should have sensed you coming in”. I walk over to him, seemed to surprise him the second time this hour by putting a hand on his head. “Lemme look at it”, i whisper as i try to ignore how good his soft locks feel between my fingers. He nod as he moves the chair under him so he sits right in front of me. I move my fingers gently through his hair, careful not to accidently press to hard. “You have soft hair, what conditioner do you use?”, i say jocklingy to light up the situation. It seems to work as he chuckles under me. It was like a silent approval to make him laugh as i smile proudly. Even if i'm way past looking for a wound, i continue to move my hands through his soft hair. i can't help it. it smells so good and i can't help but to think how it would feel between my hands while he eats me out. A warmth spreads through my stomach as i try to swallow down my desire. “That feels good”, he mumbles so low i just barely managed to hear him. “for both of us”, i whisper back as i can feel him push his head closer to me like he's chasing my touch. In the action the stroller on the chair bumps into my shoes, knocking me out of balance. But Peter seems to see this seconds before me as im suddenly  being catched by my waist and falls forward instead. I land on top of his lap, my sundress flying up to fall like a duvet over his jeans and my thighs. I'm out of breath, so surprised over the past seconds. His hands are still on my hips, keeping me from falling again.

I realize the situation i'm in. This looked wrong, sure, but it felt so right. “Thanks”, i mumble and do the mistake to look into his eyes. He's looking right ame me at the same time, and were stuck in eachothers iris. His eyes are dark, dangerously dark, like a promise about the things he could do. They pupil dilate at the sight of you. I lick my dry lips and he follows the action. I can feel the touch of his hands burn though the material of my dress and mek me all hot and giddy. I can feel his muscles as my hands are on top of his shoulders.

He looks down, like he's hiding a smile. I swallow the lump of anxiety threatening in my throat. “Umm”, he muttered as he slowly looks up at me “i really-y, like reeeeally want to kiss you right now”. I can feel the smile i try to hide escape and light up my face. My heart is so painfully big, that's what it feels like, like it's going to explode inside me. “You better, i've been waiting on it since the first year on collage. Kiss me now, Han”.

He gives me a honest smile, like a kid on christmas morning as he starts leaning in.

I close my eyes as i wait for his lips to meet mine. But instead i feel his hot breath on top them as he mumbles “you know, i had a major crush on you but then i became Spiderman and Tony and i decided to try to keep you out of this life”. I chaste a small peck against his soft lips “just kiss me, parker”. He olbigates at one's and move his head to the side to press his lips against mine. Finally after 3 years of longing he kiss me so i can't really hold back the moan. that only seems to spear him on as hand hug my neck so he can press me closer. He taste like green tea and lemon mints. My hands go back to his locks, still surprised over how soft they are. His tongue swipes over my inner lips, begging for permission. I smile against the soft sensation but dont grant him he pleasure. His hand suddenly squeeze my ass leaving me gasping of shook. He takes advantage of my open mouth to move his tongue inside my mouth. It's so much, his wet lips, his hand, his curls bouncing between my fingers. I press my lower part hard against him out of pure instinct. I realized it turned out almost like a grind against his pants. He didn't seem to mind. “Fuck”, he groans as he starts kissing my jaw in tickles soft pecks “you are perfect”. I giggle as his pecks finds their way to a ticklish point. “Come here, big boy”, i'm completely out of breath from the kissing but can't wait another minute for his lips against mine again. Just as he's about to kiss me again we get interrupted by a loud voice “Parker?!”. Fuck. We stumble away from him and i stroke down my dress as fast as i can. “I told you one thing”, My dad point at Peter, who looks like a scared child getting caught doing something bad “not to touch my daughter”. At this point i'm starting to get tired of Tony “please daddy’”. I rarely call him daddy, and it seems to actually catch is attention. I walk forward and place both of my hands on his bearded cheeks “Just.. its 2018 dad, i don't need your approval, okay. I really like Peter. Not to be rude or anything, but could you maybe leave not, old man, we were in the middle of something”.

Dad scoffs offended but still lowers his finger. I can hear Papa laughing from the middle of the lab “yeah, tony, let the kids have their fun”. Like usually, i'm thankful Peter is actually my cool dad. “You heard your husband”, i smile, almost mockingly “let me have my fun”. Tony scoff again before pointing at Peter “i swear on my stark industri, if i found out you two have…. cuddled, i'm going to make sure to pull enough strings so you can't get a job in all of America”. Peters is beyond terrified as his adams apple move “yes, sir”. i nod as a silent “thank you” to Tony as i make my way back to Peter. “So”, i slide my hands over his shoulders “where were we?”. He shift his eyes between my dad's and i “i don't really feel safe kissing in front of them”. I chuckle well pressing my nose against his “they will just have to deal with it”. Then he pressed his lips against mine softly and sweet. My dad might not be 100 % okay with Peter at the moment, but i know he will eventually. So right now, it's all good.

[fayeburnsus]

Exclusive interview: Love Island solicitor Rosie Williams says she’s not ruling out a return to the law

‘Legally Brunette’ Rosie shares insights into her very glam life

Image credit: Instagram (@rosieawilliams)

Since leaving the Love Island villa, Rosie Williams has been rubbing shoulders with reality TV’s finest, making club appearances and has even done an interview with Piers Morgan. It’s a long way from her old life before she shot to stardom in the hit reality TV show.

Williams trained with Manchester law firm Just Costs Solicitors and was only three months qualified before she entered the Spanish villa in June — a decision fuelled by her search for romance.

Indeed, studying law gave her little time to find love. She didn’t have much luck either; having been dumped by the man she was seeing only a few months prior to joining the show. So when the chance to go on Love Island came about she grabbed it — strutting into the villa in the first week of the fourth series.

Growing up, law was “embedded” in Williams’ family. Both her parents studied law at university and her aunt is a barrister and uncle a solicitor-advocate. They were naturally supportive of her decision to study law and Williams went on to complete the first two years of her undergraduate degree at Swansea University and spent her final year at the University of South Wales. She then started the Bar Professional Training Course (BPTC) before switching to the Legal Practice Course (LPC) at The University of Law in Chester.

Having completed a training contract, why then did she decide to put her fledgling career on hold? Speaking exclusively to Legal Cheek, she explains:

“I was putting everything into my job to the point where my salary was not worth the hours I was working. My focus on cases meant that my social life dwindled and I was just not reaping the rewards. It’s a bit of a shame that what I worked towards my entire life and dreamt about didn’t match up with the reality.”

But Williams isn’t ruling out a possible return to the law. “My heart’s still in it — it was a lifelong ambition I harboured since I was 12-years-old. I’m still very much a legal eagle,” she adds. Williams is hoping to meld her legal knowledge with her newfound fame. Her appearance on Love Island might not be the last we see on our screens. The Welsh-born lawyer tells us she’s currently in talks to appear on a new legal TV show later this year. Could Rosie be the new Rinder? “I hope so. I love Rinder, I think he’s great,” says Williams, who has also been approached by a media law firm about a possible job since her departure.

When she was lounging around in her bikini soaking up sun rays in the villa, Williams says she did miss the day job and “getting dolled up” each morning to go to work — more than she thought she would. Yet she conspicuously avoided talking about her life as a lawyer — unlike the medic contestant Alex, who frequently references his work as a doctor. Why did we not hear more from ‘Rosie the lawyer’ in the villa? “I was very careful about what I discussed in the villa. Solicitors’ regulations meant that I had a code of conduct and ethics to adhere to and client confidentiality meant I couldn’t discuss my caseload,” she explains.

Viewers did, however, get to see some of Rosie’s advocacy skills when she confronted “sneaky” Adam Collard, who she was coupled up with, for flirting with fellow Islander Megan Barton-Hanson.

The fiery showdown was entirely “off-the-cuff”, contrary to members of the public thinking it was “staged” or that she had written down and rehearsed what she planned to say. “You can’t plan an argument,” says Williams, likening the experience to the courtroom where “the judge or your opponent will throw something up” and it’s down to you to bounce back.

A post shared by Rosie Anna Williams (@rosieawilliams) on Jul 27, 2017 at 3:11pm PDT

Had the offer to appear on Love Island not come through, the 26-year-old thinks she’d still be in her job. “I loved my job, but I’ve never been the girl to sit around and I’m always looking for something more,” she says. Williams has plans to complete her higher rights of audience and train as a solicitor-advocate, following in her uncle’s footsteps. She’ll also be taking on activities to maintain her practising certificate.

Since exiting the villa, Williams has managed to find the time to visit her former colleagues at Just Costs. They didn’t know that she was entering the villa, so seeing her on TV was a bit of a “shock” to them. However, they were “very supportive” when she saw them and admitted they knew “she was never made to sit behind a desk”.

The 2018 Firms Most List

Now having amassed over 650,000 followers on Instagram, Williams is hoping to use this platform to “make a difference” and already has a list of charities she wants to work with.

Her influence doesn’t stop there. Williams, who refers to herself as “Legally Brunette” in several of her Instagram posts, says she’s received messages from young women in law school seeking her advice. They’re keen to hear from someone who does not fit the average solicitor-mould.

That’s something this self-confessed party girl prides herself on. Williams counts Legally Blonde and TV series Ally McBeal as two of her favourite legal dramas. “I was drawn to the glamour. I loved their outfits,” she says. For likeminded law students Williams offers some practical advice:

“Never change yourself to fit a stereotype. We all sit the same vocational exams and it’s practically the same route for everyone looking to become a solicitor. So why should I be judged if I like to wear a pretty dress and post bikini photos on Instagram. I’ve had to work a lot harder to be taken seriously in my job but if I can make it as I am, there’s no reason why others can’t either.”

With newfound fame comes dangers. It has been widely reported that Williams received a series of threatening messages from an online troll. Never one to back down, Williams says she will be using her legal knowledge to make a stand and show this behaviour is not acceptable.

Commenting on her interview with ITV Good Morning Britain host Piers Morgan where Williams was forced to justify her decision to appear on the show, she says:

“I think Piers was under the impression that the job is very well paid and glamorous across the board. He mustn’t read a lot about what’s going on and there is a lot that people outside the profession don’t see. I think his opinion was ill-informed and don’t think he can really have one unless he’s been in my shoes.”

Since then, research by a leading economics consultancy has been released that shows appearing on Love Island boosts your lifetime earnings more than an Oxbridge degree, further vindicating Williams’ decision to go on the show.

In that Piers Morgan interview, the junior lawyer described working 18-hour days getting sleepless nights. So what advice can she give others experiencing the same? “Make sure you’re happy otherwise there’s no point staying in your job. But if you want more out of your job — go and get it. A law degree opens up many paths and it’s not only about making it as a lawyer.”

Williams was evicted after two weeks in the villa, but with the final airing on Monday, she’ll be watching to support fellow housemates, Jack and Dany, the “down to earth” duo she’s hoping will win.

The post Exclusive interview: Love Island solicitor Rosie Williams says she’s not ruling out a return to the law appeared first on Legal Cheek.

from Legal News And Updates https://www.legalcheek.com/2018/07/exclusive-interview-love-island-solicitor-rosie-williams-says-shes-not-ruling-out-a-return-to-the-law/

[davidchanus]

Exclusive interview: Love Island solicitor Rosie Williams says she’s not ruling out a return to the law

‘Legally Brunette’ Rosie shares insights into her very glam life

Image credit: Instagram (@rosieawilliams)

Since leaving the Love Island villa, Rosie Williams has been rubbing shoulders with reality TV’s finest, making club appearances and has even done an interview with Piers Morgan. It’s a long way from her old life before she shot to stardom in the hit reality TV show.

Williams trained with Manchester law firm Just Costs Solicitors and was only three months qualified before she entered the Spanish villa in June — a decision fuelled by her search for romance.

Indeed, studying law gave her little time to find love. She didn’t have much luck either; having been dumped by the man she was seeing only a few months prior to joining the show. So when the chance to go on Love Island came about she grabbed it — strutting into the villa in the first week of the fourth series.

Growing up, law was “embedded” in Williams’ family. Both her parents studied law at university and her aunt is a barrister and uncle a solicitor-advocate. They were naturally supportive of her decision to study law and Williams went on to complete the first two years of her undergraduate degree at Swansea University and spent her final year at the University of South Wales. She then started the Bar Professional Training Course (BPTC) before switching to the Legal Practice Course (LPC) at The University of Law in Chester.

Having completed a training contract, why then did she decide to put her fledgling career on hold? Speaking exclusively to Legal Cheek, she explains:

“I was putting everything into my job to the point where my salary was not worth the hours I was working. My focus on cases meant that my social life dwindled and I was just not reaping the rewards. It’s a bit of a shame that what I worked towards my entire life and dreamt about didn’t match up with the reality.”

But Williams isn’t ruling out a possible return to the law. “My heart’s still in it — it was a lifelong ambition I harboured since I was 12-years-old. I’m still very much a legal eagle,” she adds. Williams is hoping to meld her legal knowledge with her newfound fame. Her appearance on Love Island might not be the last we see on our screens. The Welsh-born lawyer tells us she’s currently in talks to appear on a new legal TV show later this year. Could Rosie be the new Rinder? “I hope so. I love Rinder, I think he’s great,” says Williams, who has also been approached by a media law firm about a possible job since her departure.

When she was lounging around in her bikini soaking up sun rays in the villa, Williams says she did miss the day job and “getting dolled up” each morning to go to work — more than she thought she would. Yet she conspicuously avoided talking about her life as a lawyer — unlike the medic contestant Alex, who frequently references his work as a doctor. Why did we not hear more from ‘Rosie the lawyer’ in the villa? “I was very careful about what I discussed in the villa. Solicitors’ regulations meant that I had a code of conduct and ethics to adhere to and client confidentiality meant I couldn’t discuss my caseload,” she explains.

Viewers did, however, get to see some of Rosie’s advocacy skills when she confronted “sneaky” Adam Collard, who she was coupled up with, for flirting with fellow Islander Megan Barton-Hanson.

The fiery showdown was entirely “off-the-cuff”, contrary to members of the public thinking it was “staged” or that she had written down and rehearsed what she planned to say. “You can’t plan an argument,” says Williams, likening the experience to the courtroom where “the judge or your opponent will throw something up” and it’s down to you to bounce back.

A post shared by Rosie Anna Williams (@rosieawilliams) on Jul 27, 2017 at 3:11pm PDT

Had the offer to appear on Love Island not come through, the 26-year-old thinks she’d still be in her job. “I loved my job, but I’ve never been the girl to sit around and I’m always looking for something more,” she says. Williams has plans to complete her higher rights of audience and train as a solicitor-advocate, following in her uncle’s footsteps. She’ll also be taking on activities to maintain her practising certificate.

Since exiting the villa, Williams has managed to find the time to visit her former colleagues at Just Costs. They didn’t know that she was entering the villa, so seeing her on TV was a bit of a “shock” to them. However, they were “very supportive” when she saw them and admitted they knew “she was never made to sit behind a desk”.

The 2018 Firms Most List

Now having amassed over 650,000 followers on Instagram, Williams is hoping to use this platform to “make a difference” and already has a list of charities she wants to work with.

Her influence doesn’t stop there. Williams, who refers to herself as “Legally Brunette” in several of her Instagram posts, says she’s received messages from young women in law school seeking her advice. They’re keen to hear from someone who does not fit the average solicitor-mould.

That’s something this self-confessed party girl prides herself on. Williams counts Legally Blonde and TV series Ally McBeal as two of her favourite legal dramas. “I was drawn to the glamour. I loved their outfits,” she says. For likeminded law students Williams offers some practical advice:

“Never change yourself to fit a stereotype. We all sit the same vocational exams and it’s practically the same route for everyone looking to become a solicitor. So why should I be judged if I like to wear a pretty dress and post bikini photos on Instagram. I’ve had to work a lot harder to be taken seriously in my job but if I can make it as I am, there’s no reason why others can’t either.”

With newfound fame comes dangers. It has been widely reported that Williams received a series of threatening messages from an online troll. Never one to back down, Williams says she will be using her legal knowledge to make a stand and show this behaviour is not acceptable.

Commenting on her interview with ITV Good Morning Britain host Piers Morgan where Williams was forced to justify her decision to appear on the show, she says:

“I think Piers was under the impression that the job is very well paid and glamorous across the board. He mustn’t read a lot about what’s going on and there is a lot that people outside the profession don’t see. I think his opinion was ill-informed and don’t think he can really have one unless he’s been in my shoes.”

Since then, research by a leading economics consultancy has been released that shows appearing on Love Island boosts your lifetime earnings more than an Oxbridge degree, further vindicating Williams’ decision to go on the show.

In that Piers Morgan interview, the junior lawyer described working 18-hour days getting sleepless nights. So what advice can she give others experiencing the same? “Make sure you’re happy otherwise there’s no point staying in your job. But if you want more out of your job — go and get it. A law degree opens up many paths and it’s not only about making it as a lawyer.”

Williams was evicted after two weeks in the villa, but with the final airing on Monday, she’ll be watching to support fellow housemates, Jack and Dany, the “down to earth” duo she’s hoping will win.

The post Exclusive interview: Love Island solicitor Rosie Williams says she’s not ruling out a return to the law appeared first on Legal Cheek.

from Legal News https://www.legalcheek.com/2018/07/exclusive-interview-love-island-solicitor-rosie-williams-says-shes-not-ruling-out-a-return-to-the-law/

[todayonqanda-blog]

2017 Review

Well this year has gone and absolutely flown by! I hope everyone has grown and changed. 

Looking back into 2017 I finished taking Grade 12 Physics and Chemistry and i absolutely rocked them both with honor marks. 

I quit my job and do i ever miss every single person who i left there. 

I got a new job, which has been super exciting and made some new friends along the way. The companies partner i work for had their big building grand opening which i got to be apart of. 

Celebrated my 22 birthday.

Beauty and the Beast with Emma Watson was released, and it was absolutely enchanting. 

Seen Jeff Dunham with Quinton, it was great.

I got a tattoo on my foot in honor of my main homie Apollo who is no longer with me. I also got a tattoo on my ribs for my mother who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, had a double mastectomy, and has pulled through and is still showing negatives for cancer! 

The Fate of the Furious was released and i got to see the FRS rip around on the big screen, - breathtaking. 

 A video of a cat on the wing of a plane went viral in May, and if Quinton and i weren’t celebrating our one year that month I would say that takes the cake for May. But Quinton stayed with me for an entire year. I love him so much.

Attempted my first paint night with some new friends i made! I would say it was a success! 

King Arthur was released and oh it was fantastic! 

Quintons sister welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world. Arabella. ♥

Pirates of the Caribbean was released as well! IT WAS GREAT! 

According to Facebook i was above average at eating pizza.

We had endless quadding trips and adventures with Quintons Aunt & Uncle, i will cherish everyone of those memories! Always a good time with them.

WONDER WOMAN WAS RELEASED AND GAL KILLED IT! Best movie ever! I cannot describe how it was everything i was expecting and so much more.

Got to do some fishin’ and got burnt pretty bad.

Work let me be a model for a day and do some advertising for them.

It was Quintons champage birthday, turned 27 on the 27. Too bad i don’t remember mine, i was 6. I bought him tickets to Guns N Roses in Regina! He also bought a house, and that’s where all of this DIY non sense really came from! 

Seen Nickleback live, it wasn’t too bad! 

Became a little celebrity because of more advertising i did for work! 

A close friend announced they were pregnant! I also finally took the plunge and held Arabella for the first time since May! 

Another good friend competed in a Bikini Competition and i drove all the way to Calgary to see her cross the stage.

Had my car for four years and then it turned into Christmas! 

Chan Ruby and i did a little gift exchange and it was so nice to catch up with her. The girls from work and i did a gift exchange as well. Lots of laughs and i can’t wait to cherish the memories to come with them.

I had a wonderful Christmas, it was the first time in a long time that i got to see all of my family actually on Christmas! 

Since the holidays are over i am still working on painting the doors in the basement! They were this super off yellow colour and im cleaning them up with this nice bright new white and some black door knobs! I think when everything is done and i have more breathing room i will stencil washroom and laundry on them. I think that would look neat. 

Quinton’s father fixed that ugly hole in our wall. Thankful for that man and all the little things he’s helped us with and his mother too. Endless support. This means i can soon prime, and paint this wall. I think im going to attempt a chevron pattern. Then we can finally put trim on the window and baseboards, throw up a curtain rod and some curtains and we can give ruby some privacy! 

Quinton made progress on his bar, he got a frame up and found some cedar boards. 

He finished sanding them the other night, and he stained them that same Ebony colour i used in my scrabble project.

We have a sub-floor to finish in the basement but that will definitely be a work in progress. I have a request for a set of chairs to build, and some letters for a friend that i’ll need to craft together! 

Then maybe by the end of January i can move on and work on our split level entry way! 

Looking forward to what 2018 can bring! 

Cheers Everyone! 

♥

[itschrisdiagostino]

1-100

Sunrise or sunset? SunsetAre you mentally ill? IdkAre you physically ill? NahWhat is the most expensive thing you have bought?An apartmentDo you have a job? YesAre you in school? YesAre you a dropout? No Are you in college? Not yetIntrovert or extrovert? Extroverted Introvert What do you think when you look at your body? GrossWhat have others said when they look at your body? DayummmDo you have a particular song that you feel deeply? Bodak YellowTalk about a time in your life where you have felt most alive? When I was half deadAre you confident wearing a bikini? Yeah but it gets cold sometimesCan you look people in the eyes while talking? Not longer than 2 secondsHas anything terrible happened to you? LotsHas anything wonderful happened to you? Hell yeahFavorite part of your personality? I’m relatable Least favorite part of your personality? I’m annoying Favorite part of your body? My lipsLeast favorite part of your body? Everything except my lipsFavorite quote? “Is mayonnaise an instrument?”Do you have friendships with all genders? YesDo you have a good relationship with your father? HahahanoDo you have a good relationship with your mother? Didn’t have a chance toDo you have a good relationship with your siblings? EhhhHave you ever been hurt physically or mentally by a family member? YesHave you ever had a near death experience? Recently actuallyDo you know anyone who has taken their own life? UnfortunatelyHave you ever tried to take your own life? A long ass time ago but I enjoy life nowBiggest lie you have told? I enjoy life Do you follow any conspiracies? Bush did 9/11Do you believe in a New World Order? WhatDo you respect your government and the way your country is run? Yes but not the presidentIs there currently any strife in your country? A whatHave you ever been displaced within your country? NoAre your friendships healthy? YeahAre you currently fighting with a friend? NoAre you jealous of a friend? Why? Yeah because I’m an attention whoreDo you believe in the Illuminati? Illuminati confirmed Do you think any celebrities are associated with the Illuminati? Who? Bob Marley is because Bob starts with 3 letters and 3+3=6 and 666 is the devils number and 666/3=333 which has 3 numbers. You know what else has common traits with the number 3? A triangle. A triangle has three sides and a triangle represents the Illuminati. Illuminati confirmedHow can people tell you are nervous? I get really quiet and fidgetyHow can people tell you are sad? I wear my emotions on my sleeve soDo you ever express your true feelings? Not if I’m madRegrets in your life? LivingAchievements in your life? Producing CO2What did people say about you in school? Bad things What did you say about people in school? Nothing bc they’re irrelevant Is there something you have never told anyone? Yeah but why would I tell you there’s a reason I never said anything Have you committed an illegal act? Again, why would I admit it to the public If you had two days to spend one million dollars how would you spend it? On food probably or on Eliza’s kids because I’m That Aunt™️What were your aspirations at age 5, 10, 15, 18? Princess, princess, astronaut, bartender Describe your first kiss? Was it how you imagined? No bc it was stolenGrowing up were you in a wealthy, average, or low income household? Average?Are you from a broken marriage? Ohohohoho yeaHave you been raised by a solo parent? Unfortunately Do you know both your parents? One is dead and one is in prison soWhat colour eyes, hair and skin do you have? Light brown eyes, dark brown hair, light skin but I’m not white :)Have you abused drugs or alcohol? YesWhat languages can you speak? Italian, Spanish, EnglishDo you conform to your societies standards? Who cares?Do you cry often? I’m a little bitch so yeah Do you tell people what you think of them? YeaAre you comfortable accepting compliments? YesAre you comfortable giving compliments? Of courseIs any mental illness hindering your life? YeaIs any physical illness hindering your life? NoDo you keep up with current events? Love me a good ol cup of teaWhat’s the latest news in the world you have heard/read? That’s my chisme not yoursWhat have you done today? Lay around the house Do you sleep well? NoDo you sleep badly? I talk in my sleep so yesHave you ever hurt anyone because you were hurting? UnintentionallyHas anyone ever hurt you because they were hurting? YesHave you ever had to end a friendship/relationship? Why? Yes because I’m dysfunctional Have you ever stopped someone from hurting themselves? YesHas anyone ever stopped you from hurting yourself? YesDo you like your laugh? NoAre you preparing for an apocalypse? And what kind? No because i can’t wait for my demiseDo you have any funny family stories? NoAre you religious? NoDo you like to watch true crime shows or movies? LAW AND ORDER SVU IS MY SHIT I WANNA MARRY CARISI AND OLIVIAAre you interested in cults? Santiago is this you?Would you like to raise a family in your country? I guessList some things you wanted in your childhood but never got? A motherIs there a large age gap between you and a sibling? Not too big only 4 yearsAre you from a blended family? YesDo you believe in marriage? Why/Why not? Hell Yeah everyone deserves to have someone they loveWhat is the nicest thing anyone has said to you? I appreciate youDo you keep a journal? Yeah but I always forget to write in itWould anyone be hurt by reading it? Definitely Do you have children? Charlie is my child Have you been pregnant? NoList your favorite movies? Titanic, Any Marvel or DC movie, any romantic comedy tbh, and Justice League bc I love AquamanList your favorite people? Eliza, Mason, Melanie, CherylTalk about the birthmarks and scars on your body? I have a scar the shape of an X on my hip Do you look after yourself? BarelyDo you put yourself or others first? OthersAre you happy today? Yes and noAre you loved? I hope?

[viralhottopics]

Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

From tights on the beach to head-to-toe taffeta, writers reveal the outfits they regret

Kenya Hunt My version of day-to-night dressing was a night-time look worn all day

Despite working at a fashion magazine, Ive made a few sartorial mistakes. I comfort myself with the sentiment of an Instagram edict I saw: If youve never looked a little dumb, youre not having fun.

Id count the moment I met my husband as an off day, so it pains me no end that the clothes I wore have become a part of our marital lore. In his mind, the outfit is key to a story that must be retold, again and again: She wore a shiny shirt, tight jeans, big, gold hoop earrings, tall boots and a giant white furry jacket. And I said, I need to know this woman.

This visual loudness the metallics, the big proportions, the shaggy texture was my everyday look back in my late 20s, when I was living and working in New York. I dressed this way to please no one other than myself. I relished being able finally to buy and wear the labels I read about in magazines, but could never find in my suburban childhood home in Virginia.

My version of day-to-night dressing was basically a night-time look worn all day ready for whatever fun might happen later. Id think nothing of a morning commute in glittery Miu Miu heels or a gold Chlo sequin skirt. (To be fair, it was the era of high heels, flashy coats and skirts that were either very big and long, or very short.) No matter what the prevailing trend, Ive always had a soft spot for the razzle. For further proof, see this old image of me in Milan, in bright colour and print, layered on top of more colour and print.

Now, my wardrobe stands on a foundation of grey, navy and black, mostly because it suits my lifestyle and the London weather. I limit the flamboyance to my accessories (a bright shoe, big earring, bold handbag) or show it through shape, such as an enormous puffer jacket. Its just that now I choose pragmatic black rather than hot pink.

Theres a real joy that comes with loud dressing, because it requires a certain kind of go-to-hell spirit. Ive come to indulge this in a more restrained way, but I dont regret the mistakes. If I did, Id have divorced my husband a long time ago, for telling that story so very, very often.

Kenya Hunt is fashion features director of Elle.

Ruth Lewy: To think that this was my coolest look

Ruth Lewy, aged 20, with Dizzee Rascal.

It was May 2006 and I was coming to the end of my first year of university. I had just received my first proper student journalism commission: an interview with Dizzee Rascal. I borrowed a Dictaphone and hastily scrawled down three pages of uninventive questions (What is the best thing youve ever got for free?).

Now the important bit: my look. I loved Dizzee; I knew his two albums back to front and had mastered all the words to Fix Up, Look Sharp. What was I going to wear?

To think, looking back, that this was my very best outfit. My coolest look. Not one floral print top but two, a T-shirt layered over a shirt. Not one necklace, but two. (Made with beads collected while InterRailing around Europe. I know.) My curly hair was slicked back with Brylcreem. Off I went, looking like Laura Ashleys long-lost daughter.

He was courteous, holding eye contact and answering all my inane questions with grace. (The best thing he ever got for free? A lifetimes supply of trainers.) I stood up and shook his hand, and he invited me to his afterparty. The next student journalist sat down and went straight in with a question about homophobic lyrics and issues of representation in pop music, and I thought, Ohhhh, thats what journalism is.

The evening took a strange turn. My friends and I crowded into a bar on the high street, where Dizzee had a roped-off section at the back. It didnt take him long to zone in on my gorgeous friend L, persuading her to leave with him. We were agog.

Twenty minutes later, she was back, laughing her head off at the way he had clumsily propositioned her. She chose us over him.

What do I see when I look at this picture? I feel embarrassed at my choices. But Im also glad I spent my 20s dressing like a weirdo: it demonstrates a self-confidence that I dont think I appreciated at the time. These days, you could still file most of my clothes under eclectic, but Im much more careful, uninventive even. Now I tend to wear only one necklace at a time.

My interview never appeared in the end; the other journalist broke the embargo (she went on to write for the Daily Mail: go figure). I was left with only this blurry picture, a reminder of my youthful enthusiasm for floral prints, and an uncanny impression of Dizzee Rascals best chat-up line.

Ruth Lewy is assistant editor of Guardian Weekend.

Nosheen Iqbal: Everyone else on the beach was 89% naked

Nosheen Iqbal in Tuscany, aged 21.

I was a skittish 21-year-old in the mid noughties and I had, against my will, ended up on a Tuscan beach. It was the height of summer, but I was wearing thick black tights, thicker black skirt, black scarf and witchy pumps . Everyone else was dressed in 89% naked and the entire beach was rammed. Id been sent on a work trip with four other journalists who were, as far as I was concerned, super-old (fortysomething) and, I hoped, probably willing to buy my stubborn refusal to strip as some cool youth thing. (They didnt.) I made an attempt to style it out by looking casually moody, staring out to sea behind sunglasses, pretending not to notice my shoes sinking in the sand, legs looking like inky black stumps.

Why dont you take off your tights?

No.

What about if

No.

A couple of key things: the seaside was not on my itinerary and I hadnt packed for it. I didnt (and dont) own swimwear or a bikini, and I didnt (and dont) know how to swim.

Being Muslim is barely an excuse to look as daft as I did; there are chic ways to be modest by the sea childhood memories of Karachis Clifton beach were proof, where lawn cotton tunic and trousers were everyones friend. But being Muslim, plus an average level of body dysmorphia, was my bikini body ready get-out card. I knew there had to be more comfortable ways to be in public than permanently sucking my stomach in wearing what is, essentially, waterproof underwear. But 100-denier hosiery was definitely not the answer.

The general advice to give a shy 21-year-old should always be, Its not as bad as you think, to allay their disproportionate embarrassment. Except, in this case, the cringe levels are fully warranted; I havent been to a hot, sunny beach since.

Nosheen Iqbal is a commissioning editor for G2.

Morwenna Ferrier: I cant remember why I decided to cut off my hair

Morwenna Ferrier in Aldeburgh in her early 20s.

Other outfits have been more challenging. The mother-of-pearl bustier I wore to my graduation, say. Or, recently, the T-shirt printed with Valerie Solanass Scum manifesto I wore to meet a friends baby. But the outfit I am wearing here, worn on a walk along Aldeburgh beach in Suffolk, is the one I most regret.

It started a few months earlier when, in my early 20s, I decided to cut off my hair. I cant remember why. I imagine I fancied a change and, in fairness, I liked it. But then, I looked like a boy in a dress. I reacted by phasing out dresses and instead wearing drainpipes, striped T-shirts and headscarves. None of this was good. In the photo, Im wearing tight cropped trousers under the dress.

I had spent my late teens in dresses, grungy or flowery, with self-cut hems. It was a more innocent time, when I didnt really care what I wore. But the haircut triggered an anxiety.

What is it I regret? Back then it was the haircut; now, its that I ever worried about looking like a boy. I clearly hadnt been paying attention in those Judith Butler seminars; maybe I was still too attached to the binary. As my hair grew out, I started to care for the first time about how I looked. At 24, late in life, I became self-conscious.

Morwenna Ferrier is the Guardians online fashion editor.

Pam Lucas: I looked like a turkey at Christmas

Pam Lucas at a family party, aged 39.

As a single parent in the 80s, I was dirt poor. I didnt have the opportunity to make fashion faux pas because I didnt have any money. We shopped in jumble sales, and we had fun.

My family was invited to a party to celebrate my aunt and uncles golden wedding anniversary. I didnt know them that well, but my mum wanted me to impress them by looking modern. In the 80s, that meant puffy sleeves and big shoulders. My mother came with me to buy the outfit from BHS , so I had to comply. I was 39 at the time.

It was a beautiful colour between purple and lilac but I didnt like the synthetic fabric. It was watermarked all over and had a flared, taffeta skirt and a little jacket with a peplum. I looked like a turkey at Christmas, but it was such a fab party, I soon forgot how uncomfortable I felt.

In a way the outfit is a testament to my relationship with my mother. I was a grownup, with a child of my own, but she was still trying to keep hold of the mum bit of herself.

Pam Lucas is a model and appears regularly in All Ages.

Tshepo Mokoena: I settled on a vague hippy child look

Tshepo Mokoena at 19.

It would be nice if we could start over. To spare me, and others my age, a fair bit of niggling shame, by wiping all early photos from our Facebook accounts. Anyone who set up a profile between 2004 and 2009 now lugs around the digital baggage of horrible pictures of misspent youth and terrible outfits.

Case in point: this delight of a photo. I was 19, killing time between the second and third years of uni in Brighton. In a few weeks, my housemate and I would set off on an impulsive charity volunteering trip to Kerala because and I still cringe wed watched Wes Andersons The Darjeeling Limited.

Until my early 20s, my aesthetic consisted of not knowing when to edit. At 18, I would layer at least three beaded necklaces, two chunky bracelets, about 17 bangles and seven rings, for no good reason.

I attended secondary school in Harare, Zimbabwe, largely insulated from fashion, more concerned with my whizzing hormones than the latest velour tracksuit. I settled on a vague hippy child look at 15 and filled my wardrobe with earthy prints, flared denim and jewellery picked up in local markets. By 19, I looked like a substitute art teacher.

If youre old enough to have only private, analogue photography from your youth, or young enough to have crafted a near-fictional version of yourself online, youre spared the permanent reminder of your mistakes: 1,287 grim images owned by Mark Zuckerberg. I implore other twentysomethings to join me in calling for a digital purge. Its time.

Tshepo Mokoena is the editor of Noisey.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2oSS1JN

from Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

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New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

New Post has been published on http://vintagedesignerhandbagsonline.com/not-so-haute-six-writers-on-their-biggest-fashion-mistakes/

Not so haute: six writers on their biggest fashion mistakes

Kenya Hunt ‘My version of day-to-night dressing was a night-time look worn all day’

Despite working at a fashion magazine, I’ve made a few sartorial mistakes. I comfort myself with the sentiment of an Instagram edict I saw: “If you’ve never looked a little dumb, you’re not having fun.”

I’d count the moment I met my husband as an off day, so it pains me no end that the clothes I wore have become a part of our marital lore. In his mind, the outfit is key to a story that must be retold, again and again: “She wore a shiny shirt, tight jeans, big, gold hoop earrings, tall boots and a giant white furry jacket. And I said, ‘I need to know this woman.’”

This visual loudness – the metallics, the big proportions, the shaggy texture – was my everyday look back in my late 20s, when I was living and working in New York. I dressed this way to please no one other than myself. I relished being able finally to buy and wear the labels I read about in magazines, but could never find in my suburban childhood home in Virginia.

My version of day-to-night dressing was basically a night-time look worn all day – ready for whatever fun might happen later. I’d think nothing of a morning commute in glittery Miu Miu heels or a gold Chloé sequin skirt. (To be fair, it was the era of high heels, flashy coats and skirts that were either very big and long, or very short.) No matter what the prevailing trend, I’ve always had a soft spot for the razzle. For further proof, see this old image of me in Milan, in bright colour and print, layered on top of more colour and print.

Now, my wardrobe stands on a foundation of grey, navy and black, mostly because it suits my lifestyle and the London weather. I limit the flamboyance to my accessories (a bright shoe, big earring, bold handbag) or show it through shape, such as an enormous puffer jacket. It’s just that now I choose pragmatic black rather than hot pink.

There’s a real joy that comes with loud dressing, because it requires a certain kind of go-to-hell spirit. I’ve come to indulge this in a more restrained way, but I don’t regret the mistakes. If I did, I’d have divorced my husband a long time ago, for telling that story so very, very often.

Ruth Lewy: ‘To think that this was my coolest look’

Ruth Lewy, aged 20, with Dizzee Rascal.

It was May 2006 and I was coming to the end of my first year of university. I had just received my first proper student journalism commission: an interview with Dizzee Rascal. I borrowed a Dictaphone and hastily scrawled down three pages of uninventive questions (“What is the best thing you’ve ever got for free?”).

Now the important bit: my look. I loved Dizzee; I knew his two albums back to front and had mastered all the words to Fix Up, Look Sharp. What was I going to wear?

To think, looking back, that this was my very best outfit. My coolest look. Not one floral print top but two, a T-shirt layered over a shirt. Not one necklace, but two. (Made with beads collected while InterRailing around Europe. I know.) My curly hair was slicked back with Brylcreem. Off I went, looking like Laura Ashley’s long-lost daughter.

He was courteous, holding eye contact and answering all my inane questions with grace. (The best thing he ever got for free? A lifetime’s supply of trainers.) I stood up and shook his hand, and he invited me to his afterparty. The next student journalist sat down and went straight in with a question about homophobic lyrics and issues of representation in pop music, and I thought, “Ohhhh, that’s what journalism is.”

The evening took a strange turn. My friends and I crowded into a bar on the high street, where Dizzee had a roped-off section at the back. It didn’t take him long to zone in on my gorgeous friend L, persuading her to leave with him. We were agog.

Twenty minutes later, she was back, laughing her head off at the way he had clumsily propositioned her. She chose us over him.

What do I see when I look at this picture? I feel embarrassed at my choices. But I’m also glad I spent my 20s dressing like a weirdo: it demonstrates a self-confidence that I don’t think I appreciated at the time. These days, you could still file most of my clothes under “eclectic”, but I’m much more careful, uninventive even. Now I tend to wear only one necklace at a time.

My interview never appeared in the end; the other journalist broke the embargo (she went on to write for the Daily Mail: go figure). I was left with only this blurry picture, a reminder of my youthful enthusiasm for floral prints, and an uncanny impression of Dizzee Rascal’s best chat-up line.

Ruth Lewy is assistant editor of Guardian Weekend.

Nosheen Iqbal: ‘Everyone else on the beach was 89% naked’

Nosheen Iqbal in Tuscany, aged 21.

I was a skittish 21-year-old in the mid noughties and I had, against my will, ended up on a Tuscan beach. It was the height of summer, but I was wearing thick black tights, thicker black skirt, black scarf and witchy pumps . Everyone else was dressed in 89% naked and the entire beach was rammed. I’d been sent on a work trip with four other journalists who were, as far as I was concerned, super-old (fortysomething) and, I hoped, probably willing to buy my stubborn refusal to strip as some cool youth thing. (They didn’t.) I made an attempt to style it out by looking casually moody, staring out to sea behind sunglasses, pretending not to notice my shoes sinking in the sand, legs looking like inky black stumps.

Why don’t you take off your tights?

No.

What about if…

No.

A couple of key things: the seaside was not on my itinerary and I hadn’t packed for it. I didn’t (and don’t) own swimwear or a bikini, and I didn’t (and don’t) know how to swim.

Being Muslim is barely an excuse to look as daft as I did; there are chic ways to be modest by the sea – childhood memories of Karachi’s Clifton beach were proof, where lawn cotton tunic and trousers were everyone’s friend. But being Muslim, plus an average level of body dysmorphia, was my “bikini body ready” get-out card. I knew there had to be more comfortable ways to be in public than permanently sucking my stomach in wearing what is, essentially, waterproof underwear. But 100-denier hosiery was definitely not the answer.

The general advice to give a shy 21-year-old should always be, “It’s not as bad as you think”, to allay their disproportionate embarrassment. Except, in this case, the cringe levels are fully warranted; I haven’t been to a hot, sunny beach since.

Nosheen Iqbal is a commissioning editor for G2.

Morwenna Ferrier: ‘I can’t remember why I decided to cut off my hair’

Morwenna Ferrier in Aldeburgh in her early 20s.

Other outfits have been more challenging. The mother-of-pearl bustier I wore to my graduation, say. Or, recently, the T-shirt printed with Valerie Solanas’s Scum manifesto I wore to meet a friend’s baby. But the outfit I am wearing here, worn on a walk along Aldeburgh beach in Suffolk, is the one I most regret.

It started a few months earlier when, in my early 20s, I decided to cut off my hair. I can’t remember why. I imagine I fancied a change and, in fairness, I liked it. But then, I looked like a boy in a dress. I reacted by phasing out dresses and instead wearing drainpipes, striped T-shirts and headscarves. None of this was good. In the photo, I’m wearing tight cropped trousers under the dress.

I had spent my late teens in dresses, grungy or flowery, with self-cut hems. It was a more innocent time, when I didn’t really care what I wore. But the haircut triggered an anxiety.

What is it I regret? Back then it was the haircut; now, it’s that I ever worried about looking like a boy. I clearly hadn’t been paying attention in those Judith Butler seminars; maybe I was still too attached to the binary. As my hair grew out, I started to care for the first time about how I looked. At 24, late in life, I became self-conscious.

Pam Lucas: ‘I looked like a turkey at Christmas’

Pam Lucas at a family party, aged 39.

As a single parent in the 80s, I was dirt poor. I didn’t have the opportunity to make fashion faux pas because I didn’t have any money. We shopped in jumble sales, and we had fun.

My family was invited to a party to celebrate my aunt and uncle’s golden wedding anniversary. I didn’t know them that well, but my mum wanted me to impress them by looking “modern”. In the 80s, that meant puffy sleeves and big shoulders. My mother came with me to buy the outfit from BHS , so I had to comply. I was 39 at the time.

It was a beautiful colour – between purple and lilac – but I didn’t like the synthetic fabric. It was watermarked all over and had a flared, taffeta skirt and a little jacket with a peplum. I looked like a turkey at Christmas, but it was such a fab party, I soon forgot how uncomfortable I felt.

In a way the outfit is a testament to my relationship with my mother. I was a grownup, with a child of my own, but she was still trying to keep hold of the mum bit of herself.

Tshepo Mokoena: ‘I settled on a vague hippy child look’

Tshepo Mokoena at 19.

It would be nice if we could start over. To spare me, and others my age, a fair bit of niggling shame, by wiping all early photos from our Facebook accounts. Anyone who set up a profile between 2004 and 2009 now lugs around the digital baggage of horrible pictures of misspent youth and terrible outfits.

Case in point: this delight of a photo. I was 19, killing time between the second and third years of uni in Brighton. In a few weeks, my housemate and I would set off on an impulsive charity volunteering trip to Kerala because – and I still cringe – we’d watched Wes Anderson’s The Darjeeling Limited.

Until my early 20s, my aesthetic consisted of not knowing when to edit. At 18, I would “layer” at least three beaded necklaces, two chunky bracelets, about 17 bangles and seven rings, for no good reason.

I attended secondary school in Harare, Zimbabwe, largely insulated from fashion, more concerned with my whizzing hormones than the latest velour tracksuit. I settled on a vague “hippy child” look at 15 and filled my wardrobe with earthy prints, flared denim and jewellery picked up in local markets. By 19, I looked like a substitute art teacher.

If you’re old enough to have only private, analogue photography from your youth, or young enough to have crafted a near-fictional version of yourself online, you’re spared the permanent reminder of your mistakes: 1,287 grim images owned by Mark Zuckerberg. I implore other twentysomethings to join me in calling for a digital purge. It’s time.

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[uzumaki-rebellion]

Wet Sugar [Part 7 of 30]

"Never understood how the trees gave us air

'Cause when you took my breath away

Trees were still there

I know that you're not in love with me

Which brings the ocean toward my eyes

Toward my eyes

See, we've all been there before

So don't you judge me

I'll never ask for more after this warning

My heart's in dumps for sure

But I'll keep on running for you, for you

So give me a pulse

Steady and deep

Now tell me the one thing you wanted from me…"

Leah Jenea – "Pulse"

Summary: Erik is in Africa and Yani deals with fall out...

A.N.: Hey all, had to split a chapter in two. My updates are averaging about 10,000 words (almost a 1/3 of a whole ass book each post, whew!]

Mature Content. NSFW. Y’all already know...

It felt different.

Sitting on the sand and running her fingers through the sugary soft grains, Yani couldn't quite figure out the sensation creeping over her spirit. Men had come and gone over the years through the compound. But Erik was the first she ever took an interest in…interacted with actually. Thinking back on it, she couldn't remember any of the men she had ever had a passing conversation with.

She touched the side of her neck. Trying her best to cover it with a cowrie shell choker, she could feel the tender bruise where Erik's lips and tongue had broken the small blood vessels there marking her skin with his love bite. Not just a hickey, but his actual teeth marks, those gold slugs digging into her flesh, the heat from his mouth branding her.

She had stood against the SUV expecting her Aunt to show up at any moment and catch that man hunched over her body like he was Vlad the Impaler turning her into a creature of the night. She gave her neck up to him wantonly, hungry for his mouth on her there and everywhere. When his fingers pinched her nipples, his tongue licked her ear and he whispered, "Your titties getting wet for me yet?"

She thought she would pass out from how gravelly his voice sounded. The possessive tone made her thighs shake and at that point, she pushed him back.

"Not in front of Sweet Pea," she gasped praying that her bra would control any leaking milk that could happen because of him.

"She needs to see her Mama getting some lovin'. Help her know what it looks like," he said trying to pull her back in his arms.

She held him back while peeking around his side looking out for Leona.

"Just one more kiss," he said.

"My Auntie will be here soon."

"Let me just hold you then."

His eyes seemed to be pleading with her.

"Okay—"

He lifted her up and placed her back on the backseat so that they were face to face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he leaned in to hold her. His body heat seeped into her dress and made her feel secure and protected. Her nose took in the scent of his cologne, and the scent of the almond smelling oil he used for his hair.

"Give me your number," he said when he pulled back from her. He had his cell out again.

She gave him her number but he didn't share his.

Leona returned and Yani kissed her daughter while fighting back the sorrow that was filling up her heart. Being with Killmonger felt normal. Natural. She watched him check the seatbelt securing Sydette, and when they drove away, she felt a dull pain grow in her chest and a few tears squeezed from her eyelids.

He was gone.

Yani allowed herself to fall back on the sand. She stared up at the pastel colors in the sky and tried to remember every inch of Killmonger. From his dark locs and thick neck to the curves on his strong thighs and the firm girth of that heaviness between his legs.

She couldn't ignore the urgent thumping from her clit and she pulled her bikini bottom off and spread her legs, not even caring about the sand digging into her backside.

"Ahhh…" she panted when her fingers pressed into her clit. It was already swollen, the delicate hood retracted revealing the tender pink bud. She pulled open her sticky inner labia and tried to imagine Killmonger slapping his dick on her, hitting her clit hard. He would be rough with her. She knew this. When he pulled his dick out of his pants the first time he touched her and let slip that he wanted to fuck her, the coarse edge in his voice let her know he was a man who broke pussy down. He was older, more experienced, and when he picked her up and slammed her on his dick to dry hump her, the strength she felt in his arms and legs made her feel weak. Delicate. He clearly had grown man dick. And that is what she wanted. Not sorry peen from the bum ass boys she ended up with.

Her thoughts drifted and she ruminated on when he kissed her pussy, could probably rub out a good orgasm re-imagining that night, but instead, her mind went to him yelling at her in his bedroom. For some reason, re-playing the hard and rough anger that came out of his throat got her so wet so fast. In the heat of the real moment she had been terrified, but lying on the warm sand with the new day's sun waiting for the first morning breath to carry it high above her, Yani fantasized about Erik yelling at her, barking orders at her, his lips curled in that mean scowl that was profoundly sexy to her in the safety of her imagination.

She pressed harder on the slick nub of her clit, her mind's eye replaying Erik's rough words, re-living the narrow lowering of his eyelids, his lips letting his gold teeth shine. And God, his hands lifting her up and pulling her onto his strong sculpted body… Yani's fingers flicked her clit with harder pressure re-imagining the rage on his face like he wanted to snatch her up and choke her within an inch of her life--

"I'll give you this wet pussy, Killmonger!" she squealed thinking of his juicy big lips and his turbulent-looking eyes. There was a storm lingering deep within those dark brown iris' of his.

Yani's three fingers sank down into her center and she pretended it was that man's thick brown dick hitting her walls and her stomach muscles clenched tight. She turned her head to the side feeling the sand scratch her cheek. She took the fingers of her other hand and pinched her clit as she wiggled her digits in her pussy. She wished she had her ruby anal plug, wanting that space filled so her sphincter could squeeze tight when she came.

She heard herself wailing with ecstasy as her pussy throbbed around her fingers. She would never have the chance to fuck him. She would never know how much time and tenderness it would take to fit him inside of her. There would be no more love marks. No more deep bites from golden canines. No more hands squeezing and pinching her nipples to make them weep.

Her release was total and complete.

Her limbs and torso felt abandoned by something it never had before. Probably never would. She might spend the rest of her life comparing imaginary fucking with a stranger to whomever she ended up with in life.

Her index and middle finger stirred around the inside of her vagina, the sloppy wetness there was profound. It dripped down her inner thighs and ass cheeks. The tears from her pleasure gathered down on her neck, but they soon turned to tears of sorrow.

"Him no come back," she said out loud, needing to hear it out in the open so she could accept it. For a brief moment, she thought she couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel her heart beating within her chest. She placed a warm hand against her neck. There was a pulse there. She was alive. Life would continue as it always had.

Flinging her bikini top on top of her clothes she picked herself up and waded out into the sea. She swam so far out that when she glanced back to look for her clothes, she could barely see the shadow of them on the sand.

Sinking down…

Her eyes searched below the surface for fish or sea turtles or anything that could distract her. When she allowed herself to float on her back, she remembered yelling at him when she first saw him. He floated in her waters and she wanted him gone, banished from her sanctuary. But now…all she wanted was for him to be floating on his back next to her, naked, his dimples flashing only for her and her baby.

She stayed in the water for as long as she could. When the sun began to shift, she dog-paddled toward shore, then body surfed all the way back.

She heard the cell alarm chime from her clothes and she knew it was time to finish up the work she had left at the compound. Once they were all gone, she and her Aunt would close down shop and wait for Klaue to return or not. She would have to collect a few more hours at the restaurant or at the Eco Tours to make ends meet again. Chez needed to come through with the money he owed her because she had to pay for tuition in another month.

Dressing quickly, Yani headed over to Klaue's. Pausing, she once more heard the stirring sound of Tahir's voice. The morning call to prayer.

She walked to where she could listen and watch him without disturbing his time. Tahir was in white again, his skull cap covering the wavy curls on top of his head. When he prostrated himself, Yani tried to hum the beginning parts of the prayer under breath. She had looked it up online on Kendall's laptop, finding a web page that gave a phonetic translation that she could follow.

"You need more of a nasal sound on that last part, Yani."

Startled, Yani glanced up and saw Tahir looking down at her.

"What?" she sputtered, confused as to how he knew she was there.

"Your voice…"

Confusion.

Oh, shit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was singing out loud, I was humming it and then—" "It's alright, you sound wonderful."

She walked up to where he was and he stepped down from the veranda.

"Listen… Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem. Alhamdu lillaahi Rabbil 'aalameen…"

Yani listened closely to his words and watched his lips and tongue move. He touched his throat.

"A little vibrato in there helps," he said, "bring it up through the diaphragm."

"Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem. Alhamdu lillaahi Rabbil 'aalameen…" she sang. She could hear the difference right off.

"That was perfect, my Goddess."

Yani felt herself smile.

"Oh, there it is, at last. I was worried you had forgotten how to do that since Killmonger left," he said.

Her eyes darted away from his gaze and her smile faltered.

"I miss him too. He is my one true friend in this world and I barely know that much about him except that I miss his presence and his leadership. The prayers brought us closer together. He said that it gave him peace. Looks like it gives you peace too, yes?"

She nodded.

"I want to learn how to say them…the words," she said.

"For yourself?"

"Yes."

Tahir held out his hand.

"Come with me."

She hesitated.

"Up to the veranda. I will teach you."

She took his hand.

###

Tahir sat with Yani in the dining room of the front house. Leona was down in the apartment watching tv. It was their final hour with Klaue and his crew. Yani knew she was ready for a break from all the men. It was a hectic month of work for Leona and Yani knew her Aunt was ready to slow down and spend some time in her own home back in Red Hook.

She sipped the can of coke she drank with Tahir. He guzzled down two cans and Yani sized up his face.

"What does Killmonger do when you are not working for Klaue?" she asked.

"He travels."

Tahir kept his answers enigmatic when it came to Killmonger. Gave no specifics to where he traveled to. All of her questions asked for the last twenty minutes were answered without real answers.

"Does he have a woman?"

Tahir put down his drink.

"You should forget him, Yani."

His answer surprised her.

"I'm just curious—"

"No…you're not curious…"

Tahir's eyes were a solemn brown and they swept over her face.

"You are so young. Your life is in front of you. Killmonger is not a man to…he's not…"

Tahir's eyes broke away from hers and he took another drink from his soda can.

"Say it, man," she said feeling anxious watching him. She squirmed in her chair. She hated how cryptic he was being with her.

"He's a dangerous man. Much too dangerous for you to be mixed up with. Be happy that he is gone."

"It would be easier just to tell me he has a girlfriend," she said.

"He has many women. Whenever he wants. He had several while he was here. Where he is now, he will have some there if he wants. That's how life is in this work we do. There is not one woman. No girlfriend. We use women when we want to have sex or a good time. That is all."

Yani felt her face get hot from his words. So blunt.

"Will he come back here?"

Tahir shrugged. He glanced at his watch and stood up.

"Goddess, it was a pleasure knowing you. I must get some sleep now—"

Yani jumped up.

"Can you give me his number? An email?" she said.

"I won't do that. I can't."

"Please?"

"No. I'm sorry. It's safer if you leave him alone."

He crushed his cans of coke. His eyes were gentle regarding her face.

"I can pass one message to him, but that's it. One message."

"I want to give it to him myself."

"Sorry, Yani. We have rules."

Tahir was not going to budge. And she didn't want to pass on an intimate message through this man.

"Goodnight, Mr. Tahir," she said.

She walked down to her Aunt's apartment under the front house. Leona sat with her reading glasses on watching Wheel of Fortune.

"Why the sour face?" Leona asked.

"Just tired, Auntie. Can I have the car keys?"

"Inside the bowl," Leona said.

Yani walked over to the ceramic candy dish by the tv and grabbed the keys.

"You worked very well, Yani. I'll have your money for you tomorrow. You have enough for tuition now?"

Yani grinned.

"I'm going to pay for both of my first two semesters next week. All I have to do is get through the first year and my grades by this time next year should help me get a scholarship. Any word from Klaue?"

"He hasn't said anything to me yet. I'll let you know what he decides."

Yani nodded and walked out of the apartment. She went back to the front house to make sure things were locked up.

"Yani."

She froze when she saw Klaue standing out on the patio.

"Yes, Mr. Klaue."

"Let Kendall and the guys know that I won't need them here until the end of the month. Things can go a little wild while I'm gone."

"I will tell them."

"You and Our Lady did well."

"Thank you."

Klaue always made Yani feel insecure. He could be irascible toward anyone, his moods often shifted from moment to moment, and right now, he looked a little tipsy from the beer he drank with his dinner. He stepped past her and she couldn't resist asking him a question.

"Will you be coming back soon, Mr. Klaue?"

He turned back toward her, his bloodshot eyes looking curious. His lips pressed tighter together.

Shit. He probably thought she was prying.

"I'm starting nursing school in the fall. I just want to know if there will be work available any time soon before I attend my classes."

She gave him a tepid smile, not sure if she had offended him by asking about his schedule. She had never done that before.

"You're going to be a nurse?"

"Yes, Sir. I want to help women who are having babies."

"Ah, well, you have experience with your own daughter. Good for you. Education is important. You want to better yourself."

He wiped a hand across his jawline.

"I will let your Aunt know for sure, but I may need extra help later in the summer. Can't say for sure."

"This job really helped me save up money for school. I probably won't be able to work here as much when you come back."

"I see. Well, you will be missed. Perhaps you can do some things on the weekend instead of during the week."

She smiled at that.

"Goodnight," he said leaving her.

Late summer.

Maybe…maybe Killmonger would be with him.

###

Yani parked her Aunt's car and checked her cell. There was a missed call from Zachary. Her nerves kicked up. There was no text or voice message. She quickly checked Zachary's IG and snapchat feeds. His other social media timelines were pretty quiet, just postings of joke memes and few music vids. She slipped the thin phone into her back pocket again.

Running up the stairs she was surprised to see Chez sitting on the top step. Scowling, he stood up when he saw her.

"You brought me the money?" she said, a hopeful tinge to her voice.

Chez snatched her up by the front of her shirt and raised his hand up until the cotton material was pressing against her throat and her belly was naked to the world.

"You stupid Bitch!"

Her hands flailed out scratching his wrists, but he held onto her tight. He dragged her back down the steps, her feet tangling up trying to keep him from breaking her ankles. Once he had her down by the parking lot, he slammed her body onto the hood of her Aunt's car. The pain in her back flared up and she kept still while his eyes glared at her, his face close to hers, the smell of hard liquor on his breath offending her senses.

"Chez! Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"Why the fuck am I getting a call that you have some other nigga claiming my child? You crazy? You married now?"

Fucking Kim.

"It was a joke!"

"No, it wasn't! You were seen kissing all over him. He had his hands all over you in front of the baby! Fucking slut!"

He lifted her up and slammed her back down, knocking the breath out of her.

"Who the fuck is he?"

Yani tried to ease up from the hood, but Chez was too strong.

"My Aunt works for him," she gasped, "He was playing, I swear! He was just joking with my boss!"

"Is Sydette mine?"

Yani was scared, but she felt anger seeping into her veins. It strengthened her resolve. She slapped at his face, scratching him.

"How dare you ask me that! You fucking bastard! I never cheated on you. I was always with you and you know Sydette is yours! Fucker!"

Her arms did windmills, striking him in his face and chest.

"Yani!"

Twyla came running out from the apartment. She bounded down the steps and lunged at Chez, putting him into a headlock and lifting his neck up. Yani took advantage when he released his hands from her and proceeded to punch him in the face with her fists.

"Alright! Stop!" Chez yelled.

They all heard Sydette crying from the open apartment door. A few neighbors stuck heads out of windows to watch the wild scene unfolding before them. Chez broke away from Twyla and darted up the steps.

"Chez!" Yani shrieked, running behind him.

Chez ran into her bedroom and grabbed Sydette from her crib, pressing her screaming little body against his chest.

"Let her go, Chez!" Yani shouted.

Her entire body was shaking watching him hold her baby. Chez peered down into Sydette's face.

"Is she mine? Don't lie to me, Yani! Kim said that man had dimples like her and he was holding her like she was his—"

Chez dropped down to one knee, almost losing his balance and dropping Sydette.

Yani fell to her knees in front of him grabbing for her daughter. Chez shoved her flailing arms back.

"Let me have her, please! Let her go!"

Chez's eyes looked haunted. There was fear there. Yani wiped tears from her face and held her hands out to him.

"She's yours! Everyone knows she's yours. You can do a blood test if you want, I don't fucking care…let her go…!"

Twyla flew into the room ready to beat the shit out of Chez again, but Yani held her back. Twyla grabbed a baseball bat from behind the bedroom door and held it in position.

"People are talking shit, Yani. Saying you played me!"

Chez'z eyes swam with tears. Sydette kept screaming. Yani crawled closer to him and took Sydette from his rigid arms. She sat back on her backside and pulled up her shirt, releasing a breast from her bra. Sydette latched onto her nipple and it had an immediate calming effect on her. Yani breathed deep, her eyes watching Chez.

Her back muscles shot jolts of pain and she grimaced. Chez watched her feed his baby. His tear-streaked face broken.

"You tryna find a father for her?" he asked.

"You should just pay your child support on time, Chez and not worry about who Yani sees. You cheated on her and ruined your relationship. She nuh have to tell you nothin' 'bout her personal business. That baby is yours and you are a shitty faddah—"

"Twyla…"

Her cousin glared at her face. She closed her mouth when she realized Yani wasn't in the mood to have Chez lectured about his failings.

"Chez, I got into nursing school. I need Sydette's money now. I will be going to school full-time and I need you to help me."

She could feel herself tearing up again and she was upset about crying all the time. She was forever crying over some man. It was tiresome.

Chez crawled to sit next to her. He took a finger and stroked Sydette's cheek.

"I'll have your money soon. I promise."

A sharp biting pain pinched her lower back and she groaned a bit. Chez reached behind her and rubbed her back gently. She tensed up when he touched her.

"Easy," he said.

"Why would you do that to me?"

She was pouring waterfalls from her eyes and her free hand reached up to cover her eyes.

"I messed up…I messed up…" he whispered.

He pulled her in close to comfort her and Sydette clutched onto her other breast trying to hold Yani in place.

"You ever put your hands on my cousin again, I will bust your head open to the gray meat Chez. Don't test me! Sydette will visit your bum ass in the grave next time," Twyla hissed.

Yani gave her a look to try and calm her.

"Him make me so vex. I want to hit him right now, right in front of his daughter!"

Yani lifted Sydette up and pulled down her own shirt.

"Hey, Sweet Pea. Mommy is okay now."

She rubbed the baby's back trying to soothe the anxious bouncing in her daughter's legs.

"Time for you to go, Chez," Yani said.

She stood up and held Sydette securely against her and moved away from Chez. He picked himself up from the floor. Wiping his eyes, he glanced at Twyla still clutching the baseball bat in her hand.

"I'll call you in a couple of days with the money."

He leaned over and kissed Sydette on the cheek. When he tried to kiss Yani on her cheek, she pulled away from him

After he left the apartment, Yani flopped down on her bed and really let the waterworks go. Twyla put away the bat and took the baby from her arms.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Just get me some ibuprofen—"

"We should call the cops on his ass. File a police report—"

"And how would I get my money then?" Yani whimpered.

"Just take him to the courts, let them garnish his pay—"

"He don't work regular jobs like that—"

"Can you call Killmonger to whoop his ass again?"

The sound of Erik's name made Yani cry harder. Sydette wailed along with her.

###

Luanda.

The capital of Angola.

Erik could hear Portuguese and Kikongo spoken around him as he sat with Klaue eating a simple meal of muamba de galinha. It was a tasty aromatic chicken stew and the woman who brought them their plates was happy to see Erik eat like he was at home, not scared to lick his fingers and ask for more. The garlic and chili made the meat and sweet potatoes hit hard with the palm oil it was cooked in, and he ate until his belly was bursting at the seams. Homestyle foods with beer always made him happy, and he thanked the woman in Portuguese and English.

"Estava uma delícia," he said. The waiter smiled at him, and when she tried to converse with him further, Klaue gave her a look that made her leave the table quickly.

"Chill, man. She can talk to me," Erik said.

"We're not here as tourists. Do that on your own time," Klaue answered with a brusque voice.

"I done told you about your tone with me. I'm not one of your little minions, bruh."

Erik gave back what he was given with this man. Klaue seemed to respect that. He didn't allow the other men to come at him like that, and Erik knew it was because Klaue really and truly needed him more and more.

Erik swiped the last bit of bread on his plate through a smear of stew gravy and gobbled it up. Licking his fingers again, he wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for a small cigar in his shirt breast pocket.

"You got a light?" he asked Klaue.

Klaue reached into his vest pocket and tossed Erik a green lighter.

"I'll be out front."

Pushing away from the table, Erik glanced at the waiter.

"Make sure you tip her well," he said.

It was already hitting ninety degrees outside and it was already eight o'clock at night. He lit his cigar and savored the spicy tobacco taste on his tongue. A few people watched him as they walked past him. On a purely physical level, he fit right in among the locals, until they noticed his keloids. He did his best to take on the nuance of the Portuguese spoken there, but there were several linguistic differences in the Brazilian Portuguese he knew and the Angolan version surrounding him. He tried his best to catch onto local slang to help blend in, but once he spoke, people knew he was from some other place. Most thought he was Brazilian.

Things were incredibly expensive there. For a country with large oil reserves and heavy foreign investment, Erik could taste poverty in many places. There was no real development in infrastructure for the poorer citizens, and he felt his jaw get tight knowing that once again, so many people struggled for basic chances at life. Being on the continent made him incredibly angry. All the wealth in the world coming from this land, and yet…pockets of struggle life. And to be that close to Wakanda only infuriated him more. It would be so easy to slit Klaue's throat, bleed him out like a stuck pig, and drag his body before the Wakandan court. Take what was rightfully his and change the trajectory of the shitty world he saw around him.

His temples throbbed and he took another drag on his cigar. Pulling out his cell he checked Kendall's social media. His round-about way of checking in on that girl that had his nose wide open like some horny teenager.

Kendall's performance at Rush had gone viral weeks after performing there, and right along with his new-found clout, Yani's appearance there had generated some major heat. Both vids on Kendall's social media platform had over a million views which were impressive considering they came from a small island. The comments under Yani's vid had Erik cracking up until he started noticing men and a few women posting links to Yani's personal page. She had an open IG feed, and two other social media platforms that she used. They all had the same handle, Black Gyal Mermaid. Erik used a burner handle and an old Goku avatar to lurk on her pages.

Yani posted things like pictures of Sydette and her other family members, and Erik soon discovered lots of pictures of her at the beach in various swimsuits that did not hide the imagination. He scrolled through several and had to switch back to Kendall's page to keep himself from getting aroused. Kendall mentioned several times about being excited about performing for J'ouvert festivities and Erik made and note to find out what that was all about later. From what he could tell, things were okay for Yani back on the island. He saved a few pictures of Yani and Sydette on Kendall's page, his favorite being a solo shot of Sydette sitting on some sand wearing the outfit Erik bought her. It made him smile to know Yani had her wear it in a lot of photos.

He pulled up the picture that he had taken the last night he saw the two of them.

Sydette's little face giving Yani a toothless grin and Yani's round cheeks lifted in a beautiful reflection of her daughter. The other photo he took always centered him because Yani's face when it was just her eyes looking at him, those eyes held so much longing. He had to stop looking at it because it made him want to drop everything and jump on the next plane out of Luanda. He had a job to do and he couldn't afford the distraction of a woman and child that weren't really his.

"I gave her a big tip," Klaue said, joining Erik outside for a smoke. The robust odor of Klaue's cigar overwhelmed the pleasing aroma of his own. Typical.

"You set for Benin?" Klaue asked.

"Yeah."

"You sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"Just scouting man. Checking on some speculations."

"Just be back and ready to meet these Boko Haram clowns."

"Thought we were dealing with the Nigerian government first."

"Yeah, well the rebels are on the move and we have a short window to make the exchange and get out before the Big Dogs move in on them. Quick turnover and then we're off to Abuja. I'm serious, bru, do not miss your flight back."

Erik's cigar was burned down to the band. He took another drag. Selling arms to Boko Haram that could kill civilian Naija populations, while also providing arms to the government to attack Boko Haram, that might also end up killing civilian Naija populations. Erik shook his head at the fuckery he participated in.

"How soon can you start experimenting with the vibranium we already have?"

"I have some design mockups made…I just need some space, some privacy to work…"

"Our Lady's Manor…"

"What-?"

"The island compound. You transport the vibranium back to St. Thomas. Stay there. Take the time to perfect the weapons we need in complete privacy. Experiment there and also watch over some other goods I want transported back there."

"How much time you talking?" Erik took a long drag of his cigar and blew it out toward Klaue's face. With bated breath, he watched the man's expression. St. Thomas was the perfect spot. Isolated. Private. Tranquil.

Yani and Sweet Pea…

"We finish the Kabul job and you can have the summer."

He kept the smile fighting to break out on his face under control. A whole summer in paradise. Working at his own pace and his only real responsibility was protecting a small cache of vibranium and whatever else this man wanted hidden. Plenty of time to play too…

"Bet."

He stubbed the last of his cigar against the restaurant wall and tossed it in a public trash can.

###

Erik chartered a private light plane to take him into Benin.

He brought specific clothes and his fake glasses that made him look like a visiting academic. He kept his hair tied back the entire three days he spent there. He was happy to be away from the Luanda compound, the work there finally complete, the arms delivered on time and with few complications. Erik forced Klaue to cut half a dozen men loose from the crew that he felt were a hindrance. He suggested Hunstman, but Klaue was adamant on keeping the man and Erik eased up his pressure to bag the troublesome mercenary.

Erik sat in a café enjoying a honey-sweetened espresso and scrolling through a small computer tablet. Feeling secure where he was seated, Erik sent a poke to his play Aunt in London. He nibbled on some muffins and ordered another espresso from his server when his Aunt hit him up.

"JaJa!"

"Auntie Serah!"

Erik secured his earbuds so he could hear her privately.

"Let me look at you!" she said.

Erik held his tablet from different angles so she could see all of him. He missed the sound of her Cameroonian French accent.

"Nephew, you look so good! I spoke to Bakari last week and he said you haven't been back to D.C. for a long time. What's going on? Where are you?"

"Doing some business. Been busy this year."

"Clearly. Have you seen your grandfather? How is he?"

"Doing well. Aunt Rolita is staying with him now, so he's in good hands…"

"And Disǎ? Have you spoken to her?"

"No—"

"Tu es un imbécile!"

"She cut me off Auntie, what am I supposed to do? I'm not begging her to take me back again. She won't. Ever. So don't ask me about her…please. That's old news."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Auntie…c'mon. You sound like Auntie Shavonne and Soliel—"

"Fine, fine…I won't ask about her again…even though she was the perfect one for you—"

"Auntie—"

"Ça ne fait rein…you are too much like your father, stubborn…too arrogant to try and patch things up."

"But you used to like that about him when you were dating him back in the day."

"Ooh! Watch your tongue! You are grown, but I am still your elder."

"Okay, I hear you."

"She was a good woman."

"I can find another good woman."

"Oh, so you are open to—"

"Stop. How is Uncle?"

"Addae is well. You just missed him."

Serah's face studied him hard. Her aristocratic-looking face looked a bit disappointed. Her sharp cheekbones and slightly graying sculptured twists made her the Queen she was whenever he saw her.

"Where are you?" she asked again.

"About to step into The Royal Benin Museum."

"You actually flew there? What are you looking for now, JaJa?"

He grinned.

"There are some Benin sculptures and pre-colonial art I want to look at, but I need you to help me with some confirmation dates. For research purposes. The last collection you told me about never made it here. It's on hold."

"That sometimes happens with private collections. I told you that."

He swiped some tabs and sent her the data he needed clarification on. He watched her receive his file of pictures. He sipped on his fresh espresso while she looked over his attachments.

"These are pre-Dynastic artifacts, JaJa. East African—"

"Wakandan?"

"Possibly. There has been speculation that the reign of Queen Shuriyah of Wakanda allowed some pieces to get into the hands of the British and French through the black market."

"What dates should I be looking for to get me in the ballpark, Auntie?"

Serah lifted her index finger to her chin, her eyes downcast studying the photos.

"The ones you have here…"

She enlarged three pictures and threw them back on his screen.

"…Edo. Looks to be fifteenth century, sixteenth at the latest."

"Could they be mistaken for other tribes?"

"Sure. Ashanti. But for any chance of pieces being mislabeled Wakandan, you have to find some Fula artifacts. Anything between the seventh and eighth century. There are records of some contact between Wakanda and ancient Central Africa and parts of Western Africa."

Erik's eyes caught sight of his waiter and he waved him over to pay.

"I need to get over to the museum now."

"Call me when you have more free time."

"I will—"

"Don't say you will and don't. You do that to all of us a lot, JaJa."

"I promise—"

"JaJa…"

His Aunt's eyes gave him another once-over.

"Be careful," she said.

"I always am, Auntie."

"I worry about you. When will you come see me?"

"How about Christmas?"

Her eyes sparkled.

"I don't want a layover visit young man. You come and stay through New Year's."

"We'll talk about that later."

"I love you," she said. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

"Hey, c'mon now—"

Her hands fluttered around her face and she wiped her tears away with her index fingers.

"You cry every time you see me," he said.

"I can't help it. The older you get, the more I see them in you. I wish—"

"I know what you wish. I'll see you in December. No fly-by. A real visit."

"I'm holding you to that. I will let Addae know. When I see you, I can show you things that will help you track what you are looking for. Deal?"

"Deal. I love you too, Auntie. I don't say it enough, but I do."

Serah nodded and a few more tears pricked her eyes.

He swiped the screen and her face was gone. Sitting still he thought about what his life could've been. His father had dated Serah in grad school before he met Erik's mother. From what she told him, once his father met his mother it was a wrap. What he found interesting about that little history was that Serah became pals with his mother. He always wanted to know more about that turn of events, but it was often difficult to discuss his parents without Serah weeping about the past. If his father had stayed with her, she could've been his mother. He could be living a normal life in London with her. Maybe his father would've chosen a different path with her.

Or maybe, he would never have been born.

Erik paid his check and walked to the museum, keeping a close watch of his surroundings. His clothes were neat and he carried a gray crossbody bag with a fake passport as well as a tiny camera hidden within the lenses of his glasses. He stood in front of another café and pretended to glance over a menu posted in the window. He took a few test photos with the glasses. They worked fine when he checked his computer tab.

The museum was not a happening place in the middle of the week, and Erik explored freely without worry about being watched by too many eyes. There was a docent available, but he wandered aimlessly, admiring sculptures and paintings. He found the section he was interested in scoping out and his camera glasses uploaded pictures to a private network.

Surveying a few ironwood masks and some intricate copper weaponry from the past, Erik knew right away there was nothing there with vibranium. He didn't feel the itchy sensation on his inner lip where his vibram tattoo would alert him of the prized metal. Disappointing. However, he spent the rest of his visit mapping the layout of the entire museum and uploading it through his glasses.

Ninety-minutes passed and he approached the docent desk to ask a question.

A sharp-looking man wearing an elegant steel-gray suit greeted Erik. Although there was air-conditioning in the space, it wasn't strong enough to cool Erik down. Neither the docent.

"Quick question. I'm curious to know when you will be having other pre-dynasty collections in here."

The older man, his silver hair making his dark skin more dynamic, handed Erik a pamphlet.

"There is a collection returning here next Spring," the man said.

Erik surveyed the pamphlet.

"I was told before I left New York that there was a traveling global exhibit making the rounds."

"Ah, yes, in conjunction with the Museum of Great Britain. Unfortunately, young man, unless you plan on coming next fall, you will miss out."

"Do you know what that exhibit will have?"

"It is still being put together, but there is a website you can look up from the pamphlet that will give you some idea of what may be curated."

"Thank you for your help," Erik said.

He stopped by the small museum gift shop and bought his Aunt Serah a pink sweatshirt. He checked his watch. He debated staying the extra day he planned on, but it was better to get back to Klaue and have more time to flesh out his proposal of allowing Erik to stay in St. Thomas alone. He texted the charter pilot he hired to fly him in and changed his departure schedule.

Catching a cab to his hotel room, Erik bought a to-go meal for his dinner. The four-star hotel he stayed in was cooler and his skin drank in the coolness when he stripped off his clothes. He checked the room for surveillance bugs and found none. A notification clicked on his tablet and he peeped it.

Kendall had a new live-vid update on his timeline.

Erik stretched back on his bed and opened the vid.

Kendall wore flashy sunglasses as he frolicked in beach water.

"Yo, what's going down with my K-Town fans?"

Erik smirked at the posturing Kendall was doing in the vid.

"I'm here in Megan's Bay chillin'. Wanted to let you all know to download and stream the new single that just dropped today…"

A stream of water was splashed onto Kendall's head disrupting his live stream.

"Aye! Chill, Cuz!"

Erik felt his heart palpitate when he saw Yani running into view kicking up water. She wore a baseball shirt and cut-offs with sunglasses hiding her eyes too.

"Buy his single!" Yani yelled.

Kendall kicked water at her and she ran away. Erik felt a bit disgruntled when Kendall didn't move his cell to capture more footage of Yani.

"Do what she says, Fam. Get the new single, support ya boy and oh yeah, check out the cover for the new D.J. Junior compilation. My cousin Yani is on that cover so show her some love too! I've seen the comments, so I know it's fiyah! I'm out!"

The live stream ended. Bummed that there was no more footage of Yani, Erik swiped over to Yani's feed. Nothing new was posted. He googled the D.J. and pulled up a link that sent him to the album cover.

"Shit," Erik groaned when he saw it. He enlarged it.

Yani.

It was the type of shot that he could expect to see on a hip-hop compilation cover, or a thirst trap click-bait photo to garner page and streaming clicks.

The front cover was Yani simply sitting on the beach in a blue velvet bikini. She was facing away from the camera, looking off in the distance, her skin forever sun-kissed, but the bikini bottom…it was nearly a thong except for the tiny triangle that rested right over the crack of her…

Erik sat up so he could breathe a little better. He had seen this girl naked, but she looked more naked with a scrap of velvet clinging to her ass. And there was a big handprint made of sand on her right ass cheek. Her whole backside just sat there all juicy and fat, and…and whose fucking handprint was that? She leaned slightly forward and he could see sand clinging to the underside of her cheeks. All he could think of was her sitting on his lap like that.

His dick chubbed up right away. He flicked his fingers on the album cover and made it bigger.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Before he knew it, he had a full-blown erection on his hands and he wasn't ready for it. Not really. Not when she was thousands of miles away frolicking on a beach, hauling around a fatty that needed to be on his sack with a quickness.

He squeezed the photo back to thumbnail size so he could look at the back of the cover. A listing of artists was on the left side of the cover with Yani in another bathing suit, but this time a gun-metal colored one piece. She stood in some thigh-high water, her left hand resting on her left thigh, her eyes cast down, the fucking curves, the slight swell of her belly, pebbled nipples poking through…

He started reading the comments under the photos. They were full of water splashes, peaches, eggplants, eyeballs, and tongue emojis. Over five thousand comments and the album just dropped earlier on island time.

At first, the comments were amusing, the usual sexually-charged bravado that happened with pictures like that. But then there was a hashtag he saw trending with many of the later comments. The Big Nut Challenge. He clicked on some of the links and was struck by the boldness of some men and a lot of women who were sharing x-rated clips of themselves masturbating to Yani's pictures.

"Look at these wild mofos right here," he said out loud. He skipped many of the men and peeped the women who were openly sharing explicit vids of them playing with their pussy in front of Yani's picture.

Another notification chirped, this one from Yani's timeline and Erik wasted no finger time swiping open her avatar. It was another live stream.

"Lookie, I appreciate the love from so many fans of D.J. Junior, but man, I am shocked by this Big Nut Challenge."

Her eyes were glancing down at the live comments flooding her page. She took off her sunglasses and let her eyes look directly into her cell camera.

"Doing too much people!" She giggled and the angelic sound of her voice pulled him into her so quickly again.

"The comments are coming so fast…I'm trying to read them you guys…lemme see…Did you have fun taking the photos? Yes! I actually did. Those of you who follow me already know I post pictures of myself at the beach or showing off new swimsuits. I wasn't doing it for a while since I had my baby, but a girl is getting her snap back a little bit…"

She laughed and he closed his eyes, imagining holding her again, feeling the vibrations of her voice tickle his ears.

"Will you be out for J'ouvert? Of course! I wasn't able to go last year because I had my baby then, but I'm not missing this year. My cousin Kendall is performing so be sure to come out and support!"

She looked confident, sounded confident.

He sent her a message with his avatar. He knew she was a Goku fan, so there was no way she would ignore his avatar.

Sure enough, she read his question.

"What does your husband think of the album cover? Um, I'm not married…"

Her eyes scanned more questions as they peppered her timeline and she answered as many as she could.

I heard you were married.

"You heard wrong."

Do you have a boyfriend?

"I am very single."

The jovial expression on her face shifted to a cautious one. She read off more questions. Some were asking if she was on the album. Did she plan on doing more covers. Who cut her hair. Did she exercise...

Would you go out with me?

She ignored that one. He eased up realizing it came off creepy.

More comments and questions flew at her. Some really out of pocket ones popped up and he felt his teeth grit together. She started ignoring the comments and talked about her life.

"I got into nursing school, so I will be busy this fall, so you all need to enjoy my posts because I will be studying hard and not posting as much."

Congrats on nursing school.

"Thank you," she says reading his post.

Who will take care of Jerome while you are at school?

Her face froze for a second. Staring at the question, she swiped her cell and he knew she was dragging his question and avatar back down to read it again.

"Bye now!"

Her live stream went dark.

His computer made a chirping sound. His burner notification showed he had one new follower. His only follower. Yani's thumbnail picture stared at him. Ten seconds later she was in his DMs.

Killmonger? This you?

He jumped out of his feed.

He shouldn't have communicated with her like that. He was safe lurking on her timeline and Kendall's, but he blew it.

He couldn't help it. Hearing her talk, seeing her face..., he'd been gone a month and he couldn't wean himself from her like he thought he could once he had left.

He brought up the two pictures of her from the album cover again. Shit like that was titillating, and his dick was still thick between his legs. He reached down and gripped his shaft, stroking it harder than he meant to. He enlarged her photos, that ass of hers dragging him by the balls. His eyes flicked back and forth between the photos. He was beyond excited by them…but he was also feeling the tendrils of anger building up too. Irrational anger in a way, but the type of anger he had when he felt that something that belonged to him was taken away.

It was that damn Big Nut Challenge. That stupid social sharing that had his woman at the center of it. That was his woman niggas were jerking off to. Bitches were out there flicking their beans to his shit. The same fat ass he was beating his meat to also. His pre-cum coated his fingers while his eyes became half-lidded and burned with the image of her thick cheeks teasing the world. And that goddamned handprint on her ass. Who the fuck did that to his woman? He was the only one allowed to put a hand there. He imagined her in reverse cowgirl dropping that good weight on his heavy dick. He knew them cheeks would clap hella loud for him.

"Daddy is gon' be all in that shit, girl. You wait and see," he growled at the screen, still feeling a low-level rage in his belly knowing he wasn't the only man with their dick in his hand yanking hard on the stick. Only one big nut counted and it was his.

"Pound Daddy's dick, baby…fuck…!"

Hot ropes of cum shot out onto his screen, drenching Yani's photos.

"Yani…shit," he gasped, still feeling more ejaculate drip down from his slit onto the bed.

He fell back on his back panting hard and started laughing at himself.

"Girl, when I get back to that fucking island…I swear to God you in trouble."

He left the bed and padded over to the tiny bathroom and grabbed a hand towel. He cleaned himself up in the sink and grabbed another hand towel to clean up his tablet.

He was wiping the last of his cum off of the bed when a sudden knock on the door froze him in place.

He didn't order any room service.

And no one knew he was there except for Klaue.

With extreme stealth, Erik reached for his belt sitting on the hotel dresser. He slipped on his fake glasses. He wound the non-buckle part of his belt around his hand once and inched his way to the door. Staring at the door with the glasses from the side, he could see the heat signatures radiating behind the wood. Two people. Tall and wide. Men.

Uninvited.

[Part 8]

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