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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

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“Wet Sugar” [Part 19 of 30]

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Summary: Erik teaches Yani a lesson and change is in the air...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"Sunshine & the rain Sunshine & the rain I'm feelin that pressure, now, now I'm feelin that same old round and round I can't go forward

I need a boost to catapult me high feels like the come up is way too tight chokin and squeezin' my life, every time"

Joi—"Sunshine & The Rain"

Yani knew Erik watched her from the security cams when she left for the night. She made sure to walk in front of all visible optics in case Neal was lurking for her too. Huntsman commenting on her relationship with Erik frightened her. Did Klaue know about it too?

The thought worried her all night when she slept at Leona's apartment. When she arrived back at the compound to cook breakfast and prep for the dinner meal, she stayed in the front house the entire time. It wasn't until the men left for the day to explore island bars that she even took a bit of time to walk down to the cove to relax. Erik was gone with the men. She had hoped that he could stay behind with her, but he made a point of driving the others into town. She asked him to pick up bottled water and extra batteries just in case they needed them.

The sky was even grayer when the men returned late in the evening. She ignored them all, including Erik. The standing freezer had an abundance of nickel-sized scallops and prosciutto. Yani cooked thin spaghetti noodles with fish sauce and fresh garlic with the scallops and tossed together an Italian salad with the thin slices of cured ham. This particular crew wasn't particular or even cared for dessert, so she watched them eat her food and quickly cleaned up after them when they were done.

She heard Erik talking to the others in the front house den. He was encouraging the men to leave early in the morning before the storm arrived, but the captain of the boat had trepidations about sailing back to Florida. Erik mentioned Puerto Rico but there was grumbling. The point became moot when one of the men turned up the view screen and the weather report was dire. The storm had grown and would pass by the island sooner than originally predicted.

The men would stay longer.

Erik sent her a text.

Go home and don't come back here until I tell you. Get to safety with your family.

She quickly texted him back.

If it gets bad, the safest place here is under the middle house. There is a large crawlspace there right under the kitchen window outside. The panic room is only for you. No one else.

Hug the baby for me.

Yani put together a to-go plate for herself and slipped away from the grounds without the men noticing.

Her Aunt and cousins made plans to stay in a shelter and she packed up pull-ups and baby food for Sydette and a small clothing bag for herself. Piling blankets in her car, she drove herself, Sydette and Twyla to the church shelter they had used since she was a child. It was better to be safe than sorry, and the other islanders who thought the same were already hunkering down for the night. As a child she had survived a Category 3 storm, so she was only slightly anxious with a Category 2 on the way.

The entire night she listened to prayers, a short sermon from the Pastor, and soft whispers from all around her as they all waited to see what the next day would bring. She dozed off around two in the morning but was abruptly woken up with Sydette clutched in her embrace as the wind howled outside the church. It was seven in the morning but darkness surrounded them.

Yani sat up and looked at Leona and Twyla.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"We were lucky. The hurricane died down and didn't even come near us. Right now we are getting the tail end of a strong tropical storm. Praise God. Them say it'll pass through by evening," Leona said.

Yani exhaled with relief.

She changed Sydette's pull up and cleaned her hands with hand sanitizer before opening up a jar of baby food.

"We should go home," Twyla said.

"I think we should stay until we know for sure it is safe," Leona said.

Yani checked her cell. Erik sent a few texts while she was asleep. It looked like he was awake all night by the number of messages he left for her and the baby. She texted him back letting him know her family's plan to stay at the church longer. She was glad that their cell phones still worked.

Food was served throughout the day and by early evening, the winds had died away leaving a summer rain and the winking of sun rays peeking through the last of the clouded sky. She packed up her things and drove back to Leona's.

There was a time-sensitive notification in her emails that jumped out at her as she contacted relatives in the states to let them know they were okay. Although cell service worked on the island, it was crackly and hard to hear when they tried calling overseas.

The email was from the University.

A nursing student had dropped out of the early summer track for three online classes and Yani was offered the spot because of her high entry test scores. She accepted quickly and took a deep breath. She was going to start school sooner than expected. It meant she could qualify for three prerequisites for the newly created nurse/midwife track she wanted to get into. It also meant she had a shot at entering the accelerated program that was opening the following Spring.

It was happening.

Her career goals were coming to fruition.

Yani took a moment sitting in front of her Aunt's desktop computer in the living room. She touched her chest and felt her heart pounding. As long as she kept up her grades she would succeed. Gratefulness swelled inside of her. The time Erik gave her to relax and do some self-study on her own made her feel confident accepting the early start. She could do this. For herself and her baby.

She grabbed her phone.

"Killmonger."

"You and the baby good?"

Hearing his voice made her eyes water. She was glad she didn't face chat him.

"We're fine. Back at Auntie's. Killmonger…I get to start school early."

"Yeah?"

She spilled out her good news and Twyla walked in on her and saw the joy on her face. Her cousin's hand rubbing her back at the news made Yani feel happy.

School would start in a week.

She was ready.

###

Erik didn't allow Yani to return to the compound until the mercs had left.

He baked her a cake to congratulate her on her early start for school, and he damn near ran to her car when she pulled onto the property with the baby. His hand gripped her neck so tight once he had her in his arms. He didn't allow Sydette to leave his side once he had her back with him. The mercs leaving along with the storm made the compound feel light and free again.

Watching Yani eat the cake he made while feeding some to Sydette calmed his nerves. Their first night back together had them all cuddled together in one bed, and he spent the rest of the week spoiling Yani with fancy food, back rubs, foot massages and nights out with her friends while he looked after the baby.

Her last night going out before she started her classes found him cooking oxtails the way Leona showed him how to do it and attempting to make a decent batch of stew peas and rice. Sydette ran around him in the kitchen of Klaue's main house while Yani got showered for her evening of fun. He made the food for Yani's return because she was always starving after a late night out.

Packing the food up into the fridge, he gathered Sydette's overnight bag and carried the baby into the master bedroom.

"Aye Sweet Pea, say bye-bye to Mama. Kiss!" Yani said holding out her hands for Sydette.

Draped in a fluffy white bathrobe and face unmade, Erik watched Yani give smooches all over Sydette's face.

"Be a good girl for Twyla," she said.

"Be back," he said.

Taking Sydette away from her, Erik drove to Leona's and handed the baby over to Twyla. By the time he made it back to the compound, Yani had on her make-up and her clothes…

"The fuck you wearing?"

She stood in front of the master bedroom vanity mirror primping and smoothing oil onto her platinum-colored hair. Face beat like a Boss Bitch, her eyes dragged away from her own visage and gazed at him.

"What you mean?"

"Bend over."

Yani leaned forward slightly and the short form-fitting white shirt she was wearing like a mini dress raised up and he could see the underside of her ass cheeks clear as day.

"Nah…nah…put some pants on or get something else on—"

"Serious?"

She sucked her teeth at him.

"You ain't got no panties on—"

"Yes, I do."

She lifted up the dress higher and he saw silky white boy shorts.

Erik twisted up his lips. He didn't want to be that dude. He didn't want to sound or look like an insecure pooh butt. Women could wear what they wanted. He appreciated women who dressed sexy and were confident in that sexiness.

However…

"Yani, these niggas be ruthless in the club. Why you gotta have so much ass out? You know they gonna push up on you…I can see your cheeks, girl—"

"Barely. Just tell me you don't wahn mi grindin' on niggas—"

"I don't want you grindin' on niggas with that dress on."

"I'm not changing clothes."

She put her hand on her hip and her eyes challenged him to say different.

He fell back and watched her slip on her heels and grab her small purse.

"Who's picking you up?"

"Lesonne. I'm catching a cab back if I get tired early…stop trippin'. It's really not that short…"

His eyes dragged down to her thighs. He could see the tops of them. The dress shirt flared out on the sides hanging low enough to cover her hips, but the cut still showed a lot from the front and back.

Let her show off in peace.

The click-clack of her silver heels on the tiled floor broke him out of his thoughts of making her stay home with him. He seriously thought of going with her, but she was so bubbly gossiping with her girlfriends that he had to figure out why he was so agitated about a dress. A stupid dress he would've lusted over himself had he seen her in a club with it on. He would've been one of the men pushing up on her if he didn't know her.

She checked her phone.

"They're on their way," she said.

He followed her up to the main gate of the compound, and the longer they walked with her ahead of him, the more time he had to look at her hips twisting as she walked, her thighs all out teasing him. Erik felt that gnawing need to control what was happening. He reached out and stroked the right curve off her ass.

"Don't have them dudes—"

She brushed his hand away from her body.

His eyes narrowed and he pulled her arm back toward him.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I'll be a good girl."

She said the words, but the twist of her lips told him otherwise. He reached behind her and slapped her ass. Hard.

"Ow!"

She punched him in his chest.

"I'll be up waiting for you."

"I may not be back until early tomorrow."

Now he was really irritated.

"So what was the point of me taking Sydette to your Aunt's? We were supposed to have a grown- up night together before you start school—"

"I told you that I wasn't sure when I would be back—"

"You said no later than one or two."

"Well, it may be later than that—"

"So we not fucking?"

She checked her cell and fixed the thin white belt that cinched her waist.

"We'll see how I feel when I get back."

She rubbed his arm and turned around to show him her backside. Jiggling her cheeks, she giggled at him with her teasing.

"See, now you're being mean," he said.

He took his flat palm and smacked the shit out of her rump. She yelped and rubbed her ass.

"Save that for when I get—"

He yanked her panties down and slapped her vulva.

"Killmonger!"

Her hands tried to block his.

"Take them off."

"They're going to be here—"

"Take them off."

They heard Lesonne's car roll to the front of the gate, music blaring, tires screeching to a halt. Yani's phone vibrated in her purse. She pulled it out.

"Tell her you'll be out in a minute," he whispered.

Her fingers swiped her phone screen and she put her cell back in her purse.

"Panties."

Yani stepped out of her tiny boy shorts and held them. He moved up against her and traced his finger along her lips, the red matte lipstick rich on her mouth. He bent down and kissed her, serving her his warm tongue and he felt her body go limp against his.

Slipping two fingers between her legs, he separated her folds. She tugged on the bulge in his jeans. Inserting his fingers into her pussy, he thrust in and out slowly making her squirm. Her hand made his dick lift up so that it pointed at her.

"You wore that dress just to fuck with me," he whispered.

Her eyes were glassy and her pussy was dripping. The sticky fluid from her body made squishy sounds. He kept manipulating her folds until her legs shook. She vacillated between biting her lips, staring down at his fingers, and closing her eyes as he varied the depth and speed of his digits inside of her.

"Erik…fuck…"

"You come home at a decent hour so I can get in all this. Hear?"

Yani bit her lips as she tried to stifle the tiny groans coming from her mouth.

"I should fuck you right now, right here," he said.

"They're waiting…"

"So."

"Huuhnnn…"

Her hands rested against his chest, her warm fingers, pushing him back.

Hooking his fingers, Erik tapped on her walls and let his thumb flick over her clit.

"I should pick you up and let you slide down this dick. Fuck you standing up—"

"Stop!"

Yani removed his fingers from her slit and stepped away from him.

"Let me get going. I'll let you have it all when I get back."

He spun her around and pushed her against the gate. Dropping to his knees he pulled her soft ass cheeks apart and shoved his entire face into her pussy lips.

He heard Yani's hands slam against the metal gate bracing herself and she pushed her backside out giving him even more access to her private parts. Sliding his tongue along her outer labia, he licked his bottom lip that was wet with saliva.

He heard faint sounds escape her mouth as she tried to keep quiet as her friends waited on the other side of the gate. Shoving his tongue deep inside of her, Yani rocked her hips back to smash her ass into his face and he loved it. He gripped his dick through his pants and squeezed his balls to keep himself from cumming. He wanted to be knee-deep in her walls when he did that.

Removing his tongue, he let Yani's ass strike his face, getting his beard drenched with her sweet fluids. He had her soaking wet. It was time to make her pussy submit. Erik became a flurry of fingers and wet tongue kissing as he licked her engorged labia like icing off a cake. Bathing her pussy with his saliva, he dragged his tongue along all the sensitive parts that made her melt in his mouth.

"Daddy gon' chop this peach up when you get back."

He felt the heavy throbbing weight between his legs and before the surge from his balls could overtake him, Yani shuddered while his lips sucked on her clit, her release making her plump vulva spasm.

"Pussy sloppy, baby…"

He licked up all the excess juices that poured from her and kissed her folds gently, his full lips pressing against her skin, still feeling the slight spasms from the tail end of her orgasm.

"Watch yourself," he said.

She pulled her panties back on while he stood up and adjusted his dick. He was so horny for her.

"Just gonna leave Daddy like this?"

She rolled her eyes and he opened the gate for her.

His erection grew more rigid as he watched her walk away from him and get into the car.

Such a tease.

###

Erik surveyed some gun schematics on his laptop. It was nearing midnight and he was restless. He had tried to watch porn earlier, but none of the women he saw online excited him enough to rub one out. All he had eyes for was Yani and that mini dress. He took out some weed he got from Kendall and rolled a tight one. The baby wasn't there so he felt cool about indulging.

His cell buzzed and when he checked it, there were a series of pictures that Yani sent him. A few group shots with her friends, but a few with men at the club posing with her crew, and sure enough, that fucking dress was doing too much.

He went back to looking at gun designs and another text blew up his phone.

A video.

Yani and her girls dancing, but Yani was winding on some Rasta looking clown who was pressed up against her.

"See, this the shit I was talking about," he grumbled.

It didn't matter. He was going to use up a whole bottle of lube when she came home. A long drag on his herb had him toasted. Shit was potent as fuck.

The clip was only a minute long but long enough to let him know she was buzzing and showing off. Her girlfriends were egging her on and just as tipsy and feisty as she was.

He texted her.

Slow your roll, Ma. For real.

You not my daddy, lol!

She sent him more pictures, trying her best to be provocative. He didn't fall for it.

It wasn't until he saw a thirty-second video clip of another man grinding on her and patting her vulva through her dress that he jumped off the couch.

###

"We run tings. Tings nuh run we!"

The Flourgon song made Yani's hips dip, and she watched the crowd dance while she sipped on her apple martini in the V.I.P. section she reserved for her friends. It was ladies' night, and this particular club was a diverse mix of locals and white tourists. She liked the booth they were set up in. They could see what was happening around the club, but other patrons couldn't see what they were doing.

All of her friends were happy for her, and she was cutting up in the club with them, feeling powerful and ready to take on the world. Bottle service was popping and she was given extra drinks for free because of her connection to Kendall who had performed there the previous weekend.

The music switched to R&B and Yani followed her friends onto the floor and they became ridiculous with their dancing. She kicked off her heels and swung them in her hand as she downed shots and sang off-key to the music with her girls.

She took out her cell and took more video shots to send to Erik. She posted two pictures on her social media page of the group shots she had in their V.I.P. booth. On her way back to her section, she stopped by the bar to order hot wings and potato poppers to snack on and soak up the liquor in her belly.

Stepping near her booth, Lesonne tugged on her arm.

"Is that your man?"

Yani was confused by the question until she saw Erik bee-lining his way toward her. His lips were tight when he reached her group.

"There she is, Miz fatness."

The gruff island voice startled Yani as a man she had danced with earlier rubbed up against her, his hand sliding around her waist, his locs falling against her cheek.

In front of Erik.

Her man's eyes lowered to stare at the stranger's hand and Yani moved up on the single step that led to her booth to separate herself from the man. Her friends filed behind her, their eyes taking in the whole scene.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Erik shoved past the other man, his shoulder knocking him aside.

"Aye!"

"Fuck you want?" Erik said.

The stranger looked Erik up and down, and what he saw made him move along without another word.

Yani's friends stood away from them, leaning against the railing that separated their section. They looked out onto the dance floor. The tone of Erik's voice made Yani nervous.

"Why yuh here?"

She eased him into a corner of their section where no one on the floor could see them too well. But her friends could hear everything.

"You tryna be too cute. That's why I'm here. Got niggas touching your pussy in public—"

Yani heard her friend Milah let out an "Ooh…I knew it."

His eyes were on her dress again.

"Please. Don't make a scene, man. Not here. We're having a good time. You didn't need to come down here to tell me that. Coulda texted—"

"Nah, you wanted this attention."

His eyes were blazing. She caught a whiff of weed from his breath.

Lesonne placed a shot glass into Erik's hand.

"Drink up. It's a celebration," Lesonne said.

Erik tossed back the tequila and Yani moved over to the railing to watch the crowd and divert Erik's attention. She was shocked when she felt his palm strike under her ass. He pressed up against her and let his hands grip the railing, trapping her there. His hot breath tickled her ear as he leaned in to whisper.

"Didn't I tell you to watch yourself before you left? You think I was playing?"

"It was nothin'."

His hand reached down and clutched at her mound.

"He had his hand on you like this. Bitch, I can feel how fat your puss is through this dress. You let that nigga touch my shit."

Yani's eyes darted to the side. All four of her friends had their eyes glued to the dance floor, but she knew their ears were stinging from Erik's words.

"Let's talk about this at home—"

"No."

His voice was raspy against her ear.

"You tryna get fucked in the club?"

Now he was getting loud. She tried to turn around but he kept her in place, his groin shoved hard against her ass. She turned her head and his lips met hers. He wasn't gentle with her mouth, but he was gentle with his hips rocking into her. He dropped his right hand down and wiggled his fingers under the front of her dress and slipped them down her panties. The stimulation from his fingers across her plump clit had her mewling and pushing back against him. The blood in her body thrummed hot as his tongue slid against hers. No matter what happened between them, his kisses always disarmed her.

Her head dropped forward when his fingers sunk into her pussy.

"This what you wanted?"

"Ooh."

He was digging deep.

"I saw you out there dancing. All this big ass out in the open…"

Her friends pretended not to notice, but they could hear everything. Even her wet folds being assailed by his hand.

Erik removed his hand from her slit for a few seconds, and she felt him unzip his pants and lift up the back of her dress. She gripped her fingers around the railing. Two of her friends slipped away to the dance floor. The other two stood rooted, heads facing forward. Erik yanked her panties down to her knees.

Her skin felt tingly and once she felt him lining his glans against her opening, she accepted what she had done. She wanted to incite his ardor. She wanted to flaunt her body to get him enflamed for her. She wanted him begging for her pussy. At home.

But no.

He drove all the way across the island, walked into this club so he could-

"Fuck, Killmonger!"

His dick stretched out her opening, and from the angle he entered her, the head of his dick tugged down on her clit and the sensation shot out a hot ripple of pleasure up to her nipples and down to her toes.

From the floor, if anyone looked up, they would simply look like a couple hugged up watching the action. Erik kept his hands gripped on her waist as he rocked into her.

"Fucking slut."

His words slurred in her ear.

"Look at your friends. Making them watch Daddy fuck you like this."

Her eyes flicked over to glance at Milah and Lesonne who stayed behind. Milah's eyes were brazen and aroused watching Yani get pounded in public. Her eyes trailed down Yani's body until she was staring at Erik's dick pumping in and out of her.

"Shit, Yani. Yuh nasty. Him beating up that pum pum," Milah said.

Erik dragged her over to the back of the VIP section and away from her friends, his dick still rooted deep within her. He grabbed her arms to balance himself and really started to thrust. Yani chewed on her lips trying to keep quiet, but a few cries got out, drowned by the loud bass thudding throughout the club. Her balance was thrown off when he released her arms and she reached out to hold onto the wall.

Erik yanked her underwear back up as he pulled out.

"Be still."

She whimpered as he placed his erection between her thighs and jerked off his load into her panties. He swallowed the grunts in his throat as the last of his semen spilled out.

"Pull your panties back up," he said.

Yani did as she was told, her soaked underwear sticking to her vulva. She smoothed down her dress and still felt the thumping of her clit. She turned to face him and he zipped up his pants.

"Let somebody touch my shit now, girl."

He looked at her friends who avoided eye contact with both of them and left her standing there. They watched him move through the crowd, his swagger so acute that Yani had to pour herself a glass of champagne and gulp it down.

Panties filled with cum and a face filled with embarrassment, Yani said nothing to Milah or Lesonne.

###

Erik was reading in bed when Yani returned to the compound. He'd been at the house for over an hour before she came back.

She showered and crawled onto the bed next to him. He ignored her, even though she was butt naked. After a time, he put the book on the nightstand and looked at her.

"Rest of the night was cool?"

"Yeah."

His eyes tried not to stare at her body too much, but he couldn't help it. Her face looked pouty. He pinched one of her nipples.

"You fucked me in front of my friends."

"So. They didn't look bothered by it. They say something?"

"Not really."

"You need to apologize to me."

"For what?"

"Making me come out there. I had shit to do here. But you got out of pocket. Stole some work time from me."

Her fingers stroked his naked chest tracing the skin between his keloids.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah. Not like that. You know what I want."

He pulled the covers back from his body and lifted up his dick. Her fingers clasped it and she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around it.

"Damn," he hissed.

Once she had him standing at attention, her fingers slipped between her legs and she fondled her clit.

"Get it ready for me. You got some making up to do."

Her mouth sucked and licked up and down the sides of his length and he groaned from her loving tongue swiping against his balls. He reached for the lube next to his book and slathered his dick with it.

"Turn around. Sideways," he directed her.

He tilted his hips to the left slightly and Yani lowered her ass, her fingers holding open her labia.

"Slide down Daddy's dick, baby."

She was on her hands and knees and he had the pleasure of watching her entire side view as she bounced on his dick. His left hand rested on her ass cheek.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Show me."

Her breasts jiggled and he reached over to play with her big nipple. She had a steady rhythm.

"You gon' let some other nigga touch my pussy again?"

Her lips curled up and she shook her head vigorously when he started thrusting up into her.

"What? I didn't hear you."

Her hand reached back and touched his side.

"Ooomph…Daddy!"

He was stretching her out real good.

"Answer me."

He slapped her backside. She leaned down on her elbows and pressed her face into the mattress. That wouldn't do. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. She plucked on her nipples and pushed her breasts together for him. Her pussy was squeezing him while he let her do most of the work. He slapped the side of her hip and her eyes shot open.

"You betta answer me—"

"I won't let no one touch my pussy…just you…just you."

"This pussy is so good…you liked it when Daddy fucked you at the club, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You liked your friends watching me dick you down, huh?"

Her pussy clenched around him.

"Yeah, you liked that shit. You liked them seeing what you get all the time. Daddy's big dick all in your fat pussy."

She was wailing as she bounced on his dick. He played with her nipple and watched his thickness split her good. He lifted up and held her back, widening his thighs so he could get his balls all up in her ass. He held her in that position for a long time, punishing her folds until she was begging him to let her cum.

"Don't you ever let me catch you with some other man's hand on this pussy. Hear me?"

"Yeah!"

Erik pulled out and pushed her onto her stomach. He climbed on top of her and inserted his dick once more. He gave her slow thrusts until her fingers were clawing the pillows.

"Cum on me, Yani."

She screamed his name and fell apart on his dick. He didn't wait for her to finish as he sped up his pace and then pulled her on her knees so he could watch her rock back onto his length.

"Had all my cum in your panties…"

"Yeah…"

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

He groaned out loud.

"Cum in me, Daddy."

"Whatchu want Daddy to do? Tell me again…"

"Cum in my pussy…"

"…fill your pussy up?"

"Make a big mess, Daddy…"

"Like I did at the club?"

"Yeah."

"Wet your pussy up like I did those panties?"

"Please—"

"Tell me—"

"I want you to wet my pussy up. Make a big mess like you put in my panties—"

"That's what you want?"

"Yeah."

"You like it when I make you sloppy—"

"Yeah."

"Give you a big cream pie—"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Ah shit-!"

It never failed. Talking to her while watching the sexy dimpling in her ass, her thighs striking his, it never took long for him to let go whenever he was ready. He ejaculated, the tight pulling on his balls letting him know he had emptied out another huge load.

He stayed in her pussy for the rest of the night, fucking her until she fell asleep in his arms. The bottle of lube was empty like he thought it would be.

###

Erik worked hard to get a workable mock-up of the weapons he wanted to convert with the vibranium. He found it hard to concentrate for the last few weeks because he and Yani had both been busy. Sex was infrequent, and she was gone from the compound a lot. He thought her online classes would keep her close, but it actually took her away. She started a study group with a few other online students on the island and met with them three times a week. Her courses were time-consuming and her energy was spent on assignments, getting high grades on her quizzes and tests, and caring for Sydette. She was mentally drained by the end of the day and was often knocked out by the time he joined her in bed at night.

He felt displaced.

Their life had been perfect, but now he was losing her to school.

When her midterm rolled around and they were easing into August, she dropped some news on him that upset him. The apartment she was going to share with her roommate was available and the leasing agent wanted her and her roommate to take it right away or risk losing it to another tenant. She wanted to move out right away. Her roommate was ready to get the apartment too.

She told him while he took out braids from Sydette's hair on the porch.

Yani was going to settle on the other side of the island with the baby, leaving him at the compound alone.

As always, when it rained, it poured.

While Yani went out for several days with her roommate to buy furniture and cookware for her new apartment, he received word from Klaue: he was coming back to St. Thomas.

Early.

###

Chapter 20 Here

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#wet sugar #killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #klau #black panther fanfiction #uzumaki rebellion #erik stevens #n'jadaka

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faunusrights · 5 years

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OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 17

IN THIS EPISODE OF CRYING CAT GALLERY:

“Nice?” Cinder laughed under her breath once, and returned to examining her threads. “Oh, come on, Glynda. Favor isn’t in my vocabulary, remember? It’s just a shame about your cape. The emblem looked good, and your new outfit would look much better with it. That’s all.”

CINDER FALL IS REALLY BAD AT NOT BEING GAY ON MAIN

we’re bacc baby B) let’s hop right in

When Glynda awoke from her dream of being consumed,

alright calm down we’ve literally JUST started we’ve literally JUST woken up can we chill Out,

“Cinder?” she yawned, surveying the room.

sneak peek of that Sweet Domestic Life we dream of once this enemies-to-lovers malarkey reaches the ‘lovers’ bit but no we’re just surrounded by enemies. two of them being the writers!

Still, she couldn’t go wandering around Cinder’s apartment in only her underwear, but rooting through the drawers and closet didn’t seem—

STEAL HER CLOTHES BABY!!!! PRACTICALLY MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The clothes didn’t seem Cinder’s size or style; they were casual and soft, a black t-shirt and steel-gray sweatpants.

okay but the idea of cinder getting up and being like ‘do i have ANYTHING this Unit of a woman will fit into’ and like actually having to think abt it and then folding em up and leaving em there like ‘hope she finds em okay’????? peak. absolutely peak. shes so gay but does she know it? no,

The fabric had enough give to make it work, even if only barely, and she looked in the mirror to see the loungewear looking more like tight athletic wear. Funny that.

kc and diesel envisioning this: oh yes. oh YES. ohhohughohguhghuhu yessssssssss--

She had—trusted? Been trusted? She had told Cinder fragile little things, and had heard similarly earnest words in return. It had been strange. Nice.

i love glynda like. feeling out of the edges of her own comfort and Pleasant Feelings with this almost-wariness? like every word she uses to describe it just Edges a little closer to Softness but she has to taste the word first to see if it fits. her narration is SO fun 2 read yall what the shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

This was Cinder’s house. It wasn’t just any house. These were Cinder’s belongings, Cinder’s resting places, and she was wandering around without Cinder.

Voyeuristic was putting it mildly. Glynda needed to find Cinder, fast.

HJGDKJGHDFSSDF GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! glynda just. losing it at such LITTLE THINGS is so goddamn funny jesus christ. this is cinders house!!! her THINGS!!! fuck she NAPS IN HERE. SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

god i love how soft this is. i know exactly why this is happening and i know exactly how [REDACTED], but i’m living for this moment. living IN it.

Spread out on the table was a wanted poster with a mugshot of Cinder on it, defaced with black permanent marker and crease marks.

cinder: yeah they didnt get the eyebrows sharp enough and im mad abt it

“Well, your clothes are in the wash.” Cinder said, turning around, coffee in hand. It was so…domestic. “It would help if you had more than one set.”

shouting from a distance: you two should get MARRIED

“You’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time I’ve known you.”

look at these lil JABS... the JESTS... the JOQUES... i cant believe theyve been married 10 years already. im also deeply enjoying how very indulgent this section is. I Am Seeing,

Glynda scoffed, and when Cinder reached for the sugar on the counter, she gave it a subtle nudge with her Semblance. It slid out of Cinder’s reach.

JESUS CHRIST LOOK AT THIS WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! soulmates.

Cinder shrugged, still looking elsewhere. “Mercury thought it was funny.”

“Mercury?”

cinder: my son and BOY. and, one day, yr son and boy, tho he won’t take it lying down.

Cinder scoffed. “You just don’t appreciate my good tastes.”

i feel like the evidence is truly stacking up to very much prove this statement wrong but u kno what lets let her figure that one out for herself

“A souvenir from the brats,” she said. “And a letter excusing the mess they made of the place.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS

She said, “I just didn’t know you had kids.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS

“It’s fine,” said Cinder tersely, but not harshly. “It isn’t wise to advertise in my business, so keep it to yourself.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOD YES that little like... indirect admittance that em and merc r basically her own kids is a fucking BLESSING from ON HIGH are you SEEING THIS SHIT????????????? we have been fed today. my crops r watered and my lambs bouncing over the green fields as we feast. what a moment. wow. what a chapter.

When Cinder finally finished hers and rose to get another cup, Glynda allowed some of her thoughts to solidify. She said, “I want new clothes.”

as a side note, i think it rly shows the strength of the writing that the feeling of the narrative can change so much, esp when u take into consideration that we jump between the points of view of TWO characters? like with cinder we’ve gone from sheer fury to gruesome sickness, and with glynda we’ve gone from Complete Dissociation to this gentle and soft morning and you can feel it absolutely fluffing up in every word! still love how good the writing in this fic is its NUTS

Cinder shrugged. Her usual clothes were still in the wash; right now, she was wearing high-waisted black pants and a loose top tucked in.

diesel i want you to know im thinking abt what u said abt the high-waisted pants mods in sims 4 and im giggling

The necklace with Glynda’s earring hung from her throat.

i didnt mention it before but this is the... second time this chapter its been explicitly mentioned? and i know we could be like ‘ah the MEANING’ but honestly im like glynda r u rly not over the bobbies y

“You aren’t dead in there, are you?” came Cinder’s voice.

“No.”

“Well. At this pace, I will be before we get out of here.”

cinder, who probably once spent 7+ hours choosing an outfit: look its only cool if i do it, dipshit,

Unsnapping the lone earring left to her, she brought it to her collar and fixed it there, under the clasped button to dangle just over her sternum.

When she stepped out of the changing room, Cinder looked up. A slow dawn of interest eclipsed the boredom on her face. Glynda stood very still as her gaze flowed up and down again, pausing over the earring.

Cinder touched the matching one hanging from her own neck, almost in surprise. She cleared her throat. Her tone was very deliberately mocking: “Cute.”

OOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOD are we for SERIOUS right now??? jesus christ. jesus christ. we’ve moved on past married now this is ride-or-die shit right here what the FUCK. jesus CHRIST. theres- i- i have THOUGHTS on this matter that are spoilery and so i will SIT ON THIS EGG but HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT

“Nothing,” Cinder said, smoothing her expression into something unreadable. “I was just thinking—nevermind.”

no, no, go on, speak yr mind, please do, because if u were abt to offer to embroider that shit then PLEASE say it aloud for the audience at home

“If I was a cop, you’d already be in jail.”

“You’re welcome to try to take me in, darling.”

im sure its obvious but im BESIDE myself @ this flirting. im losing it. this is SUCH a treat and i KNOW that [REDACTED] [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“That’s because of your—” Cinder was already gone. Glynda pressed her lips together, but watched her go. Rolling her eyes, she finished, “—Grimm tattoos.”

Whatever. She could gloat about figuring it out later.

/CHOKES

WHAT

@kc and diesel: CALL ME RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK

okay okay. wait. okay. wait. theres. wait. okay. i cant. am i safe to say anything. probably not. so. im not gonna. but. you WILL be seeing me in dms, friends,

okay okay im moving on im gonna. keep going. okay. okay. im going. (but i will be in dms)

there was a brief discussion of dinner: namely, that neither of them wanted to make it.

oh god why is this me

“Give me your new cape.”

“What?”

Finally looking up, Cinder said, “Your cape. Let me have it, and I’ll put your emblem on it.”

THANK YOU MA’AM AND THANK YOU FOR READING THE FIC HAS ENDED ITS ALL OVER WITH!!!!!! WE DID IT!!!!!!! WE RODE THIS WHOLE TRAIN TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!! UNFORTUNATELY IF ONLY IT WERE SO EASY.

Glynda ignored it for the time being and sent the vector of her emblem to Cinder.

i deeply love the idea of all hunters and huntresses carrying a vector of their emblem JUST IN CASE,,, SMTHNG HAPPENS,,, its right alongside the list of their next of kin and their will and testament,

Cinder Fall was a name built on Dust and money and extravagant demonstrations.

But Cinder Fall was also a woman with a family. A home. A favorite blend of coffee.

this is absolutely kicking me in the dick for reasons i cant say but also for reasons of SNOFT because oh my god. this is. like. this is why i rly vibe w. cinder in this fic and is also like one of my favourite characterisations of cinder of ALL TIME (which is why all my fav cinder fics typically have it as a Theme). shes SO good and SO dimensional and i just. god. GOD. i LOVE HER!!!!!!!!! ID DIE FOR HER!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA CINDER FALL IS MY ANGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL

It felt like being told a secret, like being told a thousand secrets, and not knowing what to do with them. All she could do was hold them in her palms, delicate as she could, trying not to break anything.

GIMME ARMS TO PRAY WITH INSTEAD OF ONES THAT HOLD TOO TIGHTLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! /goes apeshit

And because of that, Glynda asked, “Do you have any more stories?”

Without looking up, Cinder drawled, “About Witches?”

“Or dragons.”

Gold flickered her way.

👈😳👈

“They’d already been built by the Witches that came before her,” Cinder replied. “But she’d been a headmaster at one of them, and a teacher before that.”

Something in Glynda’s chest gleamed.

lore lore lore lore LORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lets GET THAT LORE as i peer blearily thru tears,

“...You haven’t just been pretending not to remember things, have you?”

firstly: called out lmao JHGSDFKJHGFSD and SECONDLY:

“The moon?” Cinder made a face. “I’m not sure if it’s that literal. Your soul is powerful, but it’s not a physical thing. Besides, the moon is…”

“Broken,” Glynda finished for her.

“Yeah.”

hm what a fascinating thing hm how interesting hm hm HMMMM 👈🤔👈

Even as they ate, they both seemed lost in their own heads, but somehow, to Glynda, it seemed perfectly clear that both of them were wondering the same thing.

wait glynda. hey glynda. did u uh. ever. did u uh. text winter back or w

WE DID IT CHAPTER 17!!!!!!!!!!! this was a Lot (4,500 words? yall better be careful before those 10k chapters return to Haunt Us) and was also, a Lot. holy shit. theres. i. id make a spoiler edition but tbh its just the SAME SPOILER thats like. rly driving this chapter. i know what its for. i know it. i feel it. dont trust winter more like dont trust the writers

ANYWAY I LOOK FORWARD (?) EAGERLY (???) to chapter 18, unsure when the vibes will turn rancid for the worse. when. honey. theres a big storm coming.

#rwby #offal hunt #liveblog #what the HELL just happened

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segadores-y-soldados · 8 years

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Segador: It Is Not Him

A story about how the earliest picture of the original Overwatch Commander came out.

And how it is not him.

Not in the way he knew himself.

And not in the way he would become.

---

AKA, fuck vague half-answers on twitter.

Segador: It is Not Him

September 7, 2052: Overwatch’s New York Headquarters, United States - one year after the end of the Omnic Crisis

Gabriel’s pretty certain he’s never been so uncomfortable in his goddamn life.

The headgear pinches at his scalp, squeezing his cheekbones with unsettling pressure; he finds himself already missing his beanie, soft and warm and yielding. The blue chestpiece doesn’t fit right - it’s too loose around his shoulders and too snug around his ribs; he finds himself already missing his black one, handcrafted by Torbjörn to fit perfectly. The turtleneck - seriously, a fucking turtleneck?? It’s not even Kevlar! - scratches and is too warm for September; he finds himself missing his grey hoodie with gentle, flexible cotton.

But above all else -

Gabriel looks at the weird glowing rifle in his hands - sleek and black with orange lights, one of Ana’s “side arms,” because only a sniper would think of a standard assault rifle as a “side arm” - and hefts it with unnerving discomfort.

Above all else, he misses his shotguns.

With pounding frustration and an increasing headache (or was it increasing frustration and a pounding headache?), Gabriel steps out from behind the little partition where they had given him room to get changed. He squares up before the small group of people in the room - his four closest companions, Ana’s seven-year-old daughter Fareeha (who’s looking rather bored as she smashes some buttons on her gamepad), and a bunch of the new recruits who are milling about awkwardly.

“I look ridiculous,” he growls.

The four heroes - Jack, Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn - are lounging around the main room of the base, all of them also wearing these fucking weird ultra-blue “Overwatch” armor sets. Reinhardt looks especially uncomfortable and especially blue - Torbjörn had barely managed to whip out the cobalt armor for him last-minute when Adawe had told them about the “Overwatch global reveal” photoshop to them last week. The tiny engineer, meanwhile, looks completely out of place without his usual red armor, and he tugs at his beard nervously as he assesses the new recruits. Jack and Ana seem to pull the look off well, as its basically the get up they’re already used to: Ana’s reading something on her datapad, adjusting the beret perched on her silky black hair. Jack is leaning slack against the arm of a cheap couch, looking completely at ease with himself, tapping away at his datapad with a faint smirk as Fareeha next to him whines, “Jack, that’s not fair -”

“This is why I told you not to battle the Overwatch Pokemon Champion, Fareeha,” Jack grins to her before he and the others turn their attention to their commander -

There is stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence in the room, broken only by the faint electronic chirping of some pocket monster passing the fuck out on Fareeha’s gamepad.

Torbjörn snorts as Fareeha’s tiny shoulders begin shaking. Ana flashes a terrible, dry smile before covering her mouth and looking away. Reinhardt squints at him with his good eye and Jack gives him the most awkward, fucking fake smile Gabriel has ever seen on him, muttering with some effort, “You - you look good, Gabe.”

“I look fucking ridiculous -” Gabriel starts with a scowl before Ana shouts, “LANGUAGE, GABRIEL.” Her daughter doesn’t even seem to notice, however - Fareeha is giggling and chortling to herself as she shakes Jack’s arm with bubbling excitement and the blonde second-in-command is also starting to shiver with stifled laughter.

“What happened to yer beard?” Torbjörn asks with slight horror - because the beard enthusiast of Overwatch would be the first to notice that it was different. Gabriel frowns, rubbing a gloved hand over his chin, muttering, “Well...Gabrielle said to look presentable so I tried to trim it down but I fucked it up -”

“GABRIEL REYES, I SWEAR TO GOD -” Ana yells, rising from the couch and whipping around to face him in one smooth motion. Gabriel grits his teeth, grumbling, “SORRY, I screwed it up so it got this fuc- this fricking bald patch so then I had to make it even and now it looks like shit- turds and then I had to trim down all the rest of it and I look ridiculous -”

“You look fine, Gabriel.”

Gabriel glares viciously at the newcomer entering in from the hall by where the new recruits are milling about. She’s a short, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman with bright eyes and wide lips that are quick to quirk into a smile, her short curls bouncing with every casually confident step of her heels. Her fondness for bright textiles is not daunting even now in the dying days of summer in New York: she apparently felt whimsical as all fuck today because she’s wearing a bright blue dress - the same blue as their uniforms - with interwoven orange and silver-grey strands. Her eyes light up as she assesses the Overwatch commander, looking him up and down with smug approval. Gabriel snaps, “I look overdone, Gabrielle.”

The Security Council’s Under-Secretary-General gives him a vague wave of her hand, saying in her Nigerian-tipped accent, “You look professional, Gabriel. You finally look like a leader.”

“So what, I was just chopped liver before?” Gabriel snaps, as the pressure in his head grows and he shifts the gun in his hand nervously. It’s not live, obviously, and Gabriel’s trigger discipline is too good even with an empty rifle in his hands, but the thing still makes him uncomfortable, it still doesn’t feel right, he feels -

He doesn’t feel like himself.

Jack gives him a soft, playful, happy smile and Gabriel softens a little.

At least someone is finding the humor in it.

“A beanie and sweatshirt are not appropriate for the Commander of Overwatch when he makes his public debut,” Adawe reminds him, before giving him a matronly fingerwave, “You have been putting this off for nearly six months, Reyes, and the United Nations cannot delay this any longer. Now, come with me - the photographers are waiting. The rest of you wait until the set up people call you.” Adawe turns as abruptly as she came in, and Gabriel gives one last glance at Jack, who nods at him affectionately.

Gabriel sighs -

He’s fucking weak to that look -

And then he sets off after his boss, striding past the four heroes and the little girl still giggling and the bewildered new recruits.

For a woman just under five feet tall and wearing three inch heels, Adawe is fucking fast.

Gabriel practically jogs up to her in the hallway to the main entrance, muttering, “Gabrielle… Gabrielle… Adawe, fucking stop.”

That gets her attention, and she snaps around towards him with a fierce stare, squaring herself up to him rather impressively with her short stature as she whispers dangerously, “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Gabriel -”

“I can’t do this.”

Adawe pauses because -

There’s a cracking in his voice.

Gabriel knows he has problems conveying his emotions - Jack always jokes that Gabriel’s face could make a bed of nails look soft. Gabriel knows he has problems expressing himself - he can never find the right words to say. Gabriel knows he has problems opening up - his heart struggles behind the layers of steel and bravado and taunting sarcasm, barriers only a select few have managed to get past.

Gabriel knows he has problems taking pictures.

Gabriel locks onto her dark eyes and -

He wouldn’t call it begging, per se -

But he’s definitely pleading with her:

“Please… Please, Gabrielle - we need to talk about this,” he says softly and Adawe’s dark mood lightens a bit as she says to him gently, “...It is just a few pictures, Gabriel.”

“...It’s not the pictures, Gabrielle.”

Adawe’s eyes - normally so bright and lively, now turned solemn and serious - search his for an answer and Gabriel whispers, dangerously close to feeling vulnerable -

He feels uncomfortable.

He feels unlike himself.

“This isn’t me, Gabrielle,” Gabriel says, his voice breaking under the pressure of a too-tight headset and the pressure of a too-tight chestpiece and the weight of carrying an empty rifle that isn’t his, “The meetings, the Security Council, planning city reconstructions, balancing budgets - I’m a general, not a politician.”

“There are still many parts of the world under great violence, Gabriel,” she reminds him, with a gentle pressure but a pressure nonetheless, “The world still needs you as Commander.”

“Out there, on the battlefield, sure, yeah, fuck, I’ll fight, I’ll always fight, but this?” Gabriel says, gesturing to himself, to the ridiculous blue pieces of armor and the empty rifle, “This is playing fucking dress-up -”

“Funny,” Adawe smirks at him, “I thought you would have liked that, considering your fondness for that American costume holiday.”

“This isn’t fucking Halloween, Adawe,” he snaps, perhaps a touch more...violently than he should have, “This is not what I wore when I was ripping heads off Bastions or tripping up Spiders or even destroying Titans - and it won’t be what I wear when I put down terrorists or gangs or mercenaries.”

“It’s just a photoshoot, Reyes -”

“We need to talk about putting Jack or Ana in charge of Overwatch.”

Adawe stops, her mouth sealing into a tight line and Gabriel scowls at her, muttering in a low, dark, bittersweet growl, his words curling out of his lungs like black smoke, “I’ll fight whatever new battles this damn organization faces, I’ll do whatever needs to be done - whether that’s mercing a few bad guys or cleaning up the leftover Bastions or fucking balancing budgets - but you cannot keep putting this off on me. We both know that this is a fucking sham, my math skills aren’t fucking great, I can't persuade anyone anything for shit, and you need someone who will fight your political battles, who will balance your budgets, who will find great recruits, and who will actually take good photos when you pressure them into it -

“And we both know that is not me.”

Adawe gives him a long, intense stare before replying quietly, gently, “...The Council will be hard to convince, Gabriel.”

“I already know they don’t like me - trust me, it’ll be easier than you think,” he says dryly and she cracks a wry smile, “I see I cannot pull the sheep over your eyes.”

“That’s not… yeah, okay, yeah, you’re right, I see it all,” Gabriel sighs, realizing that there are some battles that just aren’t worth fighting and she chuckles brightly, all sunshine and smiles and warmth, “It may take some time - a year...perhaps two. The Council is focused on a good many things and changing Overwatch’s Commander is not even near being a top priority, not when you are still perfectly capable of both killing Bastions and doing your finances. ...But perhaps…” she adds slowly, a sly, crisp, mischievous smile on her face, “Perhaps you send Jack to fight your political battles with the Security Council instead, yes? I do not believe any of us want to hear you give another speech like last week’s.”

Ah.

That fucking shitshow.

Gabriel is wrong.

THAT was the most uncomfortable he had ever been in his goddamn life.

“...Trust me, I’ll be more than happy to let Jack handle you ambassadors,” Gabriel mutters, feeling some of the pressure ease off of him, “He’s way better at this shit than me - shit, Adawe, he was telling me about this idea of making a medical sciences division to help deal with all the problems people are still having - he has this whole vision of having a huge team of doctors and scientists to work on giving out medical help and supplies and developing more efficient resource technologies - he wants to try and reestablish clean energies like Dorado and - what’s so funny?”

Adawe is laughing brightly to herself and Gabriel scowls as she reaches out and pats his arm, saying cheerfully, “I am glad to see you looking happier! You have been frowning all day, my son.”

“Well, yeah,” Gabriel grins at her smugly, “You made me wear this shittyass costume - it’s not even good quality, Gabrielle. I could fucking design a better Commander outfit myself.”

Her eyes flash widely at the challenge in his voice and she mocks him, “I would pay good money to see you wear something other than your sweatshirt on the battlefield.”

“I never said it would be for me,” he smirks and Gabrielle just pats his arm again, laughing, “You have too much time on your hands! I should be giving you more responsibilities. Perhaps you can take some of the pressure off of me.”

They resume their walk down the hallway to the entrance of the Headquarters, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering, “Jesus, first y’all need me to stop the robot apocalypse and save the world, next you need me to rebuild cities, and then you need me to file your damn taxes - just fucking ask me to wipe your asses, why don’t you?”

“Do not talk like that in front of the press,” Adawe chides him solemnly, “After five years I am used to your...unique way of speech, but please, mind your tongue for five minutes.”

“Be seen and not heard, huh?” Gabriel asks her wryly and she smirks at him, “It is only going to be a few photos, Reyes.”

“...One photo.”

“A few.”

“...One?”

“...How about a deal?” Adawe asks him as they pause before the large doors, “You give me five good photos, and I will let you leave early.”

“I won’t have to wear this piece of shit anymore?” Gabriel asks hesitantly and Adawe grins, “The others will still need pictures...and Jack has your beanie, I believe.”

“That motherfucker,” Gabriel mutters, but there’s no anger to his tone - just smug playfulness. Jack would keep his beanie hostage just to tease Gabriel while the commander is forced to be dressed like a total tool.

“Do we have a deal?” Adawe asks, her eyes glittering brightly.

Gabriel grins at her.

He’s not comfortable right now.

He does not feel like himself.

Hell -

This is not him.

But he thinks of four heroes, waiting in another room, dressed in matching colors; he thinks of how the four of them - all dressed differently, all dressed in whatever they were comfortable in - rolled from battlefield to battlefield, felling potential apocalypse after potential apocalypse; he thinks of how Torbjörn’s turrets provided him cover-fire as he sprinted across rubble and concrete, he thinks of how collapsing behind Reinhardt’s shield provided him such relief, he thinks of how he heard Ana call into his comms about her position, about pushing them forward, about gaining ground -

He thinks about biotic fields and the smell of pulse munition and a tall figure dressed in blue armor who would probably look even better with a long, regal overcoat -

He thinks about the comforting warmth of a black cotton beanie, about the gentle embrace of a familiar grey sweatshirt, about the weight of a shotgun, one in each hand -

This is not him -

But for them,

It could be.

Gabriel grins at her vibrantly, vivaciously, viciously, “It’s just a costume, right? Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

This is not Gabriel Reyes.

But for a few minutes, and few quick photos -

He can pretend it is.

---------

Segador: It is Not Him

September 6, 2077: Cultural Heritage Museum, Numbani, Nigeria

“AY DIOS MIO,” Sombra wheezes at him in harsh, brittle, aching laughter as she points to some image on a holoprojector, “Is this you??”

Reaper glances her her sullenly - he feels bare without the mask, but there was no fucking way security was gonna let him in in his usual gear, so he’d donned a surgical face mask, only half-pretending to be sick when they had shuffled up to the ticket counter like good little spies trying to lay low. Stuffed into a hoodie and a beanie, the majority of his face concealed by pastel green cotton, he’d actually somehow been able to maintain much of his mystique.

With a grumble, he stalks over to her, muttering lowly, “We’re supposed to be scouting this shit out, not playing around.”

“The Gauntlet’s not even here yet, Gabe,” she says to him lightly, rolling her eyes before pointing back to the screen, “Pero, verdad - is this you??”

Reaper looks at the image on the screen, and then a dark, bittersweet, smokey scowl consumes his face.

Oh.

This fucking picture.

The posed, statuesque image of a dark-skinned man with a too-tightly-trimmed beard and a too-tightly-set headpiece and a too-tightly-locked chestplate and a too-empty assault rifle, with a huge, majestic Overwatch flag fluttering in the background against a blue sky with fucking fighter jets in the background - as if early Overwatch had anything more powerful than used station wagons to fight Omnics with -

This fucking picture, which mocks him, which reminds him of the person he could have been, the commander he could have chosen to be -

The commander he never wanted to be.

God, he fucking hates this picture.

“...No,” Reaper growls as Sombra cackles, “It’s totally you - qué chingados, pinche mierda - I gotta send this to Arañita -”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE -”

“Hey.”

The two of them glance at the newcomer - Reaper still glaring viciously and Sombra still sporting the widest, biggest shit-eating grin - and the grizzled, scarred old soldier looks at them with a confused scowl, muttering, “...The fuck you two up to? Aren’t we supposed to be scouting this shit?”

“Uh -” Reaper says unhelpfully as Sombra snaps out a hand to 76, pulling him over to the holoprojector, saying eagerly, “Oye, oye, Jack - is this Gabe??”

Jack takes a second to process the image and then -

In the stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence -

He fucking laughs.

The years and the stress and the explosion and his myriad of problems have tempered the sound, made it harsh and gravelly, filled it with the ashes of what they had once been, but there’s a light there, a brightness, as if someone is pulling the sun out of the depths of the oceans -

And then Sombra is laughing again too, and snapping a picture with her biosystem as Jack wheezes, “Can I get a copy?” and Gabriel growls, “Listen assholes -”

“What the shit is going on over here?” Ana asks as she joins them from her rounds about the museum hall and both Jack and Sombra pull her to the projector and suddenly all three of them are laughing and Gabriel -

“Fuck this shit, I’m gonna rejoin Talon,” Gabriel huffs but suddenly there’s a warm, gentle pressure of a hand on his arm and Jack is there, smiling brightly at him from underneath scars and a silver-white five-o’clock shadow.

“Don’t be mad, Gabe,” the ex-commander chuckles to him and Gabriel softens a little at the words. Jack jerks a thumb to the statue of himself a little ways off to the side, asking playfully, “Wanna help me knock the head off that jackass?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

#my writing #my fics #ficlet #segador #it is not him #reaper #gabriel reyes #alright #now back to my regularly-scheduled shitshow

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indesperateminds · 8 years

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Jayne/River Ficlet from forever ago

So, this is the beginning of a Firefly series loosely based on Tennyson poems that I never got around to writing and now can’t find the notes on plotting and am not sure I want to start all over again. I didn’t want to put it on my AO3 because then I’d need to come up with a lot more coherent tagging than: sometime pre-Serenity and probably going totally AU if I had any idea where it was going. But it’s probably the set of characterizations I’m most proud of so I thought I’d see if anyone on here was interested. Italicized text is from “The Lady of Shallott” and you should definitely go read it if you haven’t already.

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the ‘curse’ may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

Whispered footsteps filled the silence of the night cycle on the Midbook Transport, class code 03-K64 – a Firefly named Serenity. Pale hands and feet appeared ghostly in the dim light as the shell of River Tam danced to a music only she could hear. She and one other – if she concentrated, River could easily have ascertained whether it emanated from Simon or Inara’s dreams. Embracing the threads of her sanity, she elected to dance instead. Dreams tended to be much more pleasant than waking thoughts, splashes of color on a canvas rather than needles pulling thread through stiff, unyielding fabric.

“And moving thro’ a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear…”

Her breathed words melted into the air, caught by a hidden pair of ears. A frown creased Jayne Cobb’s brow as he leaned against the wall of the cargo bay. Girl shouldn’t be wandering about on her own in the middle of the night… not that it had ever stopped her before. Somethin’ unsettlin’ about how she seemed to shine in the low light that way and those words could’ve been a spell for all he knew. Still – a merc knew about pretty things and River Tam stretched out all graceful like that held up by one slender ankle – that was all kinds of pretty. So it maybe wouldn’t hurt him to watch a minute.

Down below, a prickle of awareness began and the web began to quiver in response.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror’s magic sights,

For often thro’ the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights,

And music went to Camelot

“Whatcha up to up here, lil’ witch?”

River tilted her head, her dark eyes studying Captain Malcolm Reynolds as he stood over her on the catwalk where she perched, observing the comings and goings of the crew down below in the bay. Coming to some sort of decision, she smiled wanly at him and gestured toward the temporarily empty space.

“Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, an abbot on an ambling pad, sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, or long-hair’d page in crimson clad, goes by to tower’d Camelot,” she mused softly.

“That don’t make a lick of sense, River. We’re running powerful low on damsels and towers these days,” he grunted back to her.

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places. Look again,” she whispered.

Despite a sigh of annoyance, Mal slid down to sit next to her. The crew had learned over the months that humoring River tended to make life run a mite smoother and often came with its own sort of amusing payoffs. Just as his patience began to wear thin, Mal heard voices float up to their perch. Soon Inara and Kaylee came into sight, their smiles and laughter lighting up the gray space as they giggled softly. Their heads were close together as the conversation dropped to whispers before breaking into full shrieks of glee as they collected some packets of food before moving off towards the kitchen. They passed the Shepherd on the way, his eyes fixed intently on the Bible in his hands. He crossed the space and settled in a chair that had been set up near Jayne’s workbench within the past month.

Suddenly Mal was startled by River’s quick movements as she swung her legs up and dropped flat on the grating beside him.

“What in the name of – “

“Shh! Quiet, like a mouse,” she whispered faintly.

He might have protested had Simon’s dark head not appeared across the way.

“Captain, have you seen my sister? She’s not in her room and I wanted to make sure she was cleaned up and ready for dinner.”

“Doc, your sister’s not some lost lamb or somethin’ – she’s a genius, I’m sure she can manage to get herself to the dinner table without an escort.”

“Yes, Mal, I’m certain she’s off right now dressing for dinner… probably in a space suit! I’m going to check the bridge, maybe Wash will be more help.”

Simon’s voice faded out as he exited the room, the irritation in it clear even in the echoes.

“Starting to think you might have something there,” Mal muttered softly.

“Sir?” a voice called from the end of the catwalk where they rested. Looking up, he saw his first mate, clad in a red shirt, leaning against the doorway.

“Yeah, Zo?”

“Happy to see you’re enjoying your little conference here. I’ve been sent to inform you that the doctor’s just about driven my husband to distraction with his worrying. We’re on auto-pilot while Wash takes a breather before he has a fit.”

Her voice was as dry as usual, but a spark of humor was apparent to a man who had known her for years. River just smiled her ghostly smile as Zoe settled down next to the two of them, slipping into the quiet moment with practiced ease.

“Well, River-girl, we’ve got damsels, an abbot, a shepherd, and a page. Any other additions to our little circus?” he asked, voice gentle and amused.

“And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue, the knights come riding two and two…”

At that moment, Wash and Jayne ambled down the steps across from them and went towards the Shepherd and the weight bench, a playful banter between the odd pair of men. A light touch against his forearm made Mal whip his head around to look at River’s troubled eyes gazing up at him from a dejected face. Her whispered words barely crossed the space between them.

“She hath no loyal knight and true, the Lady of Shalott.”

Moving his hand to squeeze hers, Mal shot a sad look at his longtime friend before answering, “I know, little witch, I know.”

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn’d like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot...

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;

On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow’d

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

“Jayne, we’re just doing a meet for a job, not starting a gorram resistance army! All this go-se really necessary?”

“Aw, hell, Mal – you know how long it’s been since I got to have any fun on a job? If I ain’t gonna get a chance to shoot nobody, least ya can do is let me look mean and scary!”

“Petulance uncharacteristic of such a heavily armed subject,” River softly mused, hand floating in the space near one of the many guns strapped to the large mercenary’s waist. “However, given the subject…”

Before Mal could get in a warning, Jayne’s hand snapped out seemingly of its own volition, setting a course that seemed in a direct line with the young woman’s jaw. The collision never occurred, though. River’s small hand trapped his mid-flight, the fingers of her other hand reaching out to caress across his calloused ones as she held his wrist at a nearly impossible angle.

“No,” she murmured, “we’re not ready to dance yet.”

Her eyes held his, unusually clear and focused, and he would later swear he could feel in that moment something changing. Jerking his hand away, the moment was shoved aside in favor of the job. River’s swaying form stayed rooted to that spot, however, until minutes before the group returned several hours later. Her reverie was broken by the arrival of Simon and Kaylee’s appearance on the stairs. His arm wound around her waist as she smiled up into his face and River slowly moved back out of sight.

A bitterness filled her voice as she intoned, “Or when the moon was overhead, came two young lovers lately wed; ‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said the Lady of Shalott.”

As the sound of their return filled the ship, Jayne’s voice boisterously singing “The Hero of Canton,” River stood poised in the shadows of the catwalk and felt the threads of her life begin to shift.

She left the web, she left the loom;

She made three paces thro’ the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look’d down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack’d from side to side;

“The curse is come upon me,” cried

The Lady of Shalott.

#firefly #own fic #rayne #river tam/jayne cobb #alfred lord tennyson #what even is this

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theliterateape · 7 years

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Small World

By Dana Jerman

Tracy driving her classic '66 Caddie convertible, the sky-blue “land yacht,” on a beautiful Friday afternoon through the country. Her blond hair, long and straight, whips in the wind while the stereo coos out some oldies.

Her strong, long legs in mule wedges astride the pedals. One hand on the blue wheel, skinny and sparkling. The noon sun coming fast through the trees and splashing toward the shining hood of the beast, up and over us.

I ride shotgun in a floral print over sticky, overstuffed vinyl. Me and my camera invited along for a cruise up to the old family cabin on the water.

It is September and we are thrilled with the orange flame of Indian summer days. No call for rain. If it did rain, it would take her alone ten minutes to up the top—and she's good at it.

She's singing with the stereo and I’m composing a snap here and there as we ramble along.

She doesn't like being the subject of my pictures, but tolerates the occasional shot.

After an hour and a half, almost to the cabin, we stop at the graveyard where Tracy's mother had been for a few years. Cicadas and crickets sing in the midday heat, which grows intense on my shoulders without the breeze. We meander intently back thru grasses that are getting quite high. I brake from her to examine an old section as she gets close to her mother.

She would plop down beside the stone. Leaning over with her shoulders and tucking her bare legs under her above the tall grass. She would place the daffodils by the stone and pull at clover and her own split ends while having a chat.

With my zoom lens I managed to capture some doe on the far wooded edge. Past the clearing- a compact field not yet filled with graves.

Suddenly my impatient stomach growls and I stroll to the car to cool heels until she comes back. I can hardly wait to get to the cabin.

We pulled up the gravel drive and Tracy switched off the radio and honked the horn as we hollered. There was Karen's Merc and another vehicle I didn't recognize with a rig on the roof.

Karen was at the screen door as we ascended the front porch. One hand on her ample hip, the other propped high in the doorway with a cigarette at her smiling generous mouth.

"Welcome, ladies." She exhaled and leaned away. Tracy entering and I following.

"Sandwiches are on." She called back. Thank heaven, I was starving.

The perfect summer food: Turkey on wheat with lettuce tomato and mayo. Greasy little pile of thin sliced potato chips besides. The bag of them still wide open on the long table.

Tracy chimed "Caty and Alden are here?" Karen nodded, smoking.

"Yay!" She clapped and tore herself down to her swimsuit, pulling a few chips out of the bag and scooting out the sliding patio doors which formed part of the long wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, in from which the most exquisite northwestern light was now coming. Karen looked beautiful in it, standing at the counter's edge in her summer sherbet triangle top and long diaphanous pants that rode her hips and nearly hid her toes in wedged cork sandals.

Leaning against the counter top, she shook her head and rolled her eyes wryly at Tracy.

I couldn't help myself. With a mouthful of sandwich I brought up the lens. Karen was a better model. She would move gently and look right at me- compliant and wistful.

"I'm so glad you don't mind." I confessed bashfully and started back in on the sandwich for being so starved.

In a quiet moment, she put out her butt and went into the bathroom. When she came out her hair was down. She pulled up a stool next to me and lit another.

Her fresh plume of exhale matching my sounds of chip-crunching.

"Stop at the graveyard?" she asked. I nodded.

Sometimes being laconic was infectious. I drank some water and burped. Thinking I ought to slow down from swallowing, I piped up: "Ride was beautiful. Got some OK snaps. That car always reminds me of the time you were passed out in the backseat with the mechanical bubble blower." Karen's sudden laugh lead to coughing, then back again. "You remember that? Oh! Embarrassing ancient history." She shrugged as I grinned.

Karen is a party planner in the city. One very late evening after an extremely long day wherein nothing had gone right with regard to a wedding reception, Karen passed out drunk in Tracy's yacht with a bubble machine which had been on the fritz the whole time, sending a careen of silver blue soapy orbs up, and a coagulated mess of foam down the upholstery, all into her thick dark curls and low-cut cleavage.

Tracy called me immediately. I stole over the fence with my camera before we woke her into the world of our giggles while carrying her inside to sleep it off.

Karen was rarely "messy.” But when she was it managed to be this really perfect mess. So free.

I love this about her. Even more perfect is that she doesn't notice this phenomena at all.

"You've been to the beach?" I changed the subject. She nodded. "We all got here yesterday around this time."

"Who are Caty and Alden?" I couldn't resist any longer asking after strangers.

"Friends from school."

I felt a pang of jealousy that surprised me. These people have known each other so much longer than I've known any of them. I felt like an interloper at times. Self-inflicted, of course. Nevertheless I admired their ability to keep in touch and for their post-college relationships to have evolved enough to stay relevant.

I expected Caty and Alden to be as cool as I'd found Karen and Tracy to have been, even having just known them as city neighbors for a year and change.

The cabin sat along a precipice where wooded treeline gave way to sand- a long plateau of dune that dropped to a steep grade forty yards out, becoming the shore.

The water body was a lake that stretched like an ocean, with its own horizon, and this made it coveted and fascinating.

Tracy's mother had left her both cabin and car, and Tracy became them. They were perfect gestures of some final mother-daughter understanding. Filial and feminine.

Tracy took great care to fully appreciate these gifts by sharing them.

From the stool and table, Karen rose and stretched. I was absently looking through my camera cropping and deleting a few things. So far the shots of Karen were my favorites. She liked them too.

Looking out the window she said softly "They brought a sailboat."

"What?"

"Alden and Caty. Brought their sailboat."

Of course. I felt my mouth pull up a broad smile. "Very cool." Was all I could say.

I watched her wrap Tracy's sandwich thoughtfully for the icebox and drift toward her room for a catnap as I moved outside into the 2:45 p.m. heat.

The sand almost burned the spaces in between my toes, but felt delicious. Little stubs of thick and thin palm shoots would poke up into your feet if you didn't walk carefully.

When the plateau melted the blue water came into view. Sure enough there it was: three figures on a mid-sized daysailer. No chop, but close, and the mainsail was full. Two orange stripes and the serial D-850 standing out near its apex.

Light check. Testing the apertures and depth of field outdoors. I worried for a moment about sand blowing in—grinding across the fragile inner glasses of the camera body. Then I remembered how technically speaking, this camera was pretty old. I had other lenses. I shouldn't be so anal-retentive.

Moving down the grade wherein fine sands grew more pale and brighter still, I heard dogs and turned. A lady in white far down was throwing a stick which the big black hounds would fetch and fight for.

It occurred to me, in a general sense just then, that all felt right with the world when we were at play.

I swam for awhile in the easy depth. Soon they hauled in right next to me, beaching the hull. Each one smiling and active with Tracy in top form—squealing.

"Oh, girl, you gotta get out and try this!"

Often refreshingly child-like, Tracy always assumed her first time doing anything meant that anyone who wasn't in her presence at the time must also be inexperienced.

She was dry. The couple, like me, were soaking wet.

Caty. With a close glance I decided she could be Karen's sister. A little older or a little younger depending on the light and the clothes. Younger here, in a swimsuit.

The photographer in me smiling at this and at the fantastic lighting conditions a beach generously affords, even in heavy mid-afternoon.

Alden was quite tall and lanky. Sunburned and with freckles dancing loudly over his shoulders and nose. Strawberry blond hair cut very smartly, even windswept. He as handsome as Caty pretty, and fitting that they should be a couple.

The boat all battened down, Tracy made introductions. She inquired after Karen.

"Resting," I said. My voice sounding like it hadn't come from me.

"I'm thinking I'd like to take all these beautiful women out to dinner tonight." Alden stated happily. His smile was imbedded across the eyes, like Jack Kennedy.

"Ah! Really? Lovely! Can we try the Marina Rayale?" Tracy had not yet been to this certain seafood place across the lake. She'd had it in her for awhile to go, ideally with a large group.

"Whatever you please." He replied. Caty tucked neatly under his arm.

We began our trek up the beach. I lagged behind just long enough to frame a good shot of Tracy's wild palomino mane. Of Alden's shoulder against Caty's profile. Of three friends walking under a cloudless sky.

Karen had showered, put on a powder blue full length skirt of unpleated cotton and a silk gardenia print sleeveless blouse with a high collar. She lounged on the patio with a cocktail and the massive biography of Tennessee Williams she'd been steadily reading.

Tracy kissed her cheek. "You're already dressed for dinner!" She exclaimed, darting for the door. "Alden's offered to take us to Marina Rayale!"

Tracy's enthusiasm about everything usually caused others around her to giggle and titter, mostly out of embarrassment. Caty and I turned out to be no exception.

"Splendid," said Karen. Rolling her eyes and smiling back into her book as we filed past to get cleaned up.

Tracy and I shared the spacious uppermost room on this visit. I could hear the water already going in the shower as I ascended the curving narrow staircase. The steps here padded close with a kind of terry cloth carpeting hued to an inviting deep beige. Like sand.

Among the close walls, before the room burst forth with its two full double beds, a small plein aire in oil of a lone fisherman at dawn was hung to the left. Ideal for soundproofed contemplation.

I did not know if Tracy had been a child in this place, with this portrait of a moment, exact and seemly. But I paused, wishing on her behalf that she might have. It was the sort of hidden-in-the-open place that one did a lot of one's growing up.

The Marina Rayale had chandeliers. I adore chandeliers. An exceptional fabrication gives light a kind of omnipotence. They may be the closest we ever get to harnessing stars.

Tracy's eye for style had managed to spot the diamond in the rough from afar. It was class without spectacle. Drinking flutes shown in the candlelight. A fourtet played muted and gentle in a wide corner on a miniature stage.

I was happy to take it all in and let my eyes be the camera tonight.

The dress I'd dusted up out of my closet and packed for perhaps just this sort of occasion was perfect. Sanguine sequins across the bust, red satin down the sides. The sort of thing that was sporty enough for cocktails and could hold its own at the awards ceremony. Though rarely did the two meet, I was delighted to feel its reliable fit.

Tracy was used to seeing me casual. She loved it. She was donning her finest, stunning Givenchy with jewels that cost twice as much as the dress, and we'd sat each other down at the vanity to do hair before we left.

She was currently into it with Alden over the financial viability of round-the-world sailing excursions while Caty and Karen chatted softly about pets. Cats specifically. Relaxing my ear enough to juxtapose the two conversations kept my smile pert.

I was glad for a moment to be silent and listen as well as observe.

Beauty in every corner. Myself feeling very included in the beauty.

The second round of oysters came, as did our second bottle of Pino Grigio. I excused myself for a nose powdering and Tracy accompanied.

I entered and held the door for her. She took a second to enter until our eyes had met- the cue to make her anxious/pouty face.

"What is it?" The question you can't help but ask at a face like that.

"Great..." she huffed cryptically. I watched as she moved down the carpeted well-lit row and entered a stall.

In the long mirror over the sink I touched up my lips.

"Brett!" She called nastily as she flushed.

"Excuse me?" I stopped. She washed her hands and reached for a towel.

"Brett Collins is here." Her eyes set and stormy.

She tossed the towel in the hamper and placed hand on hip with an exasperated flourish. Bracelets tinkling. I smiled, I couldn't help it. Sometimes drama and flusterings simply followed Tracy about, occasionally catching on the scent of her histrionics.

"Is your evening ruined?" I jested humbly.

"Just about." She caught sight of herself and leaned in, checking pleasantly smudged eyes.

"Mister Collins," she ahemed "is a bad man who was once my lover and confidant. After earning my trust he then tried to cast me into a silly little pyramid scheme and is generally bad news. I'm staying away from him and you should too."

"Je comprende!" I exclaimed.

The city was a small world, and the world outside of it at times seemed to be even smaller.

No sooner had we returned to the table, the roast duck on the cusp of too cool, Mr. Collins arrived to introduce himself and ask if Tracy would like to dance. She dismissed him rather gracefully, (for the sake of present company, I'm sure) and tore into her food like someone who'd been lost in the woods for three days.

The poor girl. Sometimes stress caused her to overeat.

"We've got all night, my dear." Karen reminded gently, cutlery expertly poised in her grip. I grew a goodwill smirk as she and Alden and Caty smiled at one another, then at me.

Back at the beach the stars sparkled high and bright on a night sans moon.

In our finery and carrying our shoes we walked the dim strand. Passing another bottle of white back and forth between us. Laughing, chatting, laughing some more. I almost had the hiccups from a fit started by a joke Karen had told me.

It was the kind of night you hope never ends, or that you remember vividly for a long time to come.

The wind tussles our hair and the water speaks.

It speaks very loudly in particular to Tracy, who gets in way beyond her toes.

I swoon in the sounds and the darkness and the little wine buzz. Moments pass and I have lagged behind again. I look up and Karen is drifting off with Caty. They have each other by the waist and go leisurely as lesser goddesses after Tracy, who has decided to run wild back to the cabin. She's not so smashed she won't make it unharmed, but the girls follow lazily anyway.

When I look over my shoulder, there's Alden: the picture of plaintive male beauty. Hands in pockets and eyes wet with tears.

I stand confused for a moment as I watch him turn toward the water and the moonlessness and sit right down on the soft white sand.

Not knowing what else to do, suddenly feeling quite tired with this near-empty wine bottle clutched in my hand, I swig down the last and go to sit beside him.

No joke. His head goes slack and his torso shudders. He really is crying.

"Alden?" I ask. Soft, but with a concern more than mild. It gets worse. Then he composes himself.

His face is soaked but I've nothing to dry it. He is receptive when I put a hand to his shoulder.

"Caty is sick," he confesses quickly. Like he can't hold it anymore. Like he knows I'll find out and he wants to be the one to say it.

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. I get the sense too that he's trying to understand it all himself.

I keep opening my mouth and nothing comes out. Finally I manage: "Treatments?"

He shakes his head. "Transplants."

Those same blue eyes once squinting with happiness are now sad and direct. He takes a hard swipe at the tears.

"She's got a few months.”

Back up the beach go my eyes to glimpse where they’ve gone. It seems impossible. She looks so healthy.

"Do Karen and Tracy know?" I find myself whispering for no good reason.

He nods. "Karen does. And you.“

His composure lost again. Back into tears. There was nothing else we could say.

Waves kept on crashing and moving and then night was as black as it would ever get.

Alden, frustrated by crying, took a long snort across his sleeve to clear his nose. He stood and brushed off and held his hand out to me.

After he helped me up he didn't let me go. We walked back to the cabin with his arm over my shoulder and I was very grateful for that.

It would be a long week. But to really get to know new friends, one needs all the time one has.

#sailing #fiction #short story #beach #Vacation #beauty #femininity #painting #summer #indian summer #sandwiches #sand

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