#i just think it would have been very neat for alina to find out before baghra takes her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelguk · 3 years

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omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

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alinastracker · 3 years

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hi, bonnie, my beloved!!! I don’t know if you’re still taking those college prompts but if you are, it think 21 is pretty cute <3 it’s definitely got malina vibes

ASK AND U SHALL RECEIVE MY LOVE<3

prompt: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

it’s nice to have a friend

"And please everyone, actually read the assigned chapters for next week!" Professor Yerwei sighs as the class dismisses. "Miss Starkov can't continue to be the only one of you raising her hand."

Alina can't help her smug little smile as she packs up her things. At first, her classmates were quite happy to have someone else participating so they didn't have to. Their groans seem to indicate that won’t be working for them any longer. Pity.

Her smile fades, however, as she takes out her pepper spray, clutching it tight in her right hand. Slinging her backpack onto her shoulders, she files out with the rest of her classmates.

Alina loves her art history class. She's learned so much about Ravkan art throughout her years, which is fine, but this class actually focuses on the rest of the world, art from Kerch, Novyi Zem, and even Fjerda and Shu Han.

She just hates that the class is only offered at night.

It doesn't surprise her. The class itself isn't very large, mostly filled with students of mixed backgrounds like herself. But there's something cozy about the class. She feels safe there.

That is, until she steps outside and has to walk across campus to her dorm at nine in the evening. It's late September, which means the sky is nearly pitch black by the time class ends, and while the campus is fairly well lit up, there are a couple paths with burned out bulbs that need fixing, a few shadowy areas that give her cause to quicken her steps. Her roommate, Genya, has offered to make the trek just to walk with her, but she couldn't ask that of her friend. She would just have to grin and bear it.

Alina grips her pepper spray a little tighter and is about to step into the night when someone calls her name.

No, not someone. She knows the voice, even if he is new in her life. Malyen Oretsev. He sits in front of her and a little to the left, giving her the perfect angle to stare at the side of his beautiful face. Any time she's not answering questions, she's looking at Mal.

"Way to show us all up in class," he says, a teasing smile spread on his face. He moves with such ease, such surety, wearing an army style jacket that fits him in all the right places.

"Well, I can't help it you don't read the book," she teases back, momentarily forgetting her dreaded walk. She's made it three times now, but it has yet to get easier.

"Hey, who said I haven't read it? Maybe I'm just shy."

Alina laughs. "Good one, Oretsev."

He grins, and for a second, his eyes flash to where her hand rests at her side, locked around her pretty purple pepper spray. "Heading to your dorm?" When she nods, he says, "Mind if I walk with you?"

She's not sure if he's asking because he genuinely wants to walk with her or if he's just noticed how shaky she gets after class, holding her one line of defense close, but it makes her all warm inside regardless. "I'm not out of your way? I'm in Sankta Lizabeta Hall."

Mal shakes his head and drapes an arm over her like it's the most natural thing in the world, and oddly enough, it feels that way. "Not out of my way at all."

On the walk to her dorm, they talk about how refreshing it is to take a class taught by a professor from Shu Han, the plans they have for the upcoming weekend. Alina smiles the whole time, surprising herself with how at ease she feels. At some point, she stuffs her pepper spray in her coat pocket, forgetting all about it.

From that day on, Mal walks with her after class each Tuesday and Thursday night, with Alina almost always tucked under his arm. She tells herself she likes being close to him because the weather is getting colder and colder, but really, he just makes her feel safe and giddy and good.

One night in mid-October, they come out of class to a downpour. Groans pass between the two of them and the rest of their classmates as they make their way out, some of them going back inside to wait it out, others making a mad dash for their dorm or nearby car.

"Should we wait?" Alina asks.

Mal pulls out his phone and brings up a radar map. "Doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon."

They share a look, and then, almost in unison, pull up the hoods of their coats and dash into the night, the storm swallowing the sounds of their laughter.

"My brother is always forgetting his things when he visits my room," Tamar is saying as she leads them up the stairs in Sankt Juris Hall. She has yet to meet Tamar's twin, Tolya, but from the pictures she's been shown, he appears to be a giant with absolutely gorgeous hair.

Once they're in her brother's dorm, she adds gentle to the front of giant, as they walk in on him in the middle of crocheting, a podcast playing from his phone.

"Ah, my book," he says, pausing his podcast and setting his work aside.

"Yes, yes, your book. Now stop leaving your shit in my dorm."

Alina laughs, and it brings Tolya's attention to her. "You must be Alina." He stands to his full height, and she has to look up to meet his eye. Saints, he seems tall enough to make two of her.

"That's me," she says, and lets out a soft oof when Tolya wraps his large arms around her. Admittedly, his size compared to her own makes for a pretty great hug.

"Good to meet you. Tamar says you're a very talented artist. You'll have to show me some time."

She beams and nods to his abandoned yarn. "You seem to be something of an artist yourself."

Tamar groans. "Don't encourage him. I have so many scarves from over the years. Thank the Saints he's finally moved on to making things for his roommate."

"At least my roommate appreciates my work."

As the twins bicker, Alina walks further into the room. Tolya's side is neat and orderly, bed made, a basket beside it for all his crocheting, not a piece of trash in sight. The other side of the room . . . not so much.

She's seen worse, especially when it comes to boys, but the contrast is hilarious. His roommate's bed is a mess, pillows strewn and blankets hanging off like he left in a hurry. There's a few empty wrappers and water bottles on his desk, a pile of books stacked haphazardly. Then there's the heap of clothes shoved in a corner on his bed — clean or dirty yet to be determined. Her eyes linger on the pile, and she's not sure why until her eyes zero in on the hoodie on top. A very familiar hoodie.

Alina grabs it and turns to Tolya. "Do you live with Malyen Oretsev?"

Tolya pauses mid-bickering, glancing over at her. "You know Mal?"

She nods. "We have art history together."

"Oh! You must be the little friend — his words, not mine — he walks with after class. Lina. Huh, I should have put two and two together."

Alina scoffs. "Little friend?"

Tolya shrugs, and Tamar says, "I mean, he's not wrong."

She huffs, throwing the hoodie back onto Mal's bed, but says nothing, knowing she doesn't have an argument.

Just before they leave, Alina ducks her head back in and says, "Hey, Tolya? Don't tell Mal I was here."

If he finds her request odd, he doesn't show it, already going back to his crocheting. "Sure thing, little friend."

"So then, after doing all that catchup, they practically let Jrue steal the ball, and he runs down the court and tosses it just high enough for Giannis to dunk it in. It was incredible!"

"Uh huh."

Mal sighs. "I get it, you don't care about American basketball."

"Or American football, or our football—"

"Hey!"

"Okay, I care about your games."

"Thank you," he says, looking proud. "Anyway, you're saved."

They've reached Sankta Lizabeta Hall. Alina sighs, fiddling absently with a loose thread on her gloved hand. She’s wearing only one, because at some point today she had lost her pair, so Mal had offered up one of his — a gesture her heart has still not recovered from. She looks up at the building, then back to Mal. Admittedly, even when he rambles on about sports, she's always sad when their walk to the dorms after class comes to an end. Even though it's near freezing most nights now, their walk seems to take longer and longer. If Mal has noticed her slowing her steps lately, he hasn't said anything.

"Saved indeed," she says. But there's one more thing she has to do tonight before parting ways. "Though, I was thinking. You always walk me to my dorm, but I never do the same."

"Oh," Mal says and shrugs. "It's fine. It's not much further, no sense for you to backtrack."

Oh the irony. "I know, but still." She takes his hand, somehow warm despite the frosty air around them. Her heart skips a beat as she realizes this is the first time she's held his hand. "It's really only fair."

"Alina," Mal grumbles, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his brain, trying to figure a way out of this.

"What? It's not like you live much farther."

He groans. "It's late, and cold. You should get inside."

"What's the matter, Malyen?" She's grinning now. "You think I can't survive another minute or so out here? It's not like you reside in, oh I don't know, Sankt Juris Hall or something far like that."

She sees on his face the moment it clicks. Mal curses under his breath and asks, "How did you find out?"

"Tamar took me to meet her brother, and I just so happened to notice some very familiar clothes on a very messy bed. You're not quite as tidy as your roommate, Malyen."

"If you say my full name one more time, I'm going to bury myself into the ground."

Alina laughs and it’s just a little maniacal. "So what gives, Malyen? Juris Hall is like, a minute from class." Her own was around ten, longer if the sidewalks were icy or they took their time.

Mal's eyes turn downcast, and he kicks the pole of a streetlight. "I don't know. You just looked so uncomfortable leaving class each night, holding your pepper spray like your life depended on it, and I just — I didn't want you to be alone." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, it probably sounds weird and creepy and everything you're trying to avoid."

Her heart is thumping so loud she's afraid he might hear it. But he's still not even looking at her. "Mal," she says softly, and finally he looks up. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

He's unsure for a breath longer — the first time, she realizes, that she's seen him be anything but certain — before finally, he smiles. Shyly. "Really?"

She nods. "It’s ridiculously kind of you, especially since you barely knew me then. But I’m okay, really. I don’t want you to keep going so out of your way for me.”

Mal pauses, shuffling on his feet, and she can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “And if I said I wasn’t only doing it for you?” At her frown, he adds, “If I told you these walks are the best part of my week?”

She’s momentarily speechless as her brain scrambles for something to say, so she ends up blurting out, “Football practice is the best part of your week.”

His smile is sly as he says, “Football is the second best part of my week.”

“Oh, well.” Saints, she wants to jump his bones. She’s wanted to since the first time she laid eyes on him. But she hesitates still, needing to be sure before she can let herself leap. “Certainly there’s better places and times to go for a walk.”

Mal shakes his head, and there’s amusement in his tone. “Come on, Alina, are you really going to make me spell it out for you? It’s not the walk, it’s the company.”

“The company,” she echoes in a small, but pleased, voice. Her dark eyes are sparkling with something giddy — like she’s fifteen again, tripping over a smile from her crush.

He just shrugs as if to say, take it or leave it, and she knows her answer.

Alina grins and shrugs in return. “Well, then I guess you can keep accompanying me.”

He snorts. “Oh, you guess, huh?” Mal suddenly drops dramatically to one knee, and in that moment she can see his confidence has returned, the easy way he moves, like he’s singing his favorite song and knows every word, every beat. “How generous of you, oh honorable Alina Starkov, for granting me the privilege of walking on the same pavement your very feet grace!”

Alina’s laughing, she’s been laughing for the whole speech, but now she crosses the distance between them and tugs on his arm until he stands. “You’re the worst,” she says, and before she loses her nerve, she kisses him. She can tell he’s surprised, but he recovers fast. His arms wrap around her waist, tugging her closer. One of her hands is on his red scarf — one of Tolya’s making, she knows now — while the other dares to run through his hair, a fantasy she’s had all semester. Suddenly it’s not so cold out anymore.

They pull away breathless, sharing careful, sheepish smiles of two people exploring something new; something exciting, but fragile.

“I think we’ll have to find a new excuse to hang out once class ends in a couple weeks,” Alina says, looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks flushed.

“Agreed. Maybe something involving food, or drinks.” He pauses, then very delicately brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. It’s somehow more intimate than the actual kiss. “Maybe more of this.”

She bites down on the spot his thumb had just been. “Definitely more of this.”

Mal smiles, and this time, he’s the one to initiate the kiss, the one to tangle his fingers in her hair. They kiss until they’re dizzy and frozen — on the outside, anyway. On the inside, she’s all heat. They say their typical goodnights, but this time, they part with the promise of so much more than walking on the horizon.

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raisindeatre · 3 years

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Hi 💙 I was wondering if you might share your thoughts on Zoya as a character in general? I've read the Grisha trilogy and Six of Crows duology, and I'd like to read King of Scars/Rule of Wolves to complete the series, but while I found Zoya to be quite interesting she's never been a favourite of mine or a character I found myself connecting to, so I've been worried I might not enjoy the next two books as much because of that, so I wondered if some insight from someone who seems to like her and her relationship with Nikolai might help me understand her character a little more, or do you think reading those next two books is what really connects you to her character? Thank you! 💙

Thank you so much for this question, anon! I think it's completely understandable that you don't connect much to Zoya in the original trilogy because in those books Bardugo doesn't really give us much to connect with, imo. I've said before that her prose has improved by staggering leaps and bounds since TGT, but her characterization has too - she sketches the characters in the SoC duology, especially, in ways that are so much richer and compelling than in the first trilogy. Combined with the fact that TGT is told through Alina's perspective, and we get a Zoya who's not just thinly sketched but is also pretty unlikeable for a good part of the series (I suspect that Bardugo meant to do an inversion of the Bitchy Girl™ trope, but it didn't quite land for me). I truly believe that a lot of my fondness for Zoya stems from the fact that I read a lot of fantastic fic back when the original trilogy had just wrapped up, and I think reading so much of other people's thoughts and analysis on Zoya made her a deeper and more interesting character to me, because the Zoya in canon is not all that compelling imo. So, like, I get it.

All that said though!! I was always fond of Zoya, even in canon, and I think I was pretty predisposed to love her even before KoS/RoW primarily because the idea of Zoya has always been such a fascinating one to me. (I just needed that idea to be filled out a little more, and the duology definitely did that for me, so I really do think I love her more for that). The original trilogy tends to centre the notion that Alina and the Darkling are each other's counterparts, each other's parallels, and that's where a lot of fan analysis stops as well. Light and Dark! Sun and Shadow! It's not subtle.

But the thing is - Zoya is the real mirror to the Darkling. They share so many similarities - they're both powerful, ambitious, proud, with the potential to be absolutely ruthless. They share the same common goal - the protection of all Grisha. Alina wants to be powerful, but she doesn't really have the appetite to really rule, to sit on a throne and govern. Zoya and the Darkling do. Alina doesn't want anyone to get hurt, but I think it's fair to say she doesn't feel the same intense self-preservation and loyalty to the Grisha that Zoya and the Darkling do. Much of their experiences are the same: while Alina came into her power at a pretty advanced age, Zoya and the Darkling know what it's like to be powerful even as children, and to be feared and hated for it. And much of what I think are Zoya's best qualities (her fierce protectiveness of her people, her courage, her determination, her sense of self-preservation) are all qualities the Darkling shares. It's why when people fall over themselves for the Darkling, but profess to hating Zoya in the same breath, it does tend to make me raise an eyebrow.

And I just think theirs is such a fascinating dynamic, much more so than Alina and the Darkling. Because the moment the Darkling loses sight of his original goal and goes too far - when the man who professes to want to safeguard the Grisha murders dozens of them - that's when Zoya turns against him and goes to stand with Alina. Alina is understandably horrified by the massacre, but I've always thought that the depth of Zoya's rage and grief and betrayal must have been much more intense. Unlike Alina, these Grisha were her family. Unlike Alina, she has admired the Darkling her whole life. Alina has moments of fearing that she will turn out to be like the Darkling, but I never really understood that - I think that Zoya's fear of the same, given the history and similarities she shares with the Darkling, is much more realistically grounded.

And I think at the end of the trilogy, when the dust has settled and Alina has settled into obscurity, when Zoya and Nikolai are faced with the almost unthinkable notion of rebuilding Ravka, it's very present on Zoya's mind that the ruthlessness required to defend Ravka and protect the Grisha might be what led the Darkling down that road in the first place. She needs to reckon with what is required of her and how far she can go, without becoming him. Gaze long into the abyss, but take care it does not gaze back. So in that sense, the idea of Zoya has always been something I've loved.

I also really loved the idea of her as a general, as someone so intrinsically involved in the rebuilding of Ravka. I was an IR major in uni - I adore anything to do with political machinations, the intricacies and brutality of peace treaties and trade negotiations, the ever-shifting dynamics between countries. I was super excited to see so much of that in KoS/RoW, and I think it's immensely rewarding to see Zoya grappling with so many of the issues that the original trilogy (with its very YA-ish focus on A Great Battle for the Fate of the World) doesn't consider: will there ever be a future where Grisha aren't forced to be soldiers? What would that even look like? How would we get there? What will I have to do to secure it? How far will I go?

Finally, all ideas of Zoya aside and looking at her actual characterization: my wife is a bitch and I like her so much! Your mileage may vary, but I really do find the fact that Zoya is written to be so unlikeable extremely refreshing. Bardugo doesn't really have any off-putting characters, especially female - Alina is pretty likeable, Nina is bold and endearing, Genya is clever and a character to root for, Inej quietly stakes her place in people's affections - and I think it's so great to have a woman who's so prickly and unfriendly and easily annoyed. In KoS/RoW we do learn more about Zoya and her backstory, and I guess it does go some way to explaining why she is the way she is, but I am also a fan of just letting female characters being bitchy sometimes!!! Her abrasiveness doesn't mean that she doesn't have so much love and courage and selflessness in her - almost more than she can bear, and watching her journey to realizing that love is not something to run from but to embrace is so good - and I just. I just think she's neat!

I won't go too much into her relationship with Nikolai because this is already horrendously long, and I will probably talk about them in another post, because they drive me crazy, but I just think they spark off each other in ways they don't with other people. Nikolai needs someone who loves Ravka as much as he does, someone who is really willing to march into war or sit in meeting rooms for hours and just give everything, everything she has to this greedy, broken country which will give her nothing back. Alina is not that person. Very few people are that person. But Zoya is. It's probably also that by the time KoS/RoW rolls around, they have been working together for a few years, while the original trilogy is much shorter in time, but Zoya and Nikolai in this duology really give off a sense of familiarity and trust in each other that is just SO!!! She always calls him out on his shit. They butt heads. They push each other to be better.

I will close by saying: in RoW there's a part where Nikolai thinks of Zoya, "There she was. Bitter and bracing as strong drink", and I just love this observation an outsize amount. I love that Zoya is not for everyone, that she has a real kick to her. I love the implication that she braces Nikolai; that she keeps him awake and on his toes. It's all very Ingmar Bergman's "We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" I think they are just more alive around each other than around anyone else, that they are better together than apart. They keep each other going.

#god this is long!!! but i hope this helped anon #imo there are a lot of other reasons why KoS/RoW might disappoint you as they disappointed me #just extremely weird pacing! KoS was a saggy morass whereas RoW had way too much going on #i think i've outgrown fanservice so bringing back characters for the sake of bringing them back is something i hate!!!#there were some really weird plots that went nowhere!!!#but i'm still glad i read them. i hope you are too; should you decide to do so #zoya nazyalensky #the grisha trilogy #king of scars #rule of wolves #long post #asks #anonymous

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

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Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chapter 14

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"Breathe, breathe me in, taste my words, let me blow your mind I will take you far, far away I'll make you feel alright You've gotta crave it and chase it Until you're close enough to taste it I can give you what you need I can give you what you need…"

"Make You Feel" – Alina Baraz & Galimatias

April 10th, 20—

I find myself writing more and more as my son grows older.

Erik. N'Jadaka. JaJa.

I remember the night he was conceived so vividly. The urge to make him was so powerful that the moment I released within my woman I knew he was on his way. It is interesting to note the difference between wanting to have a child and having one by accident. When I talk with the men I work with at the shop, most of them had children not by choice, but by surprise. It is what Califia calls being caught out there. If they were with a woman and she happened to get pregnant the response has been either going with the flow, asking for an abortion or leaving the relationship. Some of these men learn to love their children but they are seen as a burden and not a blessing.

I find this way of thinking abhorrent. Granted, when I impregnated Califia the first time, it was not planned, but I was happy when I found out for an all too brief moment before I learned of her operation. I do not understand the thinking of men who behave this way. The second time I left America to return to Wakanda, all I could think about was having a baby with Califia. Erik existed in my mind way before I even reunited with his mother physically. He was real to me even when he was just a thought.

I remember when I came home from Birnin Zana and Califia revealed to me that she was carrying him. She was so scared. Fearful that she would lose this child too. But I knew different. This time I was with her. We wanted this little one together. And Bast blessed us from on high. I know this to be true. The day he was born felt a bit like I was being reborn with him. My hands caught him. I held him first.

Our son.

My world has never been the same since he has come into my life with his mother. I can not imagine living a life without the two of them being in it. Califia has given me the most supreme gift with my son. She is the only woman who could give me a child like him. I ponder sometimes what type of child I would have made with Zinzi or some other woman from back home. Because his bloodline is so different, uniting Califia's hundreds of years of genetic mixing and separation from Africa with my Wakandan pedigree, Erik is a rare jewel. The best of the Old World Africans and the New World ones. My beautiful son.

I find him writing at his desk in his room quite often. I suspect it is because he sees me writing all the time in my journal. He likes to emulate Califia and I. I caught him in our bedroom opening my journal, his curiosity getting the better of him to cause him to violate my privacy. I told him about going through my things without permission. I had no fear of him reading anything that would give my secret identity away. My words are written in my native language. He is beginning to learn the Wakandan alphabet. He is fascinated by the fact that we have more letter/symbols than English. I have been creating a separate journal for him, recording things that will help him understand my culture for when I feel it is time for him to know the truth.

He is sprouting up like a strong tree. He is seven years old now. About to turn eight. He is in the sixth grade and excels in math and science. He loves history and social studies.

Califia and I had to have a serious discussion last night about allowing Erik to attend a local high school part-time for math and computer science, or have him do independent study at home. It feels like every year he excels more and we have to decide what to do with his education. Califia wants him to have the balance of children close to his own age. We are always having slumber parties and play dates with children from her studio. His regular school day finds him around older students, while his extracurricular activities are filled with age-matched peers from our social circles. I think he finds a good balance, but he tends to like older people. He loves sitting with Nana Jean a listening to her stories, especially when she has a card game with what Califia calls a hen party; a group of older women who drink, smoke, play spades and gossip.

Erik has taken up drumming and recently received his fourth capoeira belt. I am very proud of him.

His Uncle Bakari is coming to visit him for his birthday and they will no doubt drum together and play the berimbau for hours. Bakari has been a true brother to me and he has taken my son under his wing as if we were blood family. I am truly grateful for all these years of friendship with him. Bakari and Shavonne found out that they can not have children of their own now. Shavonne suffered from ovarian cancer two years ago and had her ovaries removed. It was a difficult conversation to have with my brother Bakari, but he and Shavonne are considering adoption, and they have focused a lot of love on Erik over the years. They are like his second parents.

Tonight Erik is having a sleepover with his buddy Walter. They've been hanging tough since they first met in pre-school. Walter's parents are always happy to have their son stay with us. I think it is because Erik is a positive influence on Walter. Maybe they think Erik's smarts will rub off on their child.

My son is an introvert. He can be gregarious and appear extroverted when he is with his friends, but he has the tendency to hang back and take in his surroundings before engaging with people. We used to think he was shy once he started elementary school, but the reality is quite different. He observes. Slowly warms up to all that is around him. And then he acts.

He is very particular about how he looks and dresses. Likes things in his room and around him organized and clean. Neat.

Califia is doing well despite the fact that we did have a recent pregnancy scare. Her middle school went through a strike and the stress and worry affected her health. For about two weeks we thought she was pregnant because she had missed a cycle. I admit I was ecstatic. She was actually excited herself until she saw a doctor and it was confirmed that she was not with child. A week later her cycle resumed and we told ourselves that it would have been a welcome surprise. We have been very careful with birth control, but it is my desire to have her pregnant again. And I want her to have our next child in Wakanda. I want to conceive our next little one in my home country. I want a daughter.

Califia predicted it, and I have been holding off on speaking on returning to Birnin Zana with our family, but Erik has begun to ask me about home. He asks why he does not get to meet my family. I have tried to avoid direct answers by planting the idea that my family is estranged and that it is difficult to communicate with them. He seems to accept this answer. It is no different than Califia's relationship with her mother and brothers. They do not often see each other because of distance. My son does not push the issue, but I can see in his eyes that he knows there is more to the story than I am telling him.

I am writing this in bed.

Califia is asleep next to me. Her hair is all over the place and she is in a deep slumber. While the boys were downstairs watching tv and playing video games while lying on the floor with sleeping bags, I was able to sneak a spanking session with her. We did not plan on it, but I walked in from saying goodnight to the boys and found her reading a book in our bed. She had on one of my old undershirts with a T-back design that she liked and just a pair of yellow bikini panties. She turned over to look at me and there was something about the way she stared at me that reminded me of the days when she would be in my bed at my old grad school housing. I reached over and slapped her ass and just marveled at how thick and healthy and gorgeous she looked. Almost eleven years of me knowing her have gone by, and she still gives me a thrill when I look at her.

I made her get on her hands and knees and pulled her panties part way down to her thighs. I spanked her while stroking my dick. She let me play with her pussy with my free hand. My fingers were inside of her when she climaxed, and I let her walls just coat my hand with her slickness. Her pussy is incredible, that is the only way I can describe it. She probably thought I would ride her doggy style, but I just wanted to cum on her face. It is something that I derive great pleasure in doing. The primitive need to mark her with my semen is just a thing I crave if I do not cum inside of her. It makes me feel like I own her. She is mine. No one else can have the honor of painting her face in that way. When she looks up at me, when her lips are parted, when she is waiting for me to release, I just cum so hard that it hurts.

Tonight I had a lot of pent up frustration from work at the shop. Nothing serious, but I knew I was going to need her tonight to calm me down. I groaned so loud when I came, and even more when I saw how much I shot all over her face. She will not move once I have ejaculated on her. She knows I like to stare at her with my semen all over her. I just love to mark her in that way. Some deep-seated urge to watch my fluid drip down her beautiful freckled face. She gives me the most intense look and then I want to do it again. I like to have her wet and slippery and soaking when I am done with her.

I so badly want to wake her up right now and push my dick back into her. The older we get, the more I need to fuck her. She makes comments sometimes to me about how my sex drive should be slowing down. Most men my age reach a certain plateau in their sex drive. What she doesn't know is that my body is not normal. I was created by a man who ingested the heart-shaped herb before he was ever married. When my brother and I were conceived our DNA was already different, superior to regular people. As long as I take care of myself, my body will not slow down like the average man. Thus, my sex drive will not be thwarted. I will probably fuck the way I do now until I am a very old man…

N'Jobu saw a flicker of light under the bedroom door. The angle of the light let him know that Erik was in his room.

N'Jobu closed his journal and left the bed to quietly investigate.

Erik's door was ajar, and he was at his desk writing. Califia had bought him a large dark brown journal that she tried to closely match to N'Jobu's leather-bound journal for him. His face was hunkered down and his right hand was scribbling furiously.

"JaJa," N'Jobu said.

Erik turned away from his journal and looked up at his father. The light from his desk lamp gave the back of his head a halo effect. His baby 'fro looked springy with soft curls.

"Baba…"

"Why are you up so late? Is Walter still downstairs?"

"He's asleep. I wanted to write some things down."

"What sort of things?" N'Jobu asked stepping closer to Erik's desk.

Erik's eyes flitted away from N'Jobu's and glanced down at his writing hand.

"You won't tell Mom, will you?"

"Depends on what you're writing about. Is it something serious?"

N'Jobu took a seat on Erik's bed watching his son's face with curiosity.

"I don't want Mom to know because it's embarrassing."

N'Jobu leaned forward and kept his hands on his knees in an open stance to help Erik relax.

"Go ahead and tell me, Son."

"I had an accident…while I was sleeping…not an accident really…um…my penis…"

N'Jobu cocked his head to the side.

"Your penis what?"

"It got hard, Baba."

N'Jobu let a small smile peek from his lips.

"We've talked about this before. That's natural. Your body is growing and changing and sometimes while you are asleep you will have an erection even at your age—"

"I wasn't really asleep, Baba. I was kind of touching myself."

"Oh."

Oh.

N'Jobu made sure to watch his tone. They hadn't really had the masturbation talk yet.

"Touching yourself is also natural and good. It lets you understand your body and what feels good to you. It is best to do that privately, JaJa."

N'Jobu was beginning to feel like he needed to wake Califia up for this part of the conversation.

"I have a situation at school," Erik said.

"Okay."

Erik looked behind N'Jobu.

"Is Mom asleep?"

"She is."

Erik's face looked fretful.

"JaJa, you can tell me about it."

Erik took a deep breath and spoke with his head down.

"There are these two girls at my school. One is in my P.E. class and the other is in the classroom next to mine. They both like me…."

Erik's eyes glanced up at N'Jobu.

"…and I like them both. Joy, the girl in my P.E. class said I had to decide who I liked best and let them know back at school on Monday. Her and the other girl Amelle are going to wait for me in front of the flag pole. I can't decide."

N'Jobu kept his face neutral, but he was dying of laughter inside. The most stressful occurrence thus far in his son's school life was liking two girls. Two girls who demanded that he make a choice.

"You like them both equally?"

"Yes. That's why…that's why I was touching myself. I was thinking of them and my thoughts made me get excited and then that accident happened—"

"Erik, having an erection is not an accident when you touch yourself. It's okay to do that. Thinking of girls will make that happen a lot. Especially two girls that you like."

"I wanted to see who I liked better when I thought of them while doing that. But it worked for them both."

N'Jobu tried not to let the laughter inside of himself spill out and make his son feel ashamed. The logic behind his masturbation was too precious.

"What makes you like them both equally?"

Erik's face scrunched up a bit.

"I like that they are older than me."

"How much older?"

"Joy is eleven and Amelle is twelve."

An eleven-year-old and a twelve-year-old interested in an eight-year-old. Holy Bast.

"What else do you like about them?"

"They are both funny. I like humor in a woman."

N'Jobu laughed out loud at that. Erik looked sheepish but a smile came across his face, his soft dimples popping out in his cheeks.

"Go on."

"They are both pretty. And smart. I like smart girls. Joy plays basketball with me and Amelle can play chess and beats me sometimes. I like how Joy laughs and Amelle is nice to people who don't have friends."

"Hmmm, I can see how this can be difficult for you. They gave you until Monday to decide?"

"Yes. I came up here to write about it. I want to figure this out, Baba. If I choose Joy, Amelle will feel hurt. If I choose Amelle, then Joy will be upset. If I don't choose any of them, then they both will be mad. Then I won't have a basketball partner or a chess partner anymore for recess. Plus Caleb Baxter has been trying to throw salt in my game by telling me that I just want to be a player. I don't even know what that is really. I asked cousin Junie and he said I should ask you because you would know."

"Junie said that?"

"Yes."

N'Jobu clasped his hands together.

"I think you should get some sleep and not worry too much about Joy and Amelle tonight. We can talk more about it this weekend after Walter is gone. Okay?"

Erik looked relieved to have someone share his burden. N'Jobu stood up.

"Don't stay up too long. You don't want to leave Walter by himself downstairs. If you have any more accidental thoughts of Joy or Amelle, have them in private, understand?"

"Yes, Baba."

N'Jobu leaned over and kissed Erik on his forehead. "Goodnight, Son. Sleep well."

He left his son's room and returned to his own closing the door. He crawled under the covers and was startled to hear Califia giggling on her side of the bed, wide awake.

"Did you hear us?" N'Jobu asked.

"I heard everything," she said covering her mouth.

"Great," he said.

"Don't worry. I know he doesn't want me to know, so I will feign ignorance. But you were so sweet with him. God, he seems so young to be having these feelings and desires. I just want him to be an innocent little boy forever."

"I need to find out what Junie has been telling him about me."

"I'm sure he's heard Junie and Bakari talking about you when you didn't know he was around. But listen, I fell out when he said he liked humor in a woman!"

Califia covered her mouth again to keep her laughter down.

"Well, to an eight-year-old, a girl three or four years older is a woman to him," N'Jobu said.

"Wait! And then he said that other boy was throwing salt in his game…ohmigod that is all Junie right there!"

N'Jobu laughed with her and they tried their best to keep their voices low.

"Who do you think he'll pick?" she asked.

"My money is on the basketball player. You know ball is life with him."

"Nah, my bet is the chess player. She shows kindness to people who are scorned, and Erik has a soft spot for underdogs."

"Care to place a wager?" he said.

"We are terrible parents, but I got five on Amelle."

It never fails to happen.

Like an embedded natural alarm system, Califia can tell when N'Jobu has left their bed when she is asleep. She was in the midst of a pleasant dream about guacamole and her Nana's chicken enchiladas when she felt something off and broke away from her dream state. Her eyes popped open and she saw the book she had been reading wedged under N'Jobu's pillow. He was gone and his journal was lying on the nightstand.

She sat still listening for a moment, thinking he was in the restroom, but then she heard his voice in Erik's room.

"I don't want Mom to know because it's embarrassing."

Fully alert, Califia sat up and cocked her ear toward the door. Partway through their conversation, she had to hold her pillow to her mouth so they wouldn't hear her chuckling.

When N'Jobu returned to bed, she couldn't help but reveal her awakened state. After making bets about who Erik would pick, she and N'Jobu laid in their bed together not saying a word. Each probably lost in their thoughts about Erik.

"How old were you when you realized you liked a girl?" she asked.

"I think maybe I was five. It was a girl from a prominent family in Niganda. She used to kiss me under the table when my father would visit her father. I haven't thought of her in years. She was really something. Just a year older than me, but she was kind of worldly for a six-year-old."

"You were kissing at five? These girls after Erik are almost junior high age. What if they pressure him into doing things he's not equipped to handle yet?"

"He was mature enough to talk to me about something so personal right away. I feel that he will talk to us if he feels pressure or discomfort from the situation. I say we let him figure this out on his own."

"What would an eleven or twelve-year-old see in an eight-year-old boy?"

"Have you met our son?" N'Jobu said giving a sharp laugh to his question.

"I know he's very good-looking, but when I was twelve, the last thing I was checking for was a little dude."

"He's mature. Talented. Brilliant. He came from my loins. What are you missing?"

Califia slapped N'Jobu's arm.

"The conceit—"

"What conceit? I'm stating a fact. That's my seed. Have you seen him work his dimples at your studio when he's flirting? Have you actually watched him flirt with girls and women? The boy is a master."

"But is that manipulation or genuine interest? Boys use girls all the time. I don't want him to be a dog."

"Am I a dog?"

"What?"

"He comes from me. I'm raising him to respect and cherish women. Do you think he'd turn into a dog when I'm teaching him how to be a non-toxic man? He comes from you too. You don't tolerate any bullshit from men, and he sees that. You have to remember, when he was smaller, he wanted to be more like you than me. Would a dog spring from that?"

"I'm not ready for all this," Califia said covering her face and groaning.

"It's not about us being ready, but us preparing him to be a young man and then a fully-grown man."

"I know…but still…that's my baby—"

"He'll always be your baby," he said rolling over to face her.

N'Jobu held her until he drifted off to sleep. She stayed awake listening to his breathing. She could hear Erik and Walter up again playing video games even though it was past midnight.

She thought about what N'Jobu said about Erik flirting at her studio.

She allowed Erik to take her hip-hop dance class and she treated him just like any other student. There was one class for all age groups and the little ones had to keep up if they were going to hang with Califia. She often used Erik to demonstrate complicated steps, and when the class worked on the moves together as a large group, her son would slink to the back to dance next to people he was interested in. Sometimes it was to compete with older dancers, and sometimes it was to be near cute girls. He would simply dance and girls would flock to be near him. If someone had trouble with a step, he would talk to them and show them the move slowly. Then he would compliment them on mastering it.

Once he had their attention, he would move away to the front again and be next to her to show off his prowess at keeping up with her. And she played right into it by dancing with him in front of the mirror and counting off steps for him to further demonstrate. Her little boy was a beast with his moves and she often let him go off in class with the music, gassing him up as he killed any routine she put together. It was over when he freestyled and she would often have to shut him down when he went off and laughed at her trying to cage his groove. Then those damn dimples would come out and the class would hoot and holler. That little negro really did have some game. No wonder Joy and Amelle were demanding his attention despite his young age.

N'Jobu's hand drifted across her chest and he squeezed one of her nipples through the t-shirt she wore and stretched his legs out. She snuggled against him, placing her head on his chest.

"Are they still playing downstairs?" he asked while clearing his throat.

"Yeah."

"I told him not to stay up too late. What time am I taking them to the movies tomorrow?"

"Eleven o'clock matinee."

"Can we change it to later?"

"No, Walter's mom is picking him up from the theater, so make sure you call her when the movie is almost over so she can be waiting in the parking lot."

"You teaching at the studio?"

"Yeah, then I'm going to sit in on my Dad's capoeira class. I think it's time I get this final belt."

His eyes opened. There was a smile on his face. She could see it from the moonlight bathing them from the skylight.

"So a trip to Brazil?"

"Yeah. I'm ready. Erik wants to try for his next cord too."

"I'll get tickets for us then."

"The baptisado is around the time of the city council election. This could be Negra Li's year finally. If she gets in office this time around, we could really do big things there and in Oakland with our non-profit."

N'Jobu kissed her cheek.

"I'm glad I get to be around brilliant Black women."

"I think this will be a great experience for Erik. We can help Negra Li campaign and he can spend time with Axiel and the other old heads."

Califia tilted her head up.

"Are they in the kitchen?"

She heard pots and pans moving around and water running in the kitchen sink.

"Time for them to call it a night," she said jumping out of the bed to put an end to midnight snacking.

N'Jobu watched Erik carefully button his shirt for school. His favorite forest green button up. He had put aloe vera gel in his hair to make his curls shine and he couldn't decide on which pair of sneakers to sport.

"The blue or white ones, Baba?"

"White," N'Jobu said.

"How do I look?"

"Smooth."

Erik grinned. He took a deep breath.

"Just go with your heart, Son. It'll all turn out okay."

"I hope so."

Erik took a good long look at himself in his bedroom mirror.

Today was the day.

The choosing of a girlfriend and the ending of a friendship if he chose wrong according to Erik.

Califia kept up the masquerade of not knowing what was going on, but she still cooked him his favorite breakfast of waffles and bacon and came up with the pretense of having to ride with N'Jobu when he dropped Erik off at school because of car issues.

When they all rode over to Erik's school, N'Jobu made sure to park near the flag pole so he and Califia could scope out the main event without Erik really seeing them. They both watched him hop out the backseat and put on his backpack. He waved to them both, hooked his fingers in the backpack straps and trudged his way toward the flag pole.

"I think that's them…it is! There are the girls!" Califia squealed.

Two girls both wearing designer brand t-shirts and jeans waited by the flag pole. One was a short dark brown-skinned cutie who was a bit pudgy, and the other was an equally adorable skinny whip of a thing with bow legs, and golden-brown skin. Both had dark big bushy hair, and both had their hands on their hips when Erik approached them.

"Here we go," N'Jobu said.

Califia reached out and held his hand as they peeped the drama.

"Should we really be watching this? What if it goes south? There's no way I can pretend to not know if he comes home with a broken heart…oh, my poor baby!" Califia said.

"Hold tight, girl," N'Jobu said, his face animated but his heart in his throat too along with Califia.

"I can't watch," she said covering her eyes.

"Shh," he said.

"What's happening?"

"Stop hiding your eyes and just watch."

They both gazed over at their son as they watched his head bob a bit as he was talking, his hands gesticulating a bit as he explained his reasoning for whomever he was choosing.

"God, he looks so calm and diplomatic," Califia said.

They watched both girls listen, their faces betraying nothing until suddenly they both stared at each other then looked at Erik together at the same time. The dark brown-skinned girl said a few words and she looked calm while saying it. She then turned to the golden brown-skinned girl and pointed at her.

"Uh oh, looks like he picked Miss Bow Legs," N'Jobu said.

The other girl said a few words and then her fingers were pointing back at the other girl.

"This may be a flag on the play, lil thick Mama may be the winner," Califia said.

Both girls finally stopped talking when Erik resumed his words. When he was done, he placed his hands back on his backpack straps.

Both girls looked at one another again and then—

"Wait. Wait! What just happened?" Califia squeaked in the passenger seat.

N'Jobu started laughing and slapped a hand on his steering wheel.

"Oh, my Gawd! No he didn't!" Califia said.

"His choice!" N'Jobu said.

They both watched the two girls kiss each side of Erik's cheeks and walk on either side of him onto the school campus. All together.

"That boy chose them both, didn't he?" Califia said leaning back in the passenger seat and folding her arms across her chest.

"We don't know for sure—"

"They were both smiling and kissing his cheeks at the same time. That is all you!"

"Me?!"

"That's some N'Jobu Dumisani Udaku maneuvering. That boy knows what a player is—"

"Player? How is it playing when they both agree to it?"

"Shut up!"

N'Jobu laughed and started up his car. Califia looked at him with amusement in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who used to juggle several people at the same time. Polyamory is your thing. That's you he's taking after," N'Jobu said.

"Tuh."

"I guess our bet is moot now?"

"Clearly. Make sure you get the 411 when he comes home today."

"I'm going to mind my business and let him tell us what he wants us to know."

"You ain't right. How am I supposed to look at him at dinner?"

"Just like you normally do."

Califia shook her head.

"Califia, don't you mess this up being nosey."

"I won't."

"So, did anything exciting happen at school today?"

Califia felt N'Jobu's eyes on her face as she watched Erik tuck into his plate of rice and spicy plantains.

"No," Erik said reaching for a bowl of cauliflower.

She felt N'Jobu's foot nudge her ankle under the table.

"Erik, your mom wants to go up for her final cord at the next baptisado in Sao Paulo."

Erik's eyes got big. Califia spooned a bit of rice into her mouth. "For real, Mom?"

"Yep. You feel like training with me, maybe go for your next cord too?'

"Yeah!" he said, his eyes shining with excitement.

"Auntie Li is running for city council again, so we're going to help her out while we're there. That means we'll be gone for a while. Are you cool with that?"

"Yep!"

"Good. Baba will get the tickets for us early…but Erik, that means you'll miss computer camp this year."

"That's okay, I've been coding some stuff on my own and I can catch up on what I missed with Walter. His mom is finally letting him go this summer."

"That's good to hear," she said.

They ate more food and talked about mundane things, and Erik watched Califia interact with his father with great intent. When they were enjoying a slice of Nana's famous coconut cake, Erik seemed fidgety.

"What's wrong, JaJa?" Califia asked.

"Mom, can I ask you something?"

Califia glanced over at N'Jobu and his calm eyes telegraphed nothing out of the ordinary.

"Sure, go ahead, baby."

Erik's eyes drifted over to N'Jobu's and then he sat up a bit in his seat.

"What was it about Baba that made you like him so much?"

Califia felt her heart flutter. He was trying to share his new feelings with her in a round-about -way.

"Did you like him when you first met him?"

"She did not, Son—"

"Wait! When I first met you, I was in the middle of something important—"

"You barely wanted to give me the time of day—"

"I was starving—"

"So that's a no?" Erik asked.

Califia picked at her cake.

"I found your father interesting. And handsome…but he was already going after another girl when I met him."

"For real, Baba?"

Califia stuck a big bite of cake into her mouth and stared at N'Jobu. His face looked stricken, like he had betrayed his own son by being with another woman before her.

"Uh—" N'Jobu said.

"Uh, nothing. I was in the middle of talking to your father about his bracelet when this other girl walked right in front of me and took him away. Just like that!" Califia snapped her fingers. Erik's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Who could be better than my mother, Baba?"

"Say that, baby. Answer your son. Who could be better than moi?"

She could see already that N'Jobu wanted her to shut up. She could also see that glint in his eye that told her he was going to get her back later. Hopefully in bed.

"We were in University. Uncle Bakari wanted me to meet some new people so that's what I was doing. I met a lot of people there that night. Not just your mother."

"So what made you pick her?"

N'Jobu folded his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table while looking Califia dead in her face.

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

Califia felt water prick her eyes, but she tried to hold back any tears. When she glanced back over at Erik, his bright eyes studied her face and she started to cry.

"Come here, girl," N'Jobu said reaching his arm out for her.

Califia moved out of her seat and sat on his lap. She buried her face in his neck and he stroked her back.

"Hey…hey…you know that's what you mean to me…" N'Jobu whispered in her ear.

Califia wiped her eyes and turned to face Erik. She cleared her throat and sat up on N'Jobu's lap so that she was leaning into him.

"One time I was visiting a museum with your father. We were looking at blankets and pictures from his country. We were still getting to know each other. Not exactly friends, but getting there. I asked him if he could take me to one place in his country, he said it was this river that was like a natural sauna. I was looking up at his face and I thought I could be with him forever. That was also the day he first kissed me—"

"Aye, you kissed me first!"

"Oh yeah, I did—"

"That's when all that started?" Erik asked.

"Yeah," Califia said staring at N'Jobu, ready to take his lips in hers right then and there.

Erik stood up and walked over to them. He wrapped his arms around Califia's waist and placed his head on her chest.

"I'm glad you found each other. I think you should apologize to Mom for letting that other woman interrupt your first meeting, Baba," Erik said.

"Apologize!" Califia demanded and N'Jobu kissed her instead.

Chapter 15 HERE.

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