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felassan · 1 day ago

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Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 5. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Two, Post Three, Post Four]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "I agree, the Necropolis IS gorgeous, I was blessed with wonderful level artists, lighting artists, and a fantastic LD who poured their hearts into making it it." [source]

Sylvia: ""But what does Manfred think about Spite?" Good question. Manfred is curious, as always, and can probably sense Spite's on his own plane of existence (in other words, another spirit.) But Manfred also doesn't have a greatly evolved sense of danger, he might not understand Spite's "moodier" moments. I also think Manfred isn't as sophisticated a spirit as Spite at the start of the game. (Though don't let Emmrich catch you saying that!)" [source, two]

Sylvia on Emmrich: "He was a team effort, and I have to especially thank the writers and editors for their early feedback that helped shape him. Emmrich wouldn't have worked as well otherwise." [source]

Sylvia: "it's a huge honour to work on a character who's someone's favorite anything, let alone romance. (Huge props to Allegra, her actor, who just got Josie right away.)" [source]

Sylvia: ""With Cassandra being our only POV into Nevarra" Poor Cassandra. (Emmrich has such respect for her uncle's books!) "There's a lot of deep respect and empathy for all the ways people relate with death and I appreciate it"" Thanks, that was something I'd so hoped would come through." [source]

Sylvia: "It really was a team that brought Emmrich, the Necropolis, and the rest of its guardians to life, I know everyone would be thrilled to know you enjoyed it so much." [source]

User: "Emmrich's fear of mortality really hit hard. Some of those lines are etched into my heart now. Thanks to everyone who helped put that deeply relatable and human experience into the game" // Sylvia: "It was kind of the core of Emmrich, writing the part where he opens up about his fears, so thank you for sharing that, it means a lot." [source]

Sylvia: "I loved writing the MW branches and letting people be a nerdier flavour of Rook with Emmrich." [source]

User: "Nevarra, Mourn Watch and in particular Emmrich's personal missions were amazing! The whimsical and the grotesque in perfect balance. When I replay next year I'll be looking forward to those missions the most!" // Sylvia: "Especial praise goes to the level designers for tackling a bunch of complex stuff in those missions as we planned them out." [source]

Sylvia: "I think we can all agree Emmrich might be a touch eccentric, but I really wanted his interests and compassionate outlook to be heartfelt, so this is lovely to hear." [source]

User: "I was so nervous about the whole Necropolis gang as I have PTSD and a major fear of death. So when Emmrich confided in Rook about his own fear, I was struck with such an unexpected comfort. I've never heard someone describe my own fears and how they make me feel so perfectly." // Sylvia: "Thank you, Bibi. It's a very familiar fear for me as well, and I find sometimes talking about it can ease things. So I'm very glad to hear Emmrich's thoughts on it were helpful for you." [source]

Sylvia: "I like a good sinister necromancer, but really wanted to try something different with the Mourn Watch, something more akin to a sacred duty." [source]

Sylvia on the Necropolis: "The concept, lighting, and level artists, and the level designer, did so much cool stuff there IMO. Seeing it with the final art and lighting in for the first time was a thrill for me too." [source]

User: "special thanks for the Terry Pratchett references in the form and speech of Vorgoth. I don't know exactly whose idea it was, but it was great!" // Sylvia: "Aw thank you so much! Re: Terry Pratchett: oh man, I read nearly every Discworld book multiple times, absolute favorites growing up." [source]

User: "I kinda of assumed that Emmrich just calculates age in academia terms, so no matter how many physical years old your Rook is, you're just a tiny baby who hasn't completed a necromancy phd. "When I was your age" = "When I was a TA."" // Sylvia: "Yes, yes that math checks out." [source]

User on Emmrich: "how refreshing it was to have an argument with a LI that’s specific to their relationship. It gives the characters such texture and dimension!" // Sylvia: "Aw thank you! I liked the tone range we ended up having between everyone, it was more rewarding to do." [source]

User: "Would you guys ever expand more on Nevarra and its culture? I loved seeing the Necropolis, and hope we revisit it. But I'll be honest when I say it made me curious what life in Nevarra is like, and how infused Nevarra's Mortalitasi are with average Nevarran life." // Sylvia: "Since I've left the company, that's not really in my hands, so there's not much I can say. But I get what you mean, because the Mourn Watch are a subbranch of the Mortalitasi with a very special field of study and service. We don't really get much about everyday Nevarra. So whoever tackles that in the future, if they ever do: I think that could be neat. Lots of room to explore different dynamics and customs!" [source, two]

User: "I adore Emmrich, he's so sweet & so thoughtful! I especially adore his love for flowers, and I personally interpreted that as a hint from the writers (you!) that choosing to embrace his fleeting mortality, like the fleeting beauty of flowers, was his "good" path - is that correct? What's your take?" // Sylvia: "I tried really hard to make either choice feel like it could be the right one for him, because I wanted it to be more about a player's own interpretation-and their relationship with him-than author fiat hinting at which one is correct. Also thank you for the kind words! I really liked writing Emmrich enthusing about flowers." [source, two] // User: "He's such a charming character, the vibes of him and Josephine are among some of my favorites in the series, thank you for helping to shape them and for being kind enough to answer my question! Do you, personally, have a preference for which choice Emmrich makes? It's a tough call to make in game!" // Sylvia: "I'm afraid, like a coward, I've not stated a preference because I don't want to accidentally influence people into thinking one was right or not. I'm also in a weird place where as the person writing him, my thoughts are far less subjective in weird recursive ways. If that makes sense." [source]

User: "do you have a favorite flower? It was such a lovely detail in Emmrich's character and it warms my heart to know writing that was enjoyable for you" // Sylvia: "It kind of changes depending on what's growing during the season, but while it's very common, you can't beat the scent of a rose. (Fond of lilacs too)" [source]

User: "Did you have any role in Manfred's wisp being lilac when/if you bring him back? That detail made me bawl 😭 Manfred was so shaped by "living" with Emmrich that his essence became Em's favorite color?! The only wisp we see to do so?" // Sylvia: "I wish! I actually don't know who did that. I'd assume that colour was chosen by one of our animators, or maybe the LD, so perhaps they added in that detail, which is adorable. (Carly, Derek Wilks, was this either of you?)" [source] // Derek Wilks: "I think that was someone in VFX actually!" [source]

Sylvia: "Glad you enjoyed the graveyard date, our animators and music director did wonders there." [source]

User: "Can you give us any hints on when Dorian spent some time at the necropolis? I need to know their circumstances for science (how old was Dorian back then? I could imagine he had a crush on the professor lol)" // Sylvia: "I'm going to chicken out and not pin that down (sorry.) Since I've left BW, my answer would be even more non-canonical than usual, because that would've been something I'd have wanted to talk over with the other writers. But by that same token, nothing I've said invalidates what you want to imagine." [source]

Sylvia on Emmrich: "I am flattered to hear he has become a favorite romance, the team went all out on him." [source] // Sylvia: "So many people worked on those scenes: animation, art, audio, the editors, and huge kudos to his actor Nick Borraine." [source]

Sylvia: "I THINK Emmrich is 6'2 or 6'3, but you'd need a character artist to confirm." [source]

User: "Do the necromancers of the Grand Necropolis have their own sort of culture? Like perhaps their own rituals for marriage, courting, etc.?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. Good question. I'm sure they have some individual quirks and traditions, like any long-running institution. But they probably don't deviate unrecognizably from the mortalitasi norm." [source]

Sylvia: ""i also played a trans rook, and some of emmrich's content for a romanced trans rook made for probably some of the best romance content of all time for me." That's so nice to hear, and I must give credit to some trans people who kindly took the time to give me feedback that made those lines better." [source]

User: "1) are Tevinter exchange students like Dorian common? 2) what are some of the other fraternities of the Mortalitasi? 3) do members of the Mourn Watch often attend social events with the Nevarran elite like other Mortalitasi?" // Sylvia: "1) Yeah, I think they're not uncommon. I took my inspiration from The Grand Tour, and thought it would make sense if Tevinter sent out some of the wealthier scions to see the world a little, pick up a few new spells. [link] 2) I'm afraid I've deliberately left this one blank, for future people to fill in if/when the need arises. Emmrich complains about the palace necromancers, so we do know there's a special cadre of mortalitasi running the show over there. 3. Absolutely. The MW are pretty prestigious in Nevarra with their running the Grand Necropolis. Much as Emmrich dislikes politics himself, there's probably a lot going on at the top." [source, two, three]

User: "Do you think Lich Emmrich would eventually be told by the Lich Lords to sever his mortal ties and return with them to the depths of the Necropolis? It seems like he’s willing to break all their rules to keep Rook with him" // Sylvia: "I'm afraid defining Emmrich's duties/responsibilities/required conduct as a lich would very much be something I'd leave up to the future (even if I were still at BW.) Kind of too big a topic for me to want to speculate here." [source]

User: "did you have a hand in designing how emmrich looks?" // Sylvia: "Yep, I gave feedback as his design progressed. Our concept artists really got him very early on, though, so it was smaller stuff." [source] // User: "was he at all inspired by Peter Cushing & his hammer film characters? He really gives off van Helsing vibes to me" // Sylvia: "Time permitting I want to do a post on influences, but you got it in one exactly. It was specifically the Hammer films I was thinking about!" [source] // User: "would Rudolph van Richten from Curse of Strahd be on his list of influences?" // Sylvia: "I'm afraid, to my shame, I never read much of the core Ravenloft books, so that one's a no." [source]

User: "I needed you to know that Emmerich's conversation in the Memorial Gardens about his thanaphobia really got me. I could never put the words together of what thanaphobia feels like, and his description is perfect." // Sylvia: "It's a familiar feeling to me as well, and I'm glad it rang true." [source]

User: "I've got a really severe death phobia that's been flaring recently, and emmrich's conversation about it captured the feeling perfectly and helped lessen the weight for me" // Sylvia: "I find at least discussing it can ease it, sometimes, so I'm very glad to hear getting to know Emmrich helped in that way." [source]

Sylvia: "Hezenkoss was a blast to write so I'm glad she clicked for you. "preposterous is what you wore to a bog, Orlesian" Oh wow, Skywatcher! It's been an age, so glad that line stuck with you. That takes me back!" [source]

Sylvia: ""And yet I ask the question - what attracts Emmerich to the Hand? Yes, the answer is “perseverance”, but I think this is not fully explored." Do you mean the Hand of Glory specifically? He's intrigued and disturbed by the magic around it, which is why he hones on it, even before he knows its origin" [source]

Sylvia: ""I was wondering if you could tell us about his & Manfred's first meeting or notable moments in their friendship?" This feels like something I'd probably want to leave more to the imagination. And because I'm not a BW anymore, answers would be even more non-canonical than normal. All that said, for some reason, I always pictured Emmrich being alone in the Necropolis the first time Manfred's wisp floated up to him to peer at what he was doing. It just seems a little more poignant that way." [source, two]

Sylvia: "All credit to the team, especially the writers and editors who gave feedback that made [Emmrich] so much better during those early days and beyond." [source]

User: "me + a handful of people were wondering about non-mage mourn watchers! id love to hear your notes/thoughts about them! b/c i didnt remember hearing how they become MW or if reaper uses death magic!" // Sylvia: "Sure! Not much to say, though, I think the MW is likely a mage majority fraternity that accepts a few non-mages who have exceptional skills and temperaments sympathetic to the Necropolis. A warrior of great renown, a rogue of exceptional stealth and quiet, a baby found down there in a grave, and so forth. They'd certainly undergo the same kind of oaths and bindings every Watcher goes through. I always pictured them being provided with the best enchanted gear the MW has to offer too." [source, two]

User: "Hi! About Emmerich being a professor—does he teach at a Circle, or is he specifically a professor to other MWers and Mortalitasi? It seems like the MW has some sort of official schooling for its members since he regularly takes on students each year, could you comment on that at all?" // Sylvia: ""It seems like the MW has some sort of official schooling for its members since he regularly takes on students each year, could you comment on that at all? " Sure, but I think you have it, the MW seems to want to raise well-rounded students with a classical education on top of magecraft. In my mind, it was because they saw every MW as representing the Grand Necropolis, so of course they wanted its members to have training in etiquette and history and generally be able to move in polite society." [source, two]

User: "If I remember correctly, we only really see Emmrich use necromantic magic in-game. Are there other types of magic (elemental, healing/spirit, etc) that you think he would gravitate toward?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. He does have a bit of healing magic, mechanically in combat. It coudl work, but somehow I don't think Emmrich would ever be a high-level healer. He could maybe get the basics but it's not his great gift. Something about the gravic magic of the force mage specialty feels appropriate though." [source]

Sylvia: ""would it be possible for a (romanced) MW Rook join Emmrich in linchdom, eventually?" Yes: Rook can try, bc it's not forbidden to seek the knowledge out. (Emmrich makes it clear Hezenkoss pieced some of it together herself, so we've also seen another mage get it almost-right) It is very hard and probably takes decades to accomplish (and of course, there's no guarantee Rook would survive.) But everything written in game points to there being a chance." [source, two]

User: "I’ve been thinking a little about it and I know it’s mentioned in the game he would be interested in visiting - but how would Emmrich feel about visiting the Avvar in the south? They are one of the few groups that show respect for spirits in a similar way and I imagine he’d have a lot of questions." // Sylvia: "He'd probably love it. He'd be fascinated by their relationship with spirits, in the ways it mirrors and deviates from the Mourn Watchers' own practices. (I imagine there is also like a 15% chance he gets into a heated argument with one of them over a fine point of how spirits work exactly.)" [source]

User: "congratulations on another achievement, Emmrich took the silver trophy" // Sylvia: "I was so excited to see we'd gotten the silver trophy! I hope everyone who worked on him sees that." [source]

User: "Is there anywhere we can follow your future work after this account gets shut down ?" // Sylvia: "TBH I'll probably just reopen it it there's any cool news to share since I don't have a website or anything. (I THINK I can just reactivate it?)" [source]

User: "Thank you for Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet, emmrich, Liara and Leigon!!!!" // Sylvia: "Thank you! (I should mention I was only a part of Legion in ME3 - specifically the N7 mission into the Geth Consensus. Great fun to work on that level though.)" [source]

Sylvia: "I'm lucky to have had the chance to bring Emmrich and Josephine to you all with the rest of the team." [source]

Sylvia: ""I still remember when you introduced yourself on old BSN when Lair of the Shadow Broker came out." Wow, you're right I did! That is a blast from the past. Thank you for the kind words!" [source]

User: "Just wanted to say thank you for all the amazing characters you helped bring to life in DA and ME. I really enjoyed Emmrich and Hezenkoss in DAV. The dynamic between them really made me laugh" // Sylvia: "Thanks! That was one of my favorite pairs to write, the history between them meant everything was always a little more personal, which is always fun." [source]

Sylvia: "Thanks Janette, loved writing Hollix." [source]

User: "Elements of Emmerich's costume resemble the Cerberus logo from ME. Is this just a reference or is there something more to it?" // Sylvia: "Gee, I can't say for sure because I didn't make it, but I'd assume that one's just a coincidence (since the Mourn Watch and Necropolis use hexagonal shapes as their primary shape language)" [source]

User: "I can just tell how well Emmrich is written along his fear. I lost my fear of death and dying as I began to honor the dead." // Sylvia: "I do think talking and thinking about these things more than we normally do helps eases the fear." [source]

Sylvia: "Thank you for these lovely thoughts. I did read some books about different customs around death, and I know a little about pagan/occult/magic practices (in a very basic and generalist sense.) So it doesn't surprise me per se, but I am very glad to hear getting to know Emmrich was a positive thing. And I'm also very glad to hear he's someone you feel you can take into the future with you as a helpful friend." [source, two]

Sylvia: ""Does Emmrich have any guilty pleasures?" Huh. Excellent question. I should really be more decisive about my own character, but while I think that could be fun, I'm not sure what it would be. "Oh one other question , is there a part of thedas you wish you could of explored but wasn't able to be in game?" I've always been interested in the sinister sounding Sea of Ash. What goes on over there???" [source, two]

User: "i have a silly little question bc i also love emmrich. was his scene revealing lichdom to everyone meant to parallel a trans coming out or was that accidental? because i felt on an existential level the thrill of revealing who you are, but also fearing people would be afraid or treat you differently. (and then there's strife discussions, and putting up a glamour some places but not others, and the blooming but gentle self-confidence... he is very transgender to me)" // Sylvia: "Not a silly question at all! After writing the scene I wondered if people would see similarities because of those overlapping themes you pointed out: the dignity of bodily self-determination, revealing your true self to those you love, fear of rejection, hope for acceptance. But during the writing, I mostly approached becoming undead as its own thing, because I wanted to ground it in the MW's particular philosophy. I think there's parallels because of the way the human personal is universal, if that makes sense. That said, if this does feel very transgender to you or anyone else (or not), I'm not against varied interpretations. That's one of the cool things about seeing people actually get their hands on your work." [source, two, three]

User: "I'm not sure what Emmrich's hairstyle is, slickback?" // Sylvia: "Good question. Afraid I don't know what it'd be called either. Googling it, slickback LOOKS correct?" [source]

User: "Emmrich has definitely developed a special bond with Bellara and Lucanis, and yet, both of them don't comment on his relationship with Rook! What would you say their reaction was? Their banter was so good I'm sure we'd all love to know what Emmrich had to say!" // Sylvia: "Ah, that one I'm afraid I can't answer since I'm not their writer, and that would've been something I would've discussed with the narrative team together. Sorry!" [source]

Sylvia: "Nick was indeed brilliant!" [source]

User: "Ive got quite bad thanatophobia and Emmerich's writing is one of the only times I've seen that dealt with actually respectfully." // Sylvia: "Thanks very much! I've experienced that fear, and I suspect it's way more common than we think, and I'm glad to hear it felt that way to you." [source]

User: "My HOF was a spirit healer, very kind & very curious, & for years I've considered how that special connection to spirits might lend itself to an interest in Thedan necromancy & puzzling out where spirits & souls begin & end. Emmrich, Manfred/Curiosity and the wisps gave me so much to think about!" // Sylvia: "that's interesting about your HOF. They may've found some kindred spirits if they ever ventured further north." [source]

User: [was] "Dorian was taken over by a nominated writer for veilguard or if his legacy was more of a team effort ?" // Sylvia: "Dorian was in the capable hands of Writer Chee" [source]

User: "I’m also dying to know what Emmrich did during Rook's stint in the prison-my thought is he not only did the majority of the work on finding Rook, but in leading the team, prob finishing touches on the dagger clone, keeping the team together in Rook’s absence while barely holding himself together at times" // Sylvia: "I think he was indeed having some very sleepless, guilt-wracked nights, working himself too hard, and trying his best on that dagger." [source]

User: "I just wanted to tell you that I love Emmrich's part of the lighthouse the books the fact that it's right next to rook's room and that johanna is in it later and that you can talk to her" // Sylvia: "Thank you! I love what the level artist there did, it's such a cozy den of a place. And I'm glad you liked meeting Hezenkoss afterwards, all praise to the level and tech designers who got her in there." [source]

User: "Are the Watchers overall vegetarian, or was it a personal preference Emmrich developed?" // Sylvia: "I think it's a thing among some Watchers, but not all. Because they think a lot about life and death and the cycle of life, and their place in it, and what constitutes a death they feel comfortable with or not. My actual, original inspiration for it was from an old Call of Cthulhu TRPG book about Miskatonic University, set in the 1920s. There was a great little detail about the campus having a cafeteria that serves vegetarians. And when I read it, I got a little jolt because I was so used to vegetarianism in North America being portrayed as a relatively modern movement. But of COURSE there's always exceptions and cultural enclaves and so on. Just one of those moments you feel your understanding of what we were up to in the past shift a little, even if it felt obvious in retrospect." [source, two, three, four]

Sylvia re: writing Manfred: "Yep, Manfred was my guy too." [source]

Sylvia: "I'm glad you enjoyed meeting our gentleman necromancer. (Full credit to the great feedback I got from the other writers and editors early on, he wouldn't be as good without them.)" [source]

User: "I was curious I know none of emmrich's serious relationships ended up panning out But like did any of them get to the point that him and his partner at the time shared a living space I'm wondering if emmrich has ever lived with anyone besides manfred" // Sylvia: "That's an interesting question. Like a coward I will hedge my bets, but I could MAYBE see a few. Not many though." [source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #dragon age 5 #lgbtq #mass effect #dragon age: tevinter nights #strife

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burntblueberrywaffles · 2 months ago

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Talking with Snowbaird antis like

#‘if you read the book you would know he’s terri-‘ and if I read the book and love him anyway #what then #He’s a bitch but he’s MY bitch boy ❤️#tbosas #snowbaird #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #coryolucy #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x lucy gray #burntblueberrywaffles #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas memes #tbosas meme #the ballad of songbirds and snakes meme #the ballad of songbirds and snakes memes #blue makes memes

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 9 months ago

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for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

#good omens #neil gaiman #sir terry pratchett #good omens show #good omens fandom #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 11 months ago

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From the Neil Gaiman: Dream Dangerously :) (you can watch it here in US or with US vpn :) <;3) (or just this bit on youtube here :))

Terry Pratchett: One day he rang me up and said, "I've started a book and, I think it's good, but I haven't the faintest idea where it goes." So, I said, "All right, well, send me the pages." And I read it and wrote him back and said, "I don't know where it goes either, but I do know what happens next."

Neil Gaiman: I was pretty much nocturnal then, so I would write my chunk of Good Omens before I went to bed, and I'd go to sleep about five o'clock in the morning and I'd get up about one o'clock in the afternoon and my answering machine would be flashing on, and I'd press the button and a voice would say, "Get up, get up you lazy bastard, I've just written a good bit."

Terry Pratchett: We did it as a kind of holiday, because if it crashed and burned, nobody would notice.

#good omens #gointerviewedit #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #terry and neil #terry interview #interview #neil interview #gnu terry pratchett #neil gaiman dream dangerously #fun fact #btb #dream dangerously #❤#get up get up you lazy bastard I've just written a good bit

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4pfsukuna · 4 months ago

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She want a big dawg

Inspo: that trend on tiktok and yall know the one. Somebody made a edit to him to this and i seen the vision. Plus the girlies been saying they tired of smutt so

warning: its purely fluff; 865 word

Being ex military Terry always felt like he was on guard— being a light sleeper, always scoping the scenery out, early morning 6 mile bike rides but there was just something about you that put him at ease.

You were so soft, gentle, always finding the humor in something even if you did have a bit of a dark sense of humor. The scent of coconut always lingered on your smooth skin and your lips stayed pink and glossy no matter how much you licked them.

The way you thought you could command him to do something even being nearly half his size when all he had to do was give you complete eye contact and you would fold like a lawn chair. All you had to do was bat those pretty brown eyes up at him and that man would build you a house anything to keep that smile on your face.

And in the evenings he loves sitting on the porch with you more specifically he’ll come find you wherever you are in the house, wrap his large arms around you and carry you listening to you rant about your day, or whatever book you were reading or whatever you see on social media.

“She dont want no puppy she want a big dog” you sing for the fourth time since he picked you up holding you with just one arm as if you weighed nothing and he just chuckles at you when you place a bunch of kisses on his face.

“You better chill before you start something mama” he leaves a peck on your lips watching the way you look at him with so much love and admiration like he hung the sun moon and stars in the sky just for you.

Ignoring him you squeeze him tighter in a hug loving the way he kisses the top of your head pulling you closer inhaling his scent feeling the humidity kiss your skin the minute he walks to the porch swing. down south was always warm but nothing could beat the warmth of your embrace.

“Babe, you know how much I love you?” You smile up at him tightening your legs around his waist and he holds your face in both of his large palms pecking your forehead, then nose and finally lips.

“What silly little tic tac trend you trying to trick me into now?” He asks, reading you like an open book watching the way your jaw drops. He knew when you were sweet talking him and what for too— you had been singing that song that one specific part for the past two days.

“Its tik tok! And what you think you know me or something?” You playfully scrunch your face up pushing your long dark curls that fell from your bun out your face. He chuckles, angling his head down to you watching you squirm instantly. No matter how long yall was together it was certain things he did that still gave you butterflies and made you nervous.

“Baby girl don't insult me, of course i know you” and he pulls you back to him tightly closing his eyes enjoying the sound of nature as day turns into evening. “And i know if you keep pulling away from me imma have to really pin you down”

Terrys love language actually was physical touch, loved having you in his arms, carrying you, waking up in the morning to you still cuddled up to him or when he’s making breakfast and your little arms wrap around his waist grumbling about him leaving you and the bed being cold without him. Or when it’s your turn to cook dinner and he steals kisses knowing you don’t like to be bothered when you cook, always successfully fishing when you swat at him for trying to steal food from the pot. So who were you to deny this time as if your love language isn't spending time together.

You finally settle in his arms, head on his chest yet halfway on his upper arm and he sinks further into the swing slowly rocking it back and forth, left arm running up and down your back unaware of your antics until something catches his ear.

“She dont want no puppy” the music plays and you try to sit up as if he made empty threats tightening his biceps around your shoulders, he definitely was not against pinning you down. “She want a big dawg”

Opening his eyes he looks down at you watching how contempt you look with him squeezing tightly around you not even bothered in the slightest only looking up when you see him looking at you through the camera.

“Ok ok im done go ahead put your old man music on” you giggle happily. you got your video and his muscles were wrapped tightly around you, even placing a kiss on his bare chest before laying back down. Ignoring your slick comment he puts on redbone by childish gambino and like clockwork your hands start running over his back and arms slowly and softly turning him into putty, unraveling his muscles slowly putting him at ease like you always do.

#terry richmond x y/n #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond smut #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black reader

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megamindsecretlair · 3 months ago

Text

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

Taglist: You guys, ya'll gon make me cry with this taglist! Thank you!

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catsvrsdogscatswin · 8 months ago

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I started reading Discworld earlier this year –because I figured it's a cultural treasure and I may as well get around to it by now– and like, I knew something about Terry's ability to sneak underhanded puns into the texts –I've seen the posts. I'd also read Good Omens, even if at that point I couldn't disentangle who was writing what.

So I entered the books fully like the Stay back, slut meme, except regarding wordplay. I was reading with a fine-toothed comb. I was squinting at every name and testing every phoneme. Not necessarily because I don't like puns or didn't enjoy the idea of getting caught by surprise, mind you, just that I'd heard very good things about Terry Prachett's humor and I didn't want to miss any of his jokes and with wordplay stuff if you don't catch it, you'll never know it existed.

I caught a lot of stuff, and even when I didn't get some of the references (the series stretches across a lot of decades I wasn't born in) I could still at least tell when he was making them. I made it out of my grand read with a pat on the back and a certain pleasure in the knowledge that I had enough pop-culture and etymological awareness to not let Terry pull a fast one on me.

In classic Pratchett fashion, turns out I was dead wrong.

I was rereading Soul Music, because even if I'm late to the party I still enjoyed the Discworld books immensely, and I got to the scene where a bunch of schmucks with no music knowledge (or talent) are infected by the spirit of rock n' roll and descend in a horde upon a guitar shop. The owner starts off trying to sell them decent instruments, but, soon realizing his new flow of customers couldn't play a triangle and are more interested in the look of the thing anyways, he promptly starts pulling out his scrappiest, crappiest pseudo-instruments (Ankh-Morpok, amiright) and sticking a bunch of paint, glitter, and ankh-stones on them for the look of things before selling them at marked-up prices.

Ankh-stones were first mentioned in Sourcery, I think, and were used in the creation of the fake Archchancellor's hat. They get mentioned in other books on and off as a source of bedazzlement that's pretty clearly meant to be a riff on rhinestones. First time I read about them, I went "oh what a nice little bit of worldbuilding, of course some gems would get named after local stuff" and thought no more on it. But like…

Ankh-stones.

Rhinestones. Rhine-stones.

The infamously nasty River Ankh that flows(?) through Ankh-Morpok, and the River Rhine, a real river that exists.

I just about swore and hit the table when I clocked that one, because I went into the series ready for it, I was looking for it, and Terry still fuckin' got me good.

#Terry Pratchett #Soul Music #Discworld #GNU Terry Pratchett

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denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

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'...“It’s fun playing bad, but actually he’s not,” the actor says, smiling as he reflects on his character, Crowley. “He’s a villain with a heart. The amount of really evil things he does are vanishingly small.”

...As it always has, “Good Omens” dissects the view of good and evil as absolutes, showing viewers that they are not as separate as we were led to believe growing up. Aziraphale and Crowley’s long-standing union is proof of this. The show also urges people to look at what defines our own humanity. For Tennant — who opted to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Leave trans kids alone you absolute freaks” during a photocall for Season 2 — these themes are more important now than ever before.

“In this society that we’re currently living in, where polarization seems ever more present, fierce and difficult to navigate. Negotiation feels like a dirty word at times,” he says, earnestly. “This is a show about negotiation. Two extremes finding common ground and making their world a better place through it. Making life easier, kinder and better. If that’s the sort of super objective of the show, then I can’t think of anything more timely, relevant or apt for the rather fractious times we’re living in.”

“Good Omens” is back by popular demand for another season. How does it feel?

It’s lovely. Whenever you send something out into the world, you never quite know how it will land. Especially with this, because it was this beloved book that existed, and that creates an extra tension that you might break some dreams. But it really exploded. I guess we were helped by the fact that we had Neil Gaiman with us, so you couldn’t really quibble too much with the decisions that were being made. The reception was, and continues to be, overwhelming.

Now that you’re no longer bound by the original material that people did, perhaps, feel a sense of ownership over, does the new content for Season 2 come with a sense of freedom for you? This is uncharted territory, of sorts.

That’s an interesting point. I didn’t know the book when I got the script. It was only after that I discovered the worlds of passion that this book had incited. Because I came to it that way, perhaps it was easier. I found liberation from that, to an extent. For me, it was always a character that existed in a script. At first, I didn’t have that extra baggage of expectation, but I acquired it in the run-up to Season 1 being released… the sense that suddenly we were carrying a ming vase across a minefield.

In Season 2, we still have Neil and we also have some of the ideas that he and Terry had discussed. During the filming of the first one, Neil would drop little hints about the notions they had for a prospective sequel, the title of which would have been “668: The Neighbour of the Beast,” which is a pretty solid gag to base a book around. Indeed there were elements like Gabriel and the Angels, who don’t feature in the book, that were going to feature in a sequel. They were brought forward into Season 1. So, even in the new episodes, we’re not entirely leaving behind the Terry Pratchett-ness of it all.

It’s great to see yourself and Michael Sheen reunited on screen as these characters. Fans will have also watched you pair up for Season 3 of “Staged.” You’re quite the dynamic duo. What do you think is the magic ingredient that makes the two of you such a good match?

It’s a slightly alchemical thing. We knew each other in passing before, but not well. We were in a film together [“Bright Young Things,” 1993] but we’d never shared a scene. It was a bit of a roll of the dice when we turned up at the read-through for “Good Omens.” I think a lot comes from the writing, as we were both given some pretty juicy material to work with. Those characters are beloved for a reason because there’s something magical about them and the way they complete each other. Also, I think we’re quite similar actors in the way we like to work and how we bounce off each other.

Does the shorthand and trust the two of you have built up now enable you to take more risks on-screen?

Yes, probably. I suppose the more you know someone, the more you trust someone. You don’t have to worry about how an idea might be received and you can help each other out with a more honest opinion than might be the case if you were, you know, dancing around each other’s nervous egos. Enjoying being in someone’s orbit and company is a positive experience. It makes going to work feel pleasant, productive, and creative. The more creative you can be, the better the work is. I don’t think it’s necessarily a given that an off-screen relationship will feed into an on-screen one in a positive or negative way. You can play some very intimate moments with someone you barely know. Acting is a peculiar little contract, in that respect. But it’s disproportionately pleasurable going to work when it’s with a mate.

Fans have long discussed the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. In Season 2, we see several of the characters debate whether the two are an item, prompting them to look at their union and decipher what it is. How would you describe their relationship?

They are utterly co-dependent. There’s no one else having the experience that they are having and they’ve only got each other to empathize with. It’s a very specific set of circumstances they’ve been dealt. In this season, we see them way back at the creation of everything. They’ve known each other a long time and they’ve had to rely on each other more and more. They can’t really exist one without the other and are bound together through eternity. Crowley and Aziraphale definitely come at the relationship with different perspectives, in terms of what they’re willing to admit to the relationship being. I don’t think we can entirely interpret it in human terms, I think that’s fair to say.

Yet fans are trying to do just that. Do you view it as beyond romantic or any other labels, in the sense that it’s an eternal force?

It’s lovely [that fans discuss it] but you think, be careful what you wish for. If you’re willing for a relationship to go in a certain way or for characters to end up in some sort of utopian future, then the story is over. Remember what happened to “Moonlighting,” that’s all I’m saying! [Laughs]

Your father-in-law, Peter Davison, and your son, Ty Tennant, play biblical father-and-son duo Job and Ennon in Episode 2. In a Tumblr Q&A, Neil Gaiman said that he didn’t know who Ty’s family was when he cast him. When did you become aware that Ty had auditioned?

I don’t know how that happened. I do a bunch of self-tapes with Ty, but I don’t think I did this one with him because I was out of town filming “Good Omens.” He certainly wasn’t cast before we started shooting. There were two moments during filming where Neil bowled up to me and said, “Guess, who we’ve cast?” Ty definitely auditioned and, as I understand it, they would tell me, he was the best. I certainly imagine he could only possibly have been the best person for the job. He is really good in it, so I don’t doubt that’s true. And then my father-in-law showed up, as well, which was another delicious treat. In the same episode and the same family! It was pretty weird. I have worked with both of them on other projects, but never altogether.

There’s a “Doctor Who” cameo, of sorts, in Episode 5, when Aziraphale uses a rare annual about the series as a bartering tool. In reality, you’ll be reprising your Time Lord role on screen later this year in three special episodes to mark the 60th anniversary. Did you always feel you’d return to “Doctor Who” at some point?

There’s a precedent for people who have been in the series to return for a multi-doctor show, which is lovely. I did it myself for the 50th anniversary in 2013, and I had a wonderful time with Matt [Smith]. Then, to have John Hurt with us, as well, was a little treat. But I certainly would never have imagined that I’d be back in “Doctor Who” full-time, as it were, and sort of back doing the same job I did all those years ago. It was like being given this delightful, surprise present. Russell T Davies was back as showrunner, Catherine Tate [former on-screen companion] was back, and it was sort of like the last decade and a half hadn’t happened.

Going forward, Ncuti Gatwa will be taking over as the new Doctor. Have you given him any advice while passing the baton?

Oh God, what a force of nature. I’ve caught a little bit of him at work and it’s pretty exciting. I mean, what advice would you give someone? You can see Ncuti has so much talent and energy. He’s so inspired and charismatic. The thing about something like this is: it’s the peripherals, it’s not the job. It’s the other stuff that comes with it, that I didn’t see coming. It’s a show that has so much focus and enthusiasm on it. It’s not like Ncuti hasn’t been in a massive Netflix series [“Sex Education,”] but “Doctor Who” is on a slightly different level. It’s cross-generational, international, and has so much history, that it feels like it belongs to everyone.

To be at the center of the show is wonderful and humbling, but also a bit overwhelming and terrifying. It doesn’t come without some difficulties, such as the immediate loss of anonymity. It takes a bit of getting used to if that’s not been your life up to that point. I was very lucky that when I joined, Billie Piper [who portrayed on-screen companion, Rose] was still there. She’d lived in a glare of publicity since she was 14, so she was a great guide for how to live life under that kind of scrutiny. I owe a degree of sanity to Billie.

Your characters are revered by a few different fandoms. Sci-fi fandoms are especially passionate and loyal. What is it like being on the end of that? I imagine it’s a lot to hold.

Yes, certainly. Having been a fan of “Doctor Who” since I was a tiny kid, you’re aware of how much it means because you’re aware of how much it meant to you. My now father-in-law [who portrayed Doctor Who in the 80s] is someone I used to draw in comic strips when I was a kid. That’s quite peculiar! It’s a difficult balance because on one end, you have to protect your own space, and there aren’t really any lessons in that. That does take a bit of trial and error, to an extent, and it’s something that you’re sometimes having to do quite publicly. But, it is an honor and a privilege, without a doubt. As you’ve said, it means so much to people and you want to be worthy of that. You have to acknowledge that and be careful with it. Some days that’s tough, if you’re not in the mood.

I know you’re returning to the stage later this year to portray Macbeth. You’ve previously voiced the role for BBC Sounds, but how are you feeling about taking on the character in the theater?

I’m really excited about it. It’s been a while since I’ve done Shakespeare. It’s very thrilling but equally — and this analogy probably doesn’t stretch — it’s like when someone prepares for an Olympic event. It does feel like a bit of a mountain and, yeah, you’re daring to set yourself up against some fairly worthy competition from down the years. That’s both the challenge and the horror of doing these types of things. We’ve got a great director, Max Webster, who recently did “Life of Pi.” He’s full of big ideas. It’s going to be exciting, thrilling, and a little bit scary. I’m just going to take a deep breath.

Before we part ways, let’s discuss the future of “Good Omens.” Gaiman has said that he already has ideas for Season 3, should it happen. If you were to do another season, is there anyone in particular you’d love to work with next time around or anything specific you’d like to see happen for Crowley?

Oh, Neil Gaiman knows exactly where he wants to take it. If you’re working with people like Gaiman, I wouldn’t try to tamper with that creative void. Were he to ask my opinion, that would be a different thing, but I can’t imagine he would. He’s known these characters longer than me and what’s interesting is what he does with them. That’s the bit that I’m desperate to know. I do know where Crowley might end up next, but it would be very wrong if I told you.

[At this point, Tennant picks up a pencil and starts writing on a hotel pad of paper.]

I thought you were going to write it down for me then. Perhaps like a clandestine meeting on a bench in St James’ Park, but instead you’d write the information down and slide it across the table…

I should have done! I was drawing a line, which obviously, psychologically, I was thinking, “Say no more. You’re too tempted to reveal a secret!” It was my subconscious going “Shut the fuck up!”

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 3 months ago

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HOUSE CALLS.

Professor!Terrence x Aaliyah

Summary: Aaliyh has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student.

Part One.

The combined elements of dark wood and a silver-painted metallic finish gave his desk an exquisite appearance within the lecture hall. The theater–like room was cloaked in silence and a gloomy ambiance from the constant downpour of rain. The occasional clearing of throats or shuffling of papers could be heard, but everyone clung on to his words as he leaned casually against his desk.

He was situated in front of the class, one hand reclined back to brace himself, while the other held a book within his grasp by its withering spine. He crossed his feet at the ankles, rounded, gold–rimmed specs hanging onto the bridge of his nose. His full lips moved in tandem with his educated words, blue–grey eyes flicking from the passage he was reading to the class of over thirty students before him.

“…Brain size in mammals is generally proportional to body size. Relative to body mass, humans have the largest brain. The chimpanzee brain has an approximate volume of 300 cm3; a gorilla’s is slightly larger. The human adult brain is more than three times larger, typically between 1,300 cm3 and 1,400 cm3. The brain is not only larger in humans than in apes but also much more complex. The cerebral cortex, where the higher cognitive functions are processed, is in humans proportionally much greater than the rest of the brain when compared with apes…”

He articulated his words fluently, deep baritone drawing you in like a breath of fresh air.

Aaliyah scribbled across her notepad with her iPad propped up in front of her, occasionally highlighting passages from the same book she’d downloaded. She had one too many books creating an almost mountainous pile within her bedroom. Thank goodness this was her last semester. She’d put off taking this combined Ethics and Psychology course, realizing she needed it to graduate.

The magnetic allure of her gaze blinked away from the Professor, the end of her red, ink pen situated between her heart–shaped lips. Her upturned eyes followed the movement of the Professor licking his thumb to turn a page. She crossed one shapely thigh over the other, the thick material of the navy blue sweats she wore cozy. Her small foot covered in old Vans bounced slightly, a habit she couldn’t control.

“…Humans live in groups that are socially organized, and so do other primates. But primate societies do not approach the complexity of human social organization. A distinctive human social trait is culture, which may be understood here as the set of non-strictly biological human activities and creations. Culture in this sense includes social and political institutions, ways of doing things, religious and ethical traditions, language, common sense and scientific knowledge, art and literature, technology, and in general all of the creations of the human mind. Culture “is a pool of technological and social innovations that people accumulate to help them live their lives…”

His patience, communication, and passion helped her pay attention, even though she couldn’t help but to fantasize and escape to a place where she could dream. It was the intuitive feeling within her. Beyond her squared, black frames, she found herself memorizing the shape of his elongated fingers cupping the book. The way he talked with his hands. So expressive. Voice so even toned and soft at times. She couldn’t be the only one captivated by her handsome Professor.

“I know it’s nearing time for us to leave,” He strolled lazily towards one of the large windows, “It’s really coming down out there. Well…why don’t we pick back up on Friday? Make sure you all submit your midterm papers. I’ve extended the due date…”

The class began to gather their things. Aaliyah didn’t make a fuss to leave just yet. From the Professor’s view, he peeked up at her from behind his desk, still sitting in her seat, chewing on her pouty, bottom lip with so much focus on her IPad. He didn’t bother her, taking that time to check his curriculum. Aaliyah’s silent presence didn’t bother him. So why bother her?

After thirty minutes, she stood, stretching her arms that were drowning in an oversized, graphic hoodie. Her silk pressed hair was styled in a low bun and medium–sized silver hoops decorated her ears. She threw her school bag over her shoulder and slipped from behind her desk, leaving the room. Before she reached the door, she turned back and caught the hypnotic eyes of her Professor. She gave him a silent wave and he returned the gesture with a small smile, watching her disappear from his eyes.

He couldn’t shake the twinge of sadness in her leaving.

——

As Friday rolled around, Aaliyah found herself running late for class. It was her own fault. She’d started a side hustle that earned her more money than what she’d gotten paid working remote for Verizon. It required a lot of her time, and she’d become so obsessed with it that her sleep schedule changed. Dressed in a pair of heather–gray leggings with a matching oversized, slouchy sweatshirt, Aaliyah opened the door to the lecture hall, quickly finding herself scurrying to her usual seat in the middle of the Professor’s speech.

“Excuse me…sorry…”

Aaliyah squeezed into her seat and hastily worked to fall in line, cursing herself internally. Her sleek hair framed her face as she buried herself into her work.

“Aaliyah?”

Her eyes held slight bags beneath them. They connected through her lenses at the Professor. She could feel eyes on her in other parts of the room as well.

“Is everything okay?” He questioned with concern.

“Yes, Professor Richmond. I had a late start today…”

“Okay…do you know where we are or do you need me to fill you in?”

A faint smile graced her shimmering lips.

“I know where we are. Thank you.”

Professor Richmond nodded his head slightly before turning his attention back to the whiteboard. Aaliyah swooped some of her long hair back from her face and behind her ear, reaching for her Stanley cup to quench her thirst.

In the middle of lecture, Aaliyah’s phone vibrated within the front pocket of her school bag. She groaned slightly, distracted by the noise while jotting down notes. After a while she couldn’t ignore it. Professor Terry caught sight of her reaching for her phone, and he took note of the stress lining her pretty face.

Meanwhile, Aaliyah’s eyes scanned two texts from a friend and former coworker of hers, asking if she was free to meet up after class. Aaliyah had an inclination of what it was about, but ultimately she agreed to meet up for lunch. After settling that distraction, she pulled herself back into her work, not aware of Professor Richmond’s eyes on her.

“Class dismissed. See you all on Wednesday…”

And as expected, Aaliyah held her spot. Professor Richmond had his back facing her while using an Expo eraser to clear the board. He wore a black sweater that molded into his sinewy upper body in all the right places. The black slacks he wore to match accentuated his ass and strapping thighs.

After recapping the marker, he gave Aaliyah a once–over. He studied her for another minute before placing his hands within the pockets of his slacks, making his way towards her. Aaliyah looked up at him, her posture straightening. He settled next to her, a soft smile on his face. Aaliyah waited for him to say something, an arched brow raised in question.

It just dawned on her that she’d never been this close to him.

Professor Richmond was thinking the same thing.

“How are your studies coming along?”

The deep vibrato of his voice was so smooth she found herself smirking. Aaliyah blinked away from his overwhelmingly handsome face, trying her best to focus on the text before her instead of the man that occupied her space with a fragrance so utterly charismatic with a blend of basil notes, bewitching lavender, and sandalwood accords.

“As well as it can to pass this class, Professor.” She responded.

The sound of her melodic voice, the way it lulled him into a trance. He couldn’t shake it. His long fingers drummed against the desk, the ability to control the urge to catch a more…invading whiff of her sweet perfume paining him. And was that…a tongue ring?

He had the biggest crush on Aaliyah.

“You sound put out. I hope that paper is coming along.”

Aaliyah cut her tantalizing eyes at him and those sinful lips parted to speak, “I’m finished. Mostly. Just need to do a bit of editing.”

“Good…good. Hey,” Professor Richmond leaned in closer, removing his glasses, “Can I ask you a question?”

Aaliyah focused on him with a steady gaze. Never wavering. She turned her curvy body in her chair to face him fully. Professor Richmond’s blue–gray eyes did a quick sweep of her frame.

“Depends on the question…then I’ll determine if it warrants a response…”

Sassy.

“Ha, okay,” Professor Richmond exhaled, “I would like to take you to lunch sometime. Away from campus…my treat.”

He pressed his large hand against his solid chest and tilted his head at her. Aaliyah blinked at him slowly.

“Today if you’re free…how does that sound?”

Aaliyah twisted her lips to fight a smile. It didn’t work however. That smile of hers broke through and it was beautiful. It was one of those smiles that captivated you. So sexy. Oh so sexy.

She was just…sexy.

“I can’t,” Aaliyah turned away, her hair sweeping her back, “I’m meeting a friend for lunch already…”

Professor Richmond’s thick brows flicked up and he groaned softly. He was hoping for a yes.

“Then…we can plan a lunch next week?” He persisted.

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled softly. It was a sight to behold. He wasn’t going to back down.

“Next week…hmm…maybe. I have a lot going on.”

Her dismissive tone didn’t stop him. Maybe it was because he was her Professor. She probably didn’t want to get caught up in that. Probably didn’t have time for that mess. A beautiful woman such as herself probably gets approached every damn day by men. What makes him any different?

“Whenever you’re free then,” Professor Richmond widened his thighs to appear more relaxed, “I hope I’m not being too forward…”

Aaliyah trailed her eyes from his thighs to his face. He caught that. He knew she found him attractive. He knew his potential. Felt her eyes on him plenty of times.

“I’m not looking for anything right now. I appreciate the gesture though,” Aaliyah turned those beautiful eyes away, “I’m sorry.”

Professor Richmond looked away from her, trying his best to hide his disappointment. He clenched his sculpted jaw, accepting defeat. A slight smile graced his lips as he stood, fixing the hem of his sweater.

Better luck next time. And there will be a next time.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Aaliyah…enjoy the rest of your day, beautiful.”

The way he called her beautiful…the bounce of her foot stilled.

“You do the same, Professor,” She replied, eyes never leaving her iPad, although a smirk graced her succulent lips.

He paused in his descend, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Her eyes connected with his again, dark brown meeting bluish–grey. The way her hip sat, jutted out from her thigh crossed over the other. She was doing things to his psyche. Her feet in flat, black sandals. Those pretty toes. That beautiful hair. It was all too consuming.

“I’m Terry by the way.”

He felt he needed her to know him on a first named basis. Aaliyah blinked at him with those curled lashes. She smiled again, smaller this time, but it still held a seductive quality.

“I know.” She responded impertinently.

He shook his head and released a soft chuckle. Sassy indeed.

Terry returned to his desk, gathering his things. He shut his laptop and the sound of Aaliyah walking down the steps towards the exit brought his attention back. Although she always wore loosely fitting tops and occasionally bottoms, the sway of her hips didn’t go unnoticed. No matter how hard she tried to cover it all up. He knew she was shielding a body beneath those layers.

Her dainty hand grasped the handle to the door. Aaliyah glanced over her shoulder at him one final time. Terry waited, hands finding its way into his pockets.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, Professor.”

A slow, half smirk crept up his face.

“Same as well, Miss Aaliyah. Enjoy your weekend.”

She waved goodbye with a flutter of her fingers in a flirty manner before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was taunting him.

——

Aaliyah climbed the short, concrete steps leading her inside Elsie’s Plate and Pie. Home to legendary pies and authentic taste in Baton Rouge. It wasn’t far from her Shotgun House. She removed her shades, spotting her friend, Keisha, sitting near a window. Keisha is a tall, thick woman. Her hazel eyes ignited when she spotted Aaliyah, one hand with long, red acrylic nails waving her over. Aaliyah scooted past a crowded table, holding her arms out to accept a hug from her longtime friend.

They did the squeeze and sway motion, big smiles on their faces.

“Y’at?! Girl it’s been forever. Baby, you look fucking good. How’s school and shit?” Keisha questioned boisterously.

“It’s going, girl. Almost done. You?”

“Still doing my thing at Crazy Horse. We miss you there,” Keisha gave Aaliyah sad eyes and a pout.

“You know I miss ya’ll too,” Aaliyah grabbed her glass of water, opening a straw, “What you finna get?”

“I don’t know…”

They scanned the menu, both settling on crawfish queso as a starter when their waiter sauntered over.

“Brittany still sleeping with Mack?” Aaliyah asked while sipping from her straw.

“Girl…” Keisha rolled her eyes, “He still breaking that down. She ain’t hopping off that dick…”

“Ugh,” Aaliyah scrunched her face up in disgust, “Mack though? That’s why I had to go. How do you do it? That nigga irks me.”

Keisha laughed, “I have my ways. I do what I gotta do to survive.”

Their appetizer arrived. Aaliyah didn’t hesitate to dig in. She was starving. The turkey bacon, fried eggs, and croissant breakfast she had earlier didn’t stick to her stomach.

“Li–Li, I wanna know if you’d be down for this new thang I got goin’ on.”

And here it comes…

“Keisha…” Aaliyah rolled her eyes.

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I want to, but then I’m like…Keisha a wild girl. Whatever it is, I know it ain’t simple.”

They both laughed.

“Let me fill you in, bitch!”

“Go ‘head,” Aaliyah cackled, “I’m waiting.”

“Awrite, so…We both know working at Crazy Horse ain’t shit. Half the money we earned went to Mack ass…”

“True…”

“So, I do this side gig. House calls.”

Aaliyah have a half shrug before crossing one leg over the other beneath the table, “Okay?”

“Andddd…I want you to join me.”

Before Aaliyah could respond, they placed their orders. Seafood pot pies.

“Keisha, I got this online content thing lined up and it’s hittin’ off. I made 350 dollars in one night,” Aaliyah scooped up the last bit of dip.

“What’s 350 to two grand?”

Aaliyah snorted, “Two grand? Serious?”

She sat up straighter in her seat. Aaliyah inclined her head towards Keisha for her to continue. That two grand sounded promising…

“Tell me what you do for these house calls.”

“It depends. It could be an all woman thang…a little toy party situation…most of the time it’s bachelor parties and believe it or not, men in uniform…”

“Men in uniform?” Aaliyah gawked at Keisha, “Like, military men?”

“Military men, policemen…tomorrow it’s firefighters. They pay good money for you to show up and perform. You don’t gotta go further than that unless you want to. That’s where the real bandz come from.”

Aaliyah let Keisha’s words sink in while she swirled the ice in her glass around with her straw. Aaliyah couldn’t deny that she missed dancing on the pole. It was exciting. Made her feel sexy. The best full body workout. She often craved the neon colors against her skin beneath the black lights. Her gravity-defying moves around the dance pole, sky-high heels and perfect hair, it was nothing short of magical.

Part acrobat, part athlete, part artist.

“I can see the wheels in your head turning…sounds good, huh?” Keisha asked with a knowing grin.

Aaliyah hummed, her eyes scanning Keisha’s face, “Almost too good…”

“Like I said, tomorrow night I have a gig at the fire house. I was bringing this other girl, she go by Diamond. She was cool…but I feel like me and you are a dynamic duo. Miss Dark Angel…”

Excitement tickled her nerves.

“So? You wanna go?”

“…I don’t know, Keisha…”

Aaliyah hung her head, deep in thought. She crossed her arms over her chest, breasts sitting up invitingly.

“Just…think it over tonight. Hit me up and let me know.”

Aaliyah dragged her tongue over her upper teeth. Keisha giggled at her, causing Aaliyah to snap out of her deep thoughts. She only had tonight to decide. Stripping was such a hard hustle for her. She had just found her niche. But, if what Keisha was saying is true, she could make the most money she’d ever made as an exotic dancer. Tempting…

Their food arrived and they fell into gossip, laughing about wild shit, falling into their usual routine. Aaliyah finished her entire pot pie while Keisha packed hers to go.

“We gotta do this more often, Li–Li,” Keisha slapped some money down, paying the tab, “You got your nose in ‘dem books! You’ve always been so smart…I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Keisha. We definitely have to link more. This last semester is kicking my ass. It’ll all pay off.”

“Seeing anybody?”

“Fuck no,” Aaliyah’s shoulders bounced with her laughter, “My professor did ask me on a lunch date today…”

“Oh?” Keisha’s eyes widened with interest, “Do tell.”

“Nothing to tell,” Aaliyah replied, “He’s very handsome. Sweet…I’m not tryna get tangled in that. I know how that can go…”

“I hear ya. Best to keep focused. Men come and go, girl. I ain’t got time either.”

They both stood, walking out together. Aaliyah had parked her Jeep behind Keisha’s all black Hellcat. They hugged again, giving each other a kiss on the cheek.

“Let me know!” Keisha shouted at Aaliyah’s retreating frame.

“I will!”

She waved goodbye, climbing into her Jeep and revving it up.

——

Aaliyah moved across her cramped kitchen with a swiftness, standing in her naked glory, body mimicking a glazed delight with how shiny and glistening her honey skin looked beneath the lights. She’d just finished filming some content, nothing too wild, just twerking and nasty talk.

“Don’t forget to tip, baby…”

“You gonna pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy, daddy?”

“I need some company, can’t stand looking edible alone…”

She used her same stage name. Liyah Allure. The Dark Angel. She used a video shot from a long angle, the white wall as her back drop. Lil Wayne–She Will instrumental playing in the background. Her sleek hair fell down her back and she would turn her head ever so slightly, giving teasing glances up and down while making that ass bounce and clap. She could move it with little no effort. Her hands glided over her sultry body, showing her viewers just how edible she is. And they wanted to take a bite.

Aaliyah racked up five hundred dollars. Friday’s were Freaky Friday. She showed more skin. You had to pay extra for a pussy shot. Aaliyah took pictures and videos for that as well. She spent a pretty penny on equipment. An elongated tripod held her camera in many angles. Her favorite shot was always from behind with her juicy thighs spread and shaking that big ass. Her wet, hairless pussy popped in the camera white those siren eyes looked back at it.

It was time for a bath. She wanted to spend the rest of her evening finishing up editing for her paper before submitting to Professor Richmond. Her Ethics and Psychology Professor. Aaliyah blew steam that wafted from her ceramic coffee mug as her slipper–clad feet shuffled towards her room. Placing the mug on her side table, she made her way towards her dresser and began wrapping her hair. She hated doing it, but she wanted a straighter look this time around so pin curling it wouldn’t work.

After securing her hair with three silk scarves to ensure she didn’t sweat it out, Aaliyah grabbed her mug and headed to her bathroom. She’d already prepared the bath with her bubble bath and essential oils. She loved using lavender and vanilla. There is a rack across her tub that she could place a book or even a drink on while enjoying her bath. The glow of the candles created a beautiful and relaxing environment.

Aaliyah listened to her Neo Soul playlist while reclining her head back and resting her eyes. She had her timer set for thirty minutes, making sure she didn’t fall asleep in her tub for longer than that like she’d done many times before. Her head went limp on its side, the tiredness of her body finally succumbing to sleep. As she slept, the eyes of her Professor appeared.

Intense. His gaze is intense.

It’s also attentive. By now, she was sure he’d memorized every subtle detail of her face. Images from earlier appeared. She took note of the way he leaned in towards her, like he wanted to smell her perfume. Juicy Rose, Black Cherry Liquor, Moss Accord. He wanted to be swept up in it. The tops of her breasts peeking through the soapy surface moved up and down with her sleeping breath.

For a while, Aaliyah caught on to the Professor checking her out. It wasn’t obvious to her at first, but she caught on to how he would position himself directly in front of his desk, exactly within her line of vision. If he focused forward, she would meet his gaze straight away. He made it a point to allow those striking eyes to linger on her for a beat longer. She’d walk out of that classroom on Wednesdays and Fridays knowing he was watching her. She’d caught him staring at her ass through the reflective glass of the lecture hall door.

She honestly hadn’t expected him to approach her. For a while, he’d just admired from afar. Most men do. The boldest a man ever got with Aaliyah was when she’d worked at Crazy Horse. Plenty of men there would ask her out. She’d even received flowers and gifts. At one point she had a stalker. Professor Richmond; Terry was different. She’d read many smutty stories about forbidden flings with a Professor. She’d save her fantasies for that.

Ding Ding Ding

Aaliyah’s eyes snapped open and with a long yawn she stopped the timer on her phone. She reached out for her mug and gulped down the warm tea. It should help put her to sleep. After bathing, she did all her necessary nightly routines before slipping on an oversized T-shirt that dangled from one shoulder. Aaliyah put on YouTube for background noise while opening her laptop to finish editing. Her eyes took note of the time.

11:30 pm.

She pushed her laptop forward and positioned herself onto her stomach, moving her hips from side to side and absentmindedly swinging her legs. Why couldn’t she shake the Professor from her mind?

Sent!

One assignment down, more to go.

Curiosity got the best of her. She started doing some digging. Aaliyah took to social media to find him. It wasn’t hard. She studied his LinkedIn.

PhD in Psychology. Fluent in French. Ex Marine.

From her place in class, he appeared shorter. Today however, when he walked up to her, he was massive. The same smirk he held in the picture she was currently staring at is the same he gave her before taking a seat.

Her body hummed with desire. This man is FIONE.

It wasn’t just the eyes. His entire face was just…

Aaliyah went down a rabbit hole of stalking. She found his Facebook and his Instagram both accounts were private, and she wasn’t about to follow him. That was a big no–no. This man could be hiding a wife. He could have kids. He could be crazy. All three of which she experienced with previous men. Aaliyah stopped herself before she could even go further.

But those lips…his voice…that body…

She wanted to see it…

Buzz Buzz

“Keisha…shit.”

Keisha: 👀👀

Fuck it. She already had her mind made up earlier. If she could leave that gig tomorrow night with two grand or more…she wasn’t going to pass up on that.

Aaliyah: I’m in 😈

Now, it was just a matter of figuring out what she was going to wear.

——

“Why is it so cold out here…”

Aaliyah followed closely behind Keisha inside of the Fire Station. She could hear the distant voices of the riled up men below. They entered a locker room, the lingering smell of smoke wafting from uniforms that hung from compartments burning her nose. Aaliyah cast wary eyes around her, making sure it was safe to take off her black, body con dress.

Keisha didn’t waste time stripping down to her very revealing monokini. The thin straps failed to hide her wide, brown areolas. That ass was rotund and sitting up like a shelf. You could sit a cup on that ass. Keisha wore her hair in two space buns with bangs. Her deep brown skin shimmered with gold–tinted body glow. The eight–inch heels on her feet made her six feet tall.

“They’re already in rare form and we ain’t even get started yet.” Keisha spoke with excitement.

“How many we expecting?” Aaliyah asked.

“About twenty. Why? You nervous?”

“No. I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

Aaliyah slipped out of her dress, the Wonder Woman two–piece she wore making her look edible. She wore gold six–inch pleasure heels to match. The low ambience of the locker room made the glitter on her skin stand out. She did a slow turn, Keisha nodding her head in approval.

“Looking real good. They’re gonna love you. Tip you off real good, bitch.”

“They better,” Aaliyah flashed Keisha a lustrous smile, “When do we go?”

Petey Pablo Freek–A–Leek started playing. The deep base of the southern banger from the early 00s vibrated the floors. Aaliyah locked eyes with Keisha.

“That’s our queue. You ready?”

Aaliyah flipped her hair over her shoulders and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Let’s do this shit.”

“Well already then…”

Keisha slipped past Aaliyah to lead the way, popping her on the ass for good measure. Something they did often back at Crazy Horse before working the floor and the pole. It was a way of saying, ‘break a leg’.

Aaliyah strutted towards a set of red spiral stairs. She allowed the music to flood her mind, putting her in the proper head space. She could do this. She’d done this many times before. A wolf whistle from a firefighter below gave her stomach a little flutter.

“Wooooweeeee!”

“Dayum! This what we got tonight, boys?!”

“Keisha!”

Keisha worked her way down the spiral staircase. She held a big smile on her face, teasing the men with a wink and a bounce of her big titties. They cheered and didn’t waste time throwing cash.

“Take your time wit’ it motherfucka’s we got all night!”

She looked up at Aaliyah and elevated a brow, her way of saying, Bitch! Let’s get to it!

Aaliyah shook off her nerves and descended the staircase, another massive uproar filling the room.

“Holy shit…”

“Fuck! She’s a baddie!”

“Look at that ass…”

“Hey, baby!”

Aaliyah scanned the room full of rowdy men pumped with testosterone and arousal. They each wore Baton Rouge Fire Emblems across their navy blue t-shirts. Black and white men. She could smell beer and liquor in the air with a hint of cigarette smoke. She noticed parked fire trucks and two gold poles. The poles they used to swing down during an emergency.

She worked her charm, flicking her jeweled tongue and biting her lip.

“Hi, boys…”

The seductive power she possessed put them all in a trance. The sound of heels against the concrete floor added to the desire. She moved around the men with confidence, eyeing them up and down while touching her body, focusing on her assets that earned her cash.

“Big fine woman…”

She looked up into the eyes of a carob–skinned man with a burly body. He looked like those men from the Jabari Tribe in Black Panther.

Aaliyah took advantage of that, arching her back and bouncing her ass on his crotch. Shouts and grunts filled the room.

“Damn…look at that pussy from the back…look at the way it’s sitting…”

“You like the way this pussy look, huh, baby?”

Aaliyah folded herself forward, trailing a finger over her covered pussy through her bikini bottom. A hefty chunk of cash smacked against her cheeks before raining down on her from above. She took it up a notch, grabbing her ankles and making that ass move from left to right.

Keisha was already on the pole, the straps to her monokini down and her titties bared for them all to see. Aaliyah felt a few bills being slipped into her blinki, and she looked back at the man that did it with low, wanton eyes.

“Gorgeous baby…what they call you?”

“Liyah Allure…”

“I want you.”

“You know to pay for what you want, right?”

Aaliyah flashed her titties before covering herself back up. That had them losing their damn minds. She slithered her way towards the second pole. It wasn’t exactly the pole she remembered, but it would do for this occasion. She did a back hook spin into a fireman spin. Some Three Six Mafia song started playing and Aaliyah went harder.

Green cascaded over her body while she popped ass and showed out. She locked eyes with Keisha, the exhilaration flowing between them like electricity.

Aerial Invert

Fan Kick

Drop Into A Split.

Aaliyah pulled out all her tricks and worked up a sweat. After doing her thing on the pole, she gave personal lap dances and even entertained face sitting on a timid firefighter while he was on his back. She crouched down over his face and started bouncing over him like she was riding a dick. She laughed and her eyes noticed a large wet spot in the front of his pants.

This man came on himself.

“I can smell her pussy! So good!” He shouted weakly.

Aaliyah missed the thrill.

They wouldn’t stop giving her money.

“Can I smell your perfume?”

*Tip*

“Show me those perfect, brown titties.”

*Tip*

“Put my face in it!”

*Tip*

They worked that room for two hours and then called it a night. After getting dressed, Aaliyah pinned up her sweated–out tresses and secured her bag. She’d just finished rubber banning the last of her money she’d split with Keisha. Keisha dropped her off, both of them cracking up and doubling over with laughter in her Hellcat.

“Bitch! That was so much damn fun!” Aaliyah said.

“I told you! This is where it’s at, girl. They loved you. I knew they would love you.”

“It felt so good being on the pole again.” Aaliyah smiled.

“Make sure you count that cash and let me know how much you made tonight. Until next time?”

Keisha wagged her brows at Aaliyah playfully. She giggled at her friend, opening her door to leave.

“When is next time?”

Keisha grinned.

“Next week. I got a bachelor party lined up. A fine ass groom. I got Diamond and Precious coming too. That’s gonna be wild…all black men…so you know…”

Keisha twirled a bottle of water in her lap to mimick a well–hung dick. Aaliyah threw her head back and laughed hard.

“Bitch! I’m not playing with you.” Aaliyah spoke between giggles.

“You down? We both know you want to…might as well say yes.”

“FUCK. YES. I’m in there. You picking me up?”

“Yeah I gotchu, Li–Li. Listen, we can’t be late for this, okay? You gotta be ready by eight. No later.”

“Okay. I’ll be in my best and ready to shake ass. I promise.”

Keisha pulled Aaliyah into a tight embrace and watched her enter her home before pulling off.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre #terry richmond #rebel ridge

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sassysnowperson · 2 years ago

Text

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

#terry Pratchett #discworld #the worst reading order #gnu terry Pratchett

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dduane · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, Diane, I have a technical writing question for you: How do you decide how long a chapter is?

I've noticed a trend among mass market books of authors adopting the James Patterson style of chapters lasting a page & a half to three pages, but sometimes not even half a page. It's infuriating, especially when action on a single scene is split amongst them. I grew up learning that a chapter is an association of scenes, & that breaks were left for major scene and/or expository changes. If a book had 30 chapters, it'd be 400 pages long. Now I have 215-pages novels with 45 chapters!

You've always delivered a really good, fairly even, page & word per chapter count. So what's your thoughts on how it should be defined, & perhaps any on this metastasizing trend?

I haven't been entirely clear about what to do about this since I first started seeing this divergence of chapter lengths happening. (And bear in mind, this is a wide spectrum to be dealing with. There are books of Terry Pratchett's that have no clearly defined chapter breaks at all.)

My own take on it in the short term has varied depending on what book I was writing, and what rhythm the interactions among the characters were expressing. Sometimes written character business can happen very quickly, over a few pages: sometimes it has to happen more slowly, as it does among real people—a series of interactions, a pause, then further ripening developments and interactions.

Patterson is well known (I think) for having a house style... because I'm sure it'll have been a good while since he wrote anything but the high points of any given book himself. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the house style reinforces his own preferences, which would seem to be for very short interactions... that "short attention span" we've seen being discussed for so long, and getting shorter and shorter all the time.

I think it's safe to say I refuse to go that road. I want to allow readers time to sit in the characters' business (as it were) and think about what might happen next. I'm not afraid to allow the readership time to speculate about what might be about to occur before the next sequence of events sets in.

Is Patterson afraid to allow this? (sigh) I may have been a psych nurse, but I decline to attempt to read another writer's mind: that's a sure path to a headache. Is it possible that writers are as susceptible as their readers to that short-attention-span problem... and unwilling to attempt to slow it down for fear of being seen as somehow "behind the times?"

Damned if I know. Again, I decline to judge. But I sure as hell know how I'll behave on my own ground.

...Let me suggest a possibility to you, looking forward. Patterson's rhythms have all become the same because his (for certain values of "his") books have all become the same. ...And who's to blame for that? Readers are well known, in the industry, for wanting to read the same thing again and again, just a little bit different. That's not the readers' fault any more. They've been trained to it. And the market reflects their training.

You, meanwhile, get to set your own rhythms, and (ideally) allow the reader to settle into them, if they find other aspects of your voice congenial. Just because the Patterson modality seems to be all over the place at the moment, doesn't mean that it will continue to be. The market, gods help us, is all about the New. Someday (gasp) Patterson will be Old. And then what? Will slow slowly start to become cool? Tough to tell.

For myself, I write in a lot of different modes (gods help me, right now over on Bluesky we're discussing the possibility of a paranormal travel agency German [or maybe Swiss] Christmas market cozy murder mystery); and every single one of them requires a different rhythm according to the subject matter, the thought processes of the characters, the rhythm of the story itself and of the characters making their way through it, the way the action expresses itself throughout this story, etc etc. I can't imagine what doing it the same way all the time, regardless of the story's and the characters' imperatives, would feel like. Deadening, at the very least. And isn't writing about being, and becoming, more alive, not less??

If I've got a message, it's this: Let Patterson go his own way (for whatever values of "his"). None of us are going to be him, any time soon.*

I think you should write in the rhythm, and with the chapter breaks, that best suit the story you're telling. If some of your readers don't like those... fine. Others will. Whether they like to hear it or not—and some of them won't—like books, readers too are ephemera: they come and go. Your job is to be faithful to the story as you conceive it, and the rhythms and chapter breaks you feel it needs. The story has no one else to depend on.

So: get busy being God in your own creative universe, and ignore what other gods are doing in theirs.

HTH!

ETA: Historically I've had a tendency to use the "shopping list" method described over here for my outlining, and that's routinely determined chapter lengths to some extent. (i.e., if there were ten items on the list, and [thereafter] ten chapters in a 100K-word book, then that means 10K chapters.)

...Except when I feel a chapter needs to be subdivided, or combined with another one and then the whole thing chopped into three. Or when more entries get added to the master list. I look to see how a chapter "feels" when weighed in the hand of the mind: too long? too heavy? too short? too rushed?—and then adjust its length accordingly.

So briefly: my own basic rules are guidelines, to be broken when necessary. Yours should be, too. Only experience will teach you when this is necessary. But that's just another part of the Craft. "We learn by doing..." :)

*Though do we want to be?

#writing advice #chapters

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kumkaniudaku · 1 month ago

Text

Caught

Summary: When their guest is away, Terry and Patrice will play.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,067

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Recommended Reading: Spoiled

Author's Note: Spoiled, Back Up, and Caught all happen on the same linear timeline. Consider them present day events. Hopefully that helps pull things together because you'll need the context later. Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

"Mommy, the recipe for the hand pies is so good. Thank you for finding it for me."

"Oh, of course, baby. One day, I gotta get you to help me put all your Nana's recipes in a book or something. I'm tired of digging through all these scraps of paper."

"I didn't wanna say anything, but that's insane. I can barely read her handwriting."

Rosalyn scoffed on the other end of the phone line. "You and me both. I have to call Sybil every time or end up making up what I think goes there. I cook. I don't decipher chicken scratch."

Patrice laughed along with her mother as she passed a piping hot meatball over her shoulder to satisfy her taste tester for the night. He hummed his approval of her gift, providing a thumbs up as his rating before returning his hand to her waist and swaying them in time with the slow rhythm of Christmas music playing in the background.

Christmas Eve brought preparation for the big day on the other side of a wake-up and a smaller get-together to celebrate Imani's and Jesus's birthdays in one evening. Patrice had offered to continue the tradition at her house to accommodate her cousin's request for loud music, liquor, and good, grown folks' fun. In a few short minutes, she and Terry would have a house full of adults gorging themselves on party food and fighting fits of giggles during a drunk game of Taboo. For now, she'd enjoy the calm before the storm with her shadow attached at the hip.

"The cinnamon smell for the apple version was way too strong, though. I almost skipped those altogether."

Rosalyn responded with a sound of cautious curiosity. "Really? You usually love the smell of cinnamon."

"Right," Patrice exclaimed. "Maybe I had a bad batch or something. It doesn't taste bad, but it smelled awful."

"Hm." Rosalyn filed the information in her head for a later moment of privacy, preferring not to stress her daughter with the questions buzzing around in the mind of a mother who knew her child better than anyone in the world. Instead, she continued. "Terry, did you like the hand pies?"

"You don't know if Terry is even in here, mama. He could be anywhere in the house," Patrice answered, her face screwed in confusion.

"Child, don't insult me. If you're in the kitchen, Terry is in the kitchen."

She wasn't wrong. A few too many glasses of Patrice's special holiday cocktail mixed with his ever-present desire to feel his wife at all times had Terry sticking to her like glue. Even after she'd given in to each of his kisses and allowed him to taste her the moment Imani stepped out to run a few errands, she still couldn't shake him. Whiskey was in control. Terry was only along for the ride.

He chuckled into the crook of Patrice's neck before confirming his presence. "Yes, ma'am, I loved the pies. Treece made a few on the side for me so I wouldn't have to share."

"She still got you spoiled, I see."

"Nah, not too bad. You know she gets sweet once a week. I caught her on a good day."

"Oh, hush."

Patrice's attempt to get out of Terry's grasp came up empty, prompting him to hold her tighter and press wet kisses onto the back of her neck. She was sadly mistaken if she thought she could get away from him that easy while Uncle Nearest was pumping through his veins.

"Well, let me let you two go," Rosalyn started with a small laugh. "Tell me how the chicken salad turns out. I might throw some together as a little snack for your daddy tomorrow. You know how he gets when he's ready to eat."

"Mhmm. Just like somebody else I know."

Terry patiently waited for Patrice to wrap up her conversation and safely end the call before resuming his handsy approach to PDA. His hands slid up and down the fabric of her cotton pajama pants, the pair matching his at her request. Full lips attached to her neck, creating a light suction with every open-mouthed kiss.

His wife rolled her eyes as she loaded a pita chip with dip for his culinary opinion. "You are insatiable, TJ. Taste this."

He obliged, opening wide as she slid food into his mouth and waited for a response. Instead of a verbal assessment of her work, he kissed her cheek twice to signal his approval, then returned to his shameless groping.

"How long before Imani gets back?"

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes or so. She only went to grab some more cups and water."

Terry's eyes flickered to the digital clock on the stove before sliding his hands up Patrice's torso and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder. "Think you got a few minutes to get back to what we started?"

"Haven't you had enough of me yet? We've been going at it every day since New Orleans."

"What you think?"

Having enough of her touch, the feeling of her body against his, or her attention was a foreign concept for Terry. If he could quit his job and be totally devoted to her pleasure, he would do so without a second thought. Fortunately for him, though, extended absences from the slough of office life due to the holidays provided the closest opportunity to spend the whole day in it.

Patrice smiled to herself as Terry slowly removed the serving spoon from her hand, bringing her delicate palm up to the back of his head. Coarse hair grown into a short tuft of curls and shaped by his barber tickled her fingertips as she closed her eyes, officially caught up in how Terry caressed her with the care afforded to precious works of art.

A low purr slipped past his lips as his hands slid beneath the hem of her camisole to rub her stomach, filling her ears and mind with filthy sounds and images from earlier in the hour. Had he had enough of her? She wasn't sure she'd had enough of him.

His fingertips inched higher, further intoxicating Patrice until a full squeeze on both breasts at the same time made her hiss and wince in pain.

"Easy, baby," she complained as she gently pressed down on his arms to direct him away from the sensitive area. "They're super tender right now. I'm not sure why."

Lust was quickly replaced by concern as Terry dropped his hands and turned Patrice to face him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Pooh. It's probably the tattoo healing.

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be making the entire area hurt. Especially not on both sides. Let me look."

"Terry, you never just look."

His attempt to slide the thin straps of her tank top down her arms was quickly cut short as Patrice brushed off his contact to save herself from what she assumed would come next. Her aching was a serious matter. Terry getting a look at her bare tits was not nearly as high on the list.

Terry softened his eyes in unmistakable sincerity. "I'm serious, Treece. I know what it should look like. Come here."

Patrice didn't protest as Terry led her to the kitchen table. She stood perfectly still until Terry was comfortable in one of the chairs and then placed her between his legs.

He gingerly pushed her tanktop straps down her arms before bunching the thin fabric at her waist to free her breasts, watching for any sign of discomfort.

"You don't think you're like…sick, do you?"

"I think it's just tenderness," she quickly retorted, wanting to push the thought of more grave explanations for her discomfort far from her mind.

"Okay, okay. I'm only asking."

Her brows furrowed as he lifted the right side to get a look at the moment from a charged few days in his family's old stomping grounds.

A day alone and nothing to do but explore had them wandering into the same shady tattoo parlor where Terry got his first piece for matching ink. Terry opted to tat their wedding date on his ribs after having to be talked down from plastering her name on his neck. Patrice, however, was set on making her first experience one to remember.

Slanted script crafted from his handwriting spelled Terry's full first name, curving just under the crease of her boob and the spot that he liked to grip in the depths of passion or simply at his leisure. Terry ran his thumb along each letter to check for abrasions or abnormalities.

He looked up at Patrice to gauge her reaction. "That hurt?"

"Not really. It's more here," she added, gesturing toward her areola. "Anything rubbing against it is so uncomfortable. I can barely wear a bra."

"I noticed. They've honestly been looking a little bigger. Do they feel heavy to you?"

"Not heavy. Mostly…full? They look great, though. I'm not complaining about that part."

She joked, the attempt sounding silly once it received no reaction past Terry blinking as he used the pad of his thumb to ghost contact over her pebbled nipple to test her pain level. It was challenging to stay present, with a third of her upper half unnecessarily exposed in their kitchen for no real reason. The entire ordeal felt like a farce. Terrence wasn't a doctor, and him holding her titties in his hands like fleshy snowglobes was as much an actual check-up as WWE was real wrestling.

When she giggled like a teenager learning about sex for the first time, Terry looked up at her with a quizzical expression, and his left eyebrow lifted high. "What's so funny?"

"You, Doctor Richmond," she laughed. "How can you tell they're bigger? I couldn't even tell until the other day."

"I spend a lot of time with my girls. I better notice when they change. Been looking at them since I was sixteen." Terry answered, a boyish grin making his cheekbones nearly touch the corner of his eyes.

"I knew you used to look!" She exclaimed, finally feeling vindicated in her suspicions from childhood.

"Looking was the least of what I was doing." He shrugged as he gently pushed both breasts together for his own viewing pleasure. He kissed the small crease they made two times over, then looked up at Patrice through long lashes. "Unfortunately, ma'am, I couldn't diagnose you, but I think I have some treatment available if you're interested."

Patrice bit back a smile to play along. "Oh yeah? How much is this gonna cost? It's the holidays, and I ain't got it."

"I offer payment plans that we can discuss in that room back there later tonight."

"I like the sound of that," she answered, previous problems vanishing into thin air as he roped her back into his web of liquor-charged desire.

"I knew you would," he winked. "Don't move."

Tingles rippled across Patrice's skin while she listened for any indication of Terry's secretive treatment plan. The soft crack and subsequent rush of cool from the freezer created goosebumps on her bare chest, making her nipples jut out proud from the sensation. Next came the cupboard opening and shutting in two seconds time. From the direction, she could tell he was grabbing a glass from over the sink.

Ice cubes clinked against the cup like little masters of whispers attempting to give Patrice the scoop on what to expect. Terry quietly shut the freezer and took heavy steps back to his seat, smiling at how Patrice truly hadn't moved a muscle in his few minutes away.

He placed the glass on the table behind him before tugging her hand to guide her closer. "Cold hot therapy. I sprained my knee once, and this got me back up and running in no time. Ice for the cold…" Terry's voice trailed as he plucked a piece of ice from his glass and pressed it to her nipple. He watched her jaw drop with a sharp inhale, intently focused on the way her eyelids fluttered closed at the sudden shock of frozen water. When a single drop began to make a trail down the swell of her breast, he pulled the ice away and brought his mouth closer. "And I'll take care of the hot."

"Oh…my God."

Whispers of unexpected pleasure sent Terry into a far-off place where he was only concerned with running a flat tongue across supple skin. Patrice rushed to steady herself by bringing her hands to the back of his head, cradling him while he went to work.

Ice cold. Soothing warmth. Ice cold. Soothing warmth and a light suckle. Again. And again.

He eyed her like a lion watches prey, taking notes of every little sound and twitch to know that he was fulfilling his job.

"Good job, baby," Patrice whispered, her head tossed back and praises spoken to the ceiling. "Good fuckin' job."

Terry ran his hands up the back of her thighs to roughly grip her ass. He groaned at the affirmation before pulling away to retrieve more ice. He held a small cube between his teeth to multitask, running it across her left nipple and areola until it had melted enough to fit both in his mouth.

Was it fixing her tenderness issue? Not really. But Patrice would be damned if his subtle slurping and moaning with her backside firmly in his clutches wasn't sufficiently taking her mind off things. So far off, she'd lost all concept of time and space.

While Terry pulled Patrice into his lap for a more intensive inspection, Imani entered the house high off the exhilarating freedom that can only come for night drives with a carefully curated playlist blasting from the speakers. Being stateside for the first time in a year was the perfect opportunity to experience one of life's simple pleasures.

Grocery bags rustled and knocked against the wall as she hummed along to the fragmented lyrics from a song on her Spotify playlist still coursing through her brain. A short pause in her personal concert to lock the door left space to hear a string of curious noises. Muffled half-sentences and a sort of trembling sigh made her quirk an eyebrow. She thought to herself that Terry and Patrice left the television on far too often for a pair of people who claimed to not spend much time in front of the tube, but quickly found that they'd taken to making a scene the old-fashioned way.

She stood in the open space, a perfectly shaped eyebrow pushed high on her face and an impressed smirk tugging at the right corner of her lip while she watched her baby cousin makeout with Imani's newest family member with a ferocity she didn't know Patrice had in her.

Patrice held Terry steady by his jaw, slightly hovering over him while she had her way leading a sloppy kiss. When she moved to push his head back toward her chest with a string of words filthy enough to make a pornstar blush, Imani cleared her throat to finally announce her presence.

"Oh shit," Patrice yelped, rushing to tap Terry's back and end his check-up.

His head popped up to survey the room, then slowly found a home on top of Patrice's once she pressed close enough against his chest to cover her naked breasts. The vibrations from his concealed chortling made Patrice pinch him in frustration. Nothing was funny, at least not to her.

Imani held her hands up in faux surrender. "No, please. Don't stop on account of me," she laughed. "Y'all were just getting started."

"We are so sorry, Moanie. This isn't what it looks like. Well, this part is exactly what it looks like, but I promise it didn't start like this. Terry was looking at my boobs to check on my tattoo and -"

"Girl, you do not have to explain anything to me. This is your house! Honestly, if I had those big ol' mommy titties, I'd want them in somebody's face too. And you got them for free! The girls gotta go under the knife or get pregnant for those. How does it feel to be God's favorite? Terry, can you help me get the water out of the car when you finish?"

Terry looked down at his visibly distressed wife and then back at Imani to save face for the both of them. "Yeah, I got you. Gimme a minute."

Moanie didn't notice how she'd launched her cousin into an internal spiral as she pranced off to busy herself with getting ready in her room for the week, but Terry did. He carefully sat Patrice up and helped redress her, careful to ease into conversation.

"You alright?"

"I had my cycle this month," Patrice rushed out, her gaze far off as Terry lifted her arm to put it back in her camisole strap. "It can't be that. I had my cycle." When her focus returned, her eyes snapped to Terry's for confirmation. "Right? I did, right?"

He nodded, unsure of how to proceed to quell her fear. "You did, baby. But, maybe…"

Sure, it was lighter than usual, but she'd had a cycle. Her body functioned like it did every month, on time and without pomp and circumstance. There was no cause for concern.

But…maybe.

Patrice looked down at her belly then back up at Terry, searching for answers in his sympathetic expression. He leaned forward and held her head with both hands to give her a kiss she couldn't return before he spoke.

"Don't drink tonight. Just in case. We'll figure it out in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered back without truly processing the gravity of his instruction.

Terry slowly lifted Patrice from his lap to fulfill Imani's request for assistance, leaving her to stand perfectly still in the kitchen. She counted backward in her head, retracing her steps and important dates until a headache sent her to take a seat.

It was just tenderness. It'd go away by morning, and all of this would be a silly story to tell whenever they got together in the spring for their European honeymoon. She'd drink an entire bottle of wine over heaps of pasta, turning the whole situation into a fond memory before raising her hand to call the server for another round. All water under the bridge, right?

But…maybe.

------

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uzumaki-rebellion · 1 month ago

Text

Lick Back 2 (Part 1) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Domestic Drama, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Violence, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond didn't expect to become a father over night. A surprising photo in the mail reveals that an illicit affair he had with a married woman eleven months ago resulted in a baby girl named after him. Ecstatic to be a new dad, he races to South Carolina to reunite with Nova, and bring their new family to Louisiana for Christmas. Unfortunately, Nova's estranged husband Jordan has different plans.

Word count: 18.6K

Read Lick Back (The Beginning) HERE.

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"Like sweet morning dew

I took one look at you

And it was plain to see

You were my destiny

With you I'll spend my time

I'll dedicate my life

I'll sacrifice for you

Dedicate my life for you"

Method Man & Mary J. Blige—"All I Need"

Terry Richmond couldn't stop looking at the eight by eleven color photo he recieved in the mail.

Terrina Richmond.

He had a daughter. A two-month-old baby girl.

His mind raced with so many chaotic thoughts. He'd had an affair with a married woman and she left him to salvage her wreck of a marriage in South Carolina. Terry spent months trying to forget her, poured himself into his work, and blotted out the memory of Nova Patterson.

The last time they made love, he nearly broke the bed, pulling out his best erotic moves to keep her. By his calculations, that was when he impregnated her. They loved each other, but ultimately, he had to let her go. She belonged to someone else and already had an infant son. Who was he to prevent a reconciliation of a family?

He worked day and night, taking on extra hours, even requested deployment overseas to get away from Nova haunting him with her beauty, kindness, and intelligence. He wished the world for her, but couldn't bear to be in the states knowing he couldn't have her.

The big bosses denied his request. They wanted his skills building up their elite soldiers in Oceanside. Make more war machines. Oorah.

Terry booked a flight to Charleston the moment he hung up the phone with Nova. An hour later he still sat on his couch wondering who to confess his shocking news to. His first inclination was to reach out to his family, but he wasn't ready to explain the circumstances of fathering a child with a married woman to his parents just yet. His closest friends Von and Bethany were next in line, but he could already hear Bethany chewing him out for being no different than Jordan, with Von nodding his head in agreement. Telling his homegirl Angie would only result in a flying fist socking him in the jaw.

He had accrued ninety days of leave time that he planned on using up for Nova and Terrina. His godson Junior, too. He stroked his chin. Junior would become his stepson now. A bonus child. Nova gave him purpose. He had a family to care for.

Terry cancelled his flight.

Nova would have a ton of things to bring back with the children. He would drive there instead of flying and rent a U-Haul cargo trailer in Charleston. Nova could take what she wanted and he would buy anything else she needed once they returned to Oceanside. He glanced around his condo. They could stay in his place until the lease ended the following summer and then look for a new home big enough for the four of them.

Four.

How strange. He woke up that morning a single man living a solitary life. Now he was responsible for three other people. He wanted to marry Nova as soon as possible, that way he could get them on his health insurance. Terry grinned. He moved like a man with a plan.

Packing more clothes for an extended trip, the reality sank in further. He was a father. He stopped to look at his daughter again. She had his ears. Funny how he hadn't noticed it before. Terrina's eyes struck him first, but then all the other little details jumped out. She was his mama's color. Terry got his eyes from his maternal grandmamma and his ears from his paternal grandpa. Terrina repped both sides of his family like him. He sat down on his bed and rocked his body, staring at her picture like it was going to disappear if he stopped looking at her.

That was his baby girl.

Nova carried her while enduring the stress of an unraveling marriage. His woman needed peace and a home fit for a queen. He was determined to give it to her. Texting his parents, he sent them a quick message that he had to postpone coming to Louisiana because of work.

He stopped by his local coffee shop and loaded up on an egg white breakfast sandwich and coffee. Hitting the road by noon, he headed east after texting Nova that he was driving and would arrive in Charleston within two days. She sent him another picture of Terrina and Junior. He smiled so hard in his truck after taking a restroom break. Junior was nearly two years old, and it shocked Terry that he didn't look like Jordan anymore. The boy had Nova's face dipped in milk chocolate. He noticed that she'd typed the names Terrina and Novan. He typed the name Novan with a question mark. A minute later, she sent a message that she legally changed her son's name to hers. His nickname was Van-Van. Yeah, she was really done with Jordan if she yanked his son's name away from him. That shit was tough.

"My baby girl will never have that problem," he muttered, heading onto the freeway again.

Terry drove non-stop, only taking breaks when the truck needed gas. He loaded up with a bunch of Big Macs from McDonald's in Dallas, and his heart started beating wildly. Sitting in the parking lot, he inhaled deeply several times and listened to one of his meditation apps. On the verge of a panic attack unless he spoke to someone about his sudden anxiety at meeting his daughter, he called Bethany and confessed everything.

"I'm sitting here freaking out, Bethany. I just want to get to South Carolina and see Nova…hold my baby, but right now I'm losing it. Cuss me out, yell at me, I don't care…I just needed to talk to someone I trusted who knows me…knows I wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone on purpose. Not even Jordan."

Bethany gave a long sigh. He waited for a shrill tone to rip his ear apart.

"Terry, I have to be honest with you. Nova called and told me everything a month ago."

"She what? A month ago?"

"Don't be upset. She was scared and didn't have anyone supporting her. Her family flipped out…Jordan's family flipped. Jordan is on a downward spiral. It's a shitshow out there…but I promised her I wouldn't say anything until she was ready to face you. Go easy on her, okay?"

"I'm glad she has you," he finally said after a long pause.

"You should be glad to have me, too. I should kick your butt, though."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything about her…and me."

"Didn't have to. I already knew something was up. I just hoped you two would've ended it quietly without all this blowback. You make a pretty baby, though. She looks just like you and your mom."

"I'm nervous Bethany…a little scared. I'm thrilled to have Terrina…it's just…I'm halfway across the country ready to uproot Nova from her hometown. Am I doing the right thing for her and the baby? I mean…she has Junior…Van-Van. Can I take him away from his father like this?"

"She reached out and wants you to come for her. That's all you need to concern yourself with. I'll let her tell you herself what's been going on, but that is your family now. Jordan should be an afterthought in your mind."

"I want to marry her."

"Get her out of Charleston first. Text me when you get there."

"Does Von know?"

"No. This is something he needs to hear from you when you get back."

"Thank you for being there…for the both of us."

"You have a darling little two-month-old who needs her daddy. Drive safe, Terry. Love you."

Terry sat in the truck, feeling better. Bethany didn't hate him. He texted Nova despite the late hour in her time-zone.

He started the truck and drove closer to his love.

Terry sat in a parking lot of a Target store in a town just outside of Charleston on Sunday morning. He wanted to buy gifts for Nova and the baby, but the store didn't open until seven. The weather was already hot, and he rolled the windows down to wait three hours. He contemplated waiting at a Jack in the Box parking lot, but there were two cop cars there and the last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of the police outside of a fast-food joint at four in the morning.

He spent time on his smartphone looking up all the things he had to do legally to establish paternity. DNA test. Filing the results with the court. It would probably be a hassle to take Jordan's name off the birth certificate, but Terry would spend whatever money it took to pay all court fees to do so. He'd need to get a lawyer in Charleston to navigate everything.

The store opened, and he grabbed a cart, rolling it to the children's section. There was no sales associate around to ask about sizes, so he looked at infant clothing that claimed to fit newborns up to two months. He bought a fancy box of chocolate for Nova's grandmother who she stayed with after leaving her brother's home. Flowers for Nova. Baby balloons. A clunky-looking Captain America action figure for Van-Van. It took him a minute to find the Black one. Sam Wilson. It was going to be all Black everything in their household. Terry paused in the toy section. He imagined his life being like Von and Bethany's, raising two children and being happy. Von always went home to a happy wife and happy children. Sending up a prayer to God, he wanted to provide the same life for Nova and his new family.

He paid for everything at check-out and rolled his cart out to the truck. Bethany was right about Target. You can't ever go inside and come out with the one thing you went in for. He spent over two hundred dollars on all kinds of toys for his daughter and bonus son.

Terry smelled like long hours on the road and stopped at a café to purchase a blueberry muffin that gave him access to the restroom. He washed up, brushed his teeth, and changed into fresh clothes he carried in a backpack. By the time he hit the road again, he was ready to face his future. Following the directions on his GPS, he admired the old buildings and the slow pace of Charleston's southern charm. That went out the window when a palmetto bug flew into the truck. A goddamn flying roach. Hell nah!

He rolled up his windows and put on the air conditioner. The directions showed that he still had an hour to reach Edisto Island. He leaned into the steering wheel once he started crossing the McKinley-Washington Bridge that led to Nova. The Dawhoo River below him looked like mysterious black water. The tannins seeping out of decaying trees turned the water a dark tea-color. Nova once explained that the word "Edisto" meant "black" and was also the name of the indigenous people who lived there, including her Gullah kin, from way back.

His heart palpitated, and he started breathing faster when he reached the street where Mrs. Mariam Walker, the matriarch of Nova's family lived. He smelled the heavy scent of the sea and the river. The house was only a few blocks away from Edisto Beach. Everything around him had been built by Gullah hands. Homes. The bridge. Docks. Churches. Everything.

He passed Mrs. Walker's house because there was no parking available on both sides of the street. Making a U-Turn, he found a spot where a driver left in a brown van. He glanced over at the large white house with the double stairs leading to another stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch. Several older Black men and a couple of men Terry's age stood on the porch looking his way. They built the old house high to avoid flooding, and it seemed like it should've been on a heritage museum tour. He typed into his phone.

I'M HERE.

He put on a stoic expression to face Nova's male relatives. They probably weren't thrilled to see him approaching the house.

The front door flew open and Nova dashed out. She ran down the top stairs first and waited on the landing, her eyes searching the street. When she fixed her gaze on him, she covered her mouth and jumped up twice before running down the left set of stairs, hurtling forward like a comet to greet him. He moved so fast people could've sworn he had wings on his feet like Mercury.

"Terry!" she cried out.

A bunch of women exited the house to watch them.

The moment Nova reached him, he lifted her up high. She hugged his neck so tight that she almost cut off his circulation. He set her down, and they held each other. Embracing her was like having a missing puzzle piece slipped back into its proper place. It was hard to look at her without the tears in his eyes making it difficult to see. She trembled in his arms and every hitched breath she took tore at his heart. He had been a fool to let her go. Sparing another man's feelings in a wasted act of nobility cost him time with the woman he loved and a daughter he hadn't met yet. Lying to Jordan about not sleeping with Nova had been the wrong choice to make eleven months ago. He should've come clean and faced the music back then. It cost him his own happiness. Cost him sharing the journey of Terrina's birth.

He touched and smelled Nova's fragrant hair. She still carried the scent of sugar cookies and strawberries on her skin. Her cornflower blue wrap dress sat snug around her figure. Having babies just made her look enchanting to him.

"Told you…told you I would come the moment you needed me," he said.

She nodded, and they pressed their foreheads together.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

She burst into tears. He rocked her in his arms, saying her name over and over.

"Are the babies inside?" he asked.

"Van-Van is with Jordan for the weekend. Terrina is inside with my mother and grandmother."

Nova wiped her wet face and puffy eyes.

"Ready to meet your daughter?"

He laughed out loud, and then bit down on his tongue gently to keep himself from leaking more water out of his eyes. He wiped his face and glanced at the welcoming committee on the porch.

"Mawmaw cooked a big Sunday breakfast and invited the family over to see you," she said.

"See me, or beat my ass?" he joked.

Nova's eyes welled up. He stroked her arms.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Bethany told me you're having it rough here. I gotta take that weight off of you. I'm the one who got you pregnant…I'm the one who'll fix all of this, too."

He kissed her forehead. She kept her cute pixie cut and fixed her baby hairs to look like curling ocean waves. He rubbed her back. She rested her head on his chest, unable to look at him.

"Terry…I didn't know she was yours. Jordan and I got back together, and I tried to put you away in my heart. He started messing up out here…I left him…but I still thought she was his. I wasn't hiding her from you…I wasn't trying to keep her a secret from Jordan, either. I didn't realize until after she was born that she wasn't his. I was so frightened of what would happen to me and her when everyone found out what I did. People in my family called me a whore…and Jordan…"

She wept. He soothed her as best as he could.

"Just think about us…okay? Hold on to us and I promise, Nova…things are going to get better."

"Okay."

She wiped her nose and inhaled deeply to calm herself down. He clasped her hand in his, and she walked him up the steps. Her family members held paper plates of food and hushed their talking as Terry looked at them.

"Everyone, this is Terry…Terry Richmond. Terrina's father."

"We can see dat. Can't miss his chirren at all."

The other relatives tittered under their breath. An older woman in her eighties pushed a walker and Nova's family parted to give her room so her eyes could inspect Terry up and down. She had slightly wrinkled, dark pecan-brown skin and gray hair clipped short. Mariam Walker…Mawmaw.

"I see una have no shame coming here after putting a baby in her the wrong way."

"Mawmaw," Nova whispered.

"Ma'am, I'm not here to upset you. I want to meet my daughter and be with Nova."

"Be with Nova?"

Mawmaw sucked her teeth and pointed at Nova with an accusatory finger.

"Look ya. Dat is a married 'ooman. You a comeya, messing up the peace of dis family."

"Ma'am, I don't mean any disrespect—"

"Tie yuh mout!" Mawmaw shrieked.

A female relative stepped forward.

"Okay now, Mawmaw…my Lord, let the man get inside the house first before y'all put all they business in the street. Hi Terry, I'm Cornelia…Nova's aunt. People call me Nella. Come inside. Mawmaw is going to fuss no matter what you say."

Nella walked toward the screen and opened it for Terry. She was forty-ish, heavyset, and a shade darker than Nova, but had the same sparkling brown eyes.

"I have some things in the truck to bring in," Terry said.

"Go get 'em, then," Nella said with a warm smile.

Terry walked back down to the truck with Nova. He collected the flowers and gave them to her. Her face brightened up with the full, colorful bouquet in her hands. He grabbed the balloons, Terrina's bag of baby clothes, and chocolate, then headed back to the house with Nova by his side.

"This is for you, ma'am…Mawmaw," he said.

Mawmaw looked at the big box of expensive Godiva chocolate shells, and her eyes widened; surprised that he was giving her something.

"He tryna butter her up," one of the older men snickered.

Nella waved for him to keep moving.

"Tote all that in here, Terry, c'mon now. Can't let these no-see-ums in the house."

Terry glanced at Nova.

"Mosquitos. The ones here will eat you up and you won't even see them," Nova said.

He grinned hard enough to show his gums.

"They've been eating me up since I got here."

Nova led him inside the quaint living room filled with old, cared-for furniture and several sizes of intricately woven tan baskets with dark brown geometric patterns woven in the detail that decorated the corners. The interior smelled of good southern cooking and something else, something that the west coast didn't quite have yet: the odor of history. His hometown in Louisiana had it. All the south and the east coast had it in abundance. Compared to the south, the west was still young and feeling its oats.

Old family pictures cluttered a mantle, and so many people were crammed inside that it made Terry feel like the Jolly Green Giant. He definitely was the tallest person there. His eyes were drawn to a large painting above the mantle of elongated ebony figures showcasing men, women, and children dressed in clothing from the 1930s with blue-black skin and featureless faces. The painting seemed to be the focal point of the room that gave it a cozy feel rooted in a proud lineage.

Three women Mawmaw's age sat on a couch wearing their good Sunday wigs. They scrutinized everything on him. Somewhere out back, the excited voices of children playing added a comforting noise.

Nova took the bag of clothes from him and set them on an empty chair.

"Hello…I'm Terry, pleased to see everyone," he said.

Mawmaw shuffled in with her walker and Nella helped her sit down on an old rocking chair.

"Dis him," Mawmaw said to the ladies on the couch.

Nova introduced him to everyone present. He became eager to make a good impression despite the hard stares and thin-lipped expressions from the elders. All he needed was a knife to cut the simmering animosity in the front room. A giant bible sat propped open on a bookstand next to Mawmaw's rocker. A huge brown lacquered cross hung next to a picture of a tawny Jesus on the wall behind her seat. Terry took in the context clues and understood quickly that he was in a serious religious household. That meant their situation would never be acceptable to MawMaw. The matriarch's frigid brown eyes stared him down like she was going to turn him into a pillar of salt.

A baby's cry interrupted the family showdown.

Mawmaw's eyes immediately softened, and she tried to stand up too fast, almost losing her balance.

"My great-grandbaby is calling for me," Mawmaw said, or at least that's what Terry made out.

The shrill cry shattered the peace again, and Terry felt a lump grow in his throat. He imprinted that sound to memory. That was his daughter. His first time hearing her.

Nella gently pushed Mawmaw back in her seat.

"Bring ha," Mawmaw said.

"Mawmaw…Terry needs to see his baby. He come three thousand miles. Man is probably tired and hungry rushing here. Let him have his time alone with Terrina," Nella said.

Nova placed her flowers on an end table near one of the older adult men sitting in the room and grabbed Terry's hand.

"Come…she's back here," Nova said.

Her eyes were shiny with pride and love.

They moved past family members who ogled his height and muscular build. His body looked big and battle ready from all of his military training. Moving through a short hallway, they skipped past two other bedrooms and made their way to the last one.

Pauletta, Nova's mother, sat on a worn pistachio green armchair.

"Nova, she's not wet or anything. She might be ready to eat again—"

She fell silent, spotting Terry standing behind Nova. He sensed a wariness in her eyes, but she only pressed her lips together. Terry looked down at Pauletta's lap. Air rushed out of his chest instantly.

Terrina.

So tiny. So chubby. So adorable. So his twin.

He let out a shaky breath. Pauletta noticed the tears in his eyes. Her demeanor changed immediately. Nova lifted their daughter up and brought her closer to him. Terrina's cheeks held a few dewdrop tears that looked like tiny crystal jewels to him.

"Hey Terrina…meet your daddy," Nova said.

"Sit down," Pauletta said, leaving the armchair available to him. She left him alone with Nova and the baby.

Terry sat down with a heavy body, and Nova placed his daughter in his arms. Terrina squirmed and made little mewling sounds. Her eyes tried to focus on the enormous face staring down at her. She scrunched her cheeks and eyes up then let out a few "Neh…neh…neh" cries, threatening to bawl loud and long. With tiny clenched fists waving about, her cheeks soon turned a ruddy brown complexion, filled with distressed baby emotion.

"Heh…heh…heh…neh," she said.

She lined her green eyes with his, and Terry said her name for the first time to her face.

"Hello Terrina, daddy's here. I made it. Baby girl…I'm here," he said.

The deepness of his voice quieted Terrina's discomfort. She latched onto his face with teary eyes and studied him like she had to take a test the next day. He touched her thin blue t-shirt with little white ducks on them and looked over the matching bottoms that covered her diaper. Her hands relaxed, and he touched each finger, admired every little toe. He stroked her ears that stuck out like his, and he sniffed her dark brown curls that looked so full all over her scalp. She had Nova's heart-shaped face and plump cupid-bow lips, but everything else on that baby was him.

"Nova…thank you," he said.

He squeezed his eyes shut and made a vow. No one would ever shame Nova for having Terrina. People could keep it in the groupchat about the adulterous affair. Their baby came to them beyond the depths of pain and confusion. Love created her. Nothing more, nothing less.

He heard the murmurings and loud chatter out front. English and Gullah-laced conversations rambled on, but Terry was in a love bubble with Terrina and Nova. Terrina started fretting and moving her limbs about.

"Sit on the bed, Terry. I need to feed her."

He stood and gave up the chair for Nova, then handed her the baby. Nova slid the top of her wrap dress aside and pulled down the flap on her dark blue maternity bra that revealed a heavy breast. Terrina's little body started bouncing with anticipation. She stuck out her tongue and made sucking motions.

"Yes, mommy is going to feed you now," Nova said in a singsong voice.

His heart melted when he witnessed Terrina's slobbery smile for the first time in person. She latched onto the nipple and her chunky cheeks puffed in and out as she fed. Nova rubbed her hair and Terrina stared at her mother with peace in her eyes. Her little feet kicked up, and he touched her toes again.

"I can't believe we made her," he said.

"We did."

Terrina actively sucked away, keeping her little green eyes on Nova's face. Occasionally, her eyes wandered to look at him, still trying to figure out who the unknown man in the room was. Eventually, she released the one nipple from her small mouth and Nova offered her the other one.

"She feeds from each breast…you can tell when she's ready to switch by the way she bounces and slows down on sucking," Nova told him.

Terry kissed Nova on the cheek. He observed it all with wonderment.

"I have a breast pump, so you'll be helping with this," she teased.

"I'm ready," he said.

A creaking sound on a floorboard caught their attention. Mawmaw pushed her walker near the doorway.

"Oonah stomach in ya back?" Mawmaw asked him.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Terry asked.

Nova giggled. Mawmaw looked at her.

"Axum fuh me," Mawmaw said.

Nova smiled at Terry.

"Are you hungry? We've got plenty of leftovers."

His stomach growled and for the first time, Mawmaw grinned at him.

"Wolf in his belly. C'mon…fixin' ya plate…"

Mawmaw turned around and shuffled off.

"Go get something to eat. We'll be right here waiting for you," Nova said.

He lowered his head and kissed her firmly on the lips. She parted her lips, and he sought the familiar taste of her tongue to remind himself that she belonged to him. Terrina swatted a chubby finger on his cheek and he kissed her small hand and forehead. Baby powder and Johnson's baby lotion scents wafted into his nose. He wanted to stay but his stomach snitched on him again. Starving.

Terry followed Mawmaw as she rolled her walker past a small dining room into her kitchen. A stove full of big pots and pans caught his eyes, as well as a kitchen table displaying the remains of leftover homemade biscuits, white gravy, link sausages, fried potatoes, and scrambled eggs. Mawmaw pointed to an empty chair at the far end of the table near the window. A dark-skinned woman in her fifties with short red-dyed locs sat across from him, finishing up a plate of food.

"How you doing? I'm Terry."

"I'm doing well this Sunday. I'm Brielle."

Brielle broke apart a biscuit and smothered it in gravy.

"You drove here, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thirty-seven hours with two catnaps."

"My goodness. By yourself?"

"Yes."

Mawmaw lifted a plate on the counter and scooped out a healthy serving of yellow grits and covered it in shrimp and gravy.

"You have shrimp and grits before?" Brielle asked.

"My mama makes it."

"Where you from?"

"Cypress Bend, Louisiana."

"That's where you drove from?"

"I came from California…I can get that," he said.

He stood and took the plate and a fork from Mawmaw so she wouldn't have to struggle to move around. She turned and sat on the small seat connected to her walker. He closed his eyes and prayed over his food and when he opened them back up, Mawmaw seemed pleased by the act.

"Una go to church, young man?" Mawmaw asked.

"Not as much as I should. I used to sing in the choir at my church back home. I was raised Baptist."

Mawmaw nodded.

"What oonah parents think 'bout whatchu did?" Mawmaw asked.

"Mawmaw, let him eat his food," Brielle said.

"My house, I talk when I want."

Pauletta popped in and went directly to Mawmaw.

"Mawmaw, Mrs. Tinely is outside. She brought you some of her collards."

Mawmaw, stood and turned her walker toward the front room. Pauletta followed behind her. Terry dug into the food. It was still warm and savory. The grits were creamy with butter, and the gravy was packed with salty bacon and onion bits. Garlic and bell peppers rounded out the flavor, and he smacked his lips.

"This is a good roux. Nice and thick," he said.

Brielle wiped crumbs from her bottom lip with a napkin.

"Listen to me good, Terry. This family has been in an uproar about this situation with you and Nova. We love Terrina…she's blood and she ain't did nothing wrong coming into the world. I think what you did is wrong, but I understand how things can happen. Shit, we dragged Jordan by his edges, too and it caused a rift between our two families. Mawmaw won't even let him come inside the house anymore. I hope your intentions being here are good for Nova's sake…and my grand-niece."

"They are. I love, Nova."

"Jordan said he loved her, too. Words don't mean nothin' to me. We got two babies who need fathering. If you mean well, all ya gotta do is show us, and you'll be alright young man."

Terry kept eating. Brielle's tone didn't sound adversarial. It was forthright. He acted the same way.

"Who called Nova a whore?"

Brielle blinked twice, and her lips moved slightly to the right of her face.

"Uncle Pete is old school. A deacon in the church. Old people don't mince words."

"I don't either."

She grinned.

"Okay now, that's real good. Don't back down from the naysayers. However, if the Patterson family find out you're here, things might get outta hand. None of them wanna see you 'round these parts."

Terry piled a few sausages on his plate with a biscuit.

"Nobody can run me off from my baby or Nova. I'm taking her with me when I leave. Her and the children."

"Say what now?"

"I didn't come this far to visit and leave by myself. I'm taking my family with me."

"She's not even divorced yet."

"Does she have full custody of Van-Van?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then she can leave…freely."

"You can't take them kids away from Mawmaw. It'll break her heart."

"Nova doesn't want to be here. She's not happy. Who would be, though? Being called names by her family members and looked down on like she's wearing a scarlet letter 'A' on her chest."

Brielle stood and touched his arm.

"It's not everybody, mainly the older ones. Show them who you are and things will smooth over. You already doin' better than Jordan."

"How's that?"

"Mawmaw let you in the house."

Brielle winked her eye and cleared her dishes.

He ate his food in silence. A bunch of children ran into the kitchen from the back door. Three boys and two girls, all around eight to twelve-years-old.

"Who are you?" the oldest girl asked.

"Terry," he said.

The girl stared at his eyes.

"You got eyes like, Terrina."

"I'm her father."

"How you her father when Auntie Nova is married to Uncle Jordan?"

Terry chewed his last piece of sausage and cleaned up his plate in the sink. He left the children staring at his back.

The adults gossiped in the front room and out on the porch. He slipped past them and searched for a restroom. After relieving himself, he stared at his reflection.

"Relax…relax…"

He splashed cool water on his face and used a paper towel on the sink to wipe the excess liquid away. His lips curled into a smile, noticing the fancy hand towels on the rack behind him. Mawmaw didn't want anyone touching her nice pink hand towels. Paper towels for everyone. Just like his mama back home.

Before he went back to Nova and Terrina, he wanted to speak to Uncle Pete.

He followed a plastic runner on the floor that led him back to the front room. The elders watched him open the screen and step outside. Mawmaw sat on her walker, talking to a middle-aged fair-skinned Black woman, Mrs. Tinely, in a corner of the porch. Nella perked up when she noticed him.

"Which one of these men out here is Uncle Pete?" Terry asked.

Nella turned her head to show him, but the older man stepped forward. Pete looked to be in his mid-sixties, with a paunchy belly and umber skin. His receding hairline added a few years to his appearance, and the dull brown church slacks and tan button-up shirt screamed conservative and cheap.

"I'm Uncle Pete," the man boomed with a voice almost as deep as Terry's.

"May I speak to you, sir, in private?"

Nella gave Pete a look, and the older man glanced around to see if anyone heard Terry. They did. He followed Pete down the steps with several sets of curious eyes tracking them from the porch. The two men stepped to the right side of the stairs that led to a driveway with part of the house acting as a carport covering. Blue glass bottles decorated a small tree at the edge of the property. Sunlight struck a few of the bottles, creating streaks of blue diffuse refection against the side of the house. He recognized the tradition that was done in Louisiana, too. Used for protection and to ward off evil, his daddy called them spirit bottles. His grandmother in Yazoo, Mississippi had one. The blue color was meant to imitate water and thwart troublesome entities from bothering the home since they couldn't cross over running water. The bottles were supposed to trap them if they dared to trick their way near.

Pete folded his arms across his chest.

"What do you want to speak with me about?"

"I heard that you called Nova a whore because she gave birth to my daughter."

Pete tilted his head and spoke boldly.

"Do not prostitute thy daughter, to cause her to be a whore…lest the land fall to whoredom, and the land become full of wickedness."

Terry stepped closer to Pete, lowering his head so he could look the man directly in the eyes.

"Respectfully, sir, no man, especially a man of God, should disrespect his niece by calling her a whore."

"Tell him!" Nella said.

"Nella!"

Mawmaw's voice echoed loud above them.

Pete looked past Terry. Nella stared down at them with Mawmaw, Brielle and the other men present. Sweat traced several paths on Pete's face from the rising temperature and the sun hanging directly overhead. A glint of blue bottle reflection speckled his cheek.

"Men are talking," Mawmaw said.

"Talk to him, Terry," Nella urged.

"Any anger, disappointment, or harsh words you want to speak…you say them to me. Not her. Jordan broke his vows to her in California first several times over. He'd been doing so even before she came out there. Nova tried her best to be a good wife to him, but he neglected her. Could I have inserted myself into her life properly by waiting for her to divorce? Sure… but I didn't, and that's on me."

"I won't stand here and have a snake in the Lord's garden justify his actions leading Nova astray. Her sin and your sin ended a marriage that had been in the making for years. You put asunder two large families, not just two individuals, son."

"I don't need to justify my actions to you. She and I have a beautiful daughter together that I want to support. I plan on taking responsibility for both of them. I'm asking you to stop insulting her because I won't tolerate it."

"You created a broken home, young man. Do ya think coming here absolves you of that? We don't know you. We don't know your people. Had you not interfered, she and Jordan could've weathered the storm with more counseling and time to heal."

Terry placed his hands together in front of Pete.

"Let me make this clear to you, …sir…Nova suffered mental, and emotional abuse with Jordan's infidelity. Physical abuse too, if you count the potential sexually transmitted diseases he could've brought home to her. He screwed so many women that they were sending him care packages overseas while he had a wife and child at home waiting on him. Nova is done with him. Sorry to his family, but I plan on making a new family with her the moment her divorce goes through. Jordan broke his family…not me."

Terry's voice rose loud enough to concern Nova's people. Pauletta lowered her head. Hearing the full extent of her son-in-law's behavior must've shocked her. A few of the younger men walked down the steps to watch them closer. Nella came down too, with Brielle.

"Jordan ripped her heart out and I'm putting it back in… and protecting it from now on. Please save your words about whores and wickedness for him, not Nova."

"She never should've had a child out of wedlock with someone who isn't her husband!"

Nella stepped forward and waved her hands.

"Now…now Uncle Pete…let's not go there. You the last person who should be talking about having kids out of wedlock with all the outside kids you have running around here."

She put a hand on her hip.

"It's always the folks who live in their self-righteous glass houses that wanna throw stones. Be the first ones ready to judge people like they shit don't stink. It's time we all mind our business and let Nova live her life without a bunch of hypocrites wagging they finger. Maybe you need to call Aunt Evelyn and ask her how it felt to be married to you back in the day with all your cheatin' and carrying on."

"I'm a saved man walking with Christ now!"

Pete threw up his hands in disgust and stomped down the street. Nella catcalled him.

"Yeah, kitchen got hot and ya gotta leave with Christ, huh, Uncle Pete? Don't like it when a mirror is put up to your face, huh?"

Pete climbed into a red Escalade and drove off. Brielle rolled her eyes and glanced at Nella.

"Watch him call Mawmaw whining about this later," Brielle said.

"You know he will," Nella said.

Terry walked past the younger men who avoided eye contact with him. He climbed the stairs and looked at the rest of the family on the porch.

"Excuse me," he said.

He grit his teeth and fought the urge to check every single person there. Nova's mother stayed next to Mawmaw. He swept back into the house and picked up Nova's flowers and his daughter's bag of new clothes. Even the children moved out of his way as they sat on the floor watching a cartoon in front of an older model big screen TV.

His long legs carried him to the back bedroom.

Nova held Terrina by the open window where a crib stood. She heard everything through the screen. He placed the bag on the bed and put the flowers on a nightstand.

"Food was good," he said.

She nodded and kissed Terrina's forehead. He moved over to her and wrapped his arms around them both. Looking down at his daughter, he noticed her cheeks puffing out. Nova caught the strained expression on her face, too, and sniffed the air.

"Uh oh, someone's gone stink-stink," Nova said.

She handed him Terrina and dug into a diaper bag under the crib. She grabbed a towel on a dresser and spread it on the double bed. Gesturing for him to bring the baby, she stepped back.

"Time for your first diaper changing session," Nova said.

Oh, Lord.

Terry held Terrina for the longest time until his eyes drooped. His road trip caught up to him and he slept on the bed while Nova fed their daughter once more.

The colors of the sky had changed from powder blue to blue-black when he woke up. The temperature was slightly cooler, yet still muggy. Nova was no longer in the bedroom with him. He heard her voice speaking softly in another room.

Terrina slumbered peacefully in her crib.

Terry stared at her for a long time. His mama and dad would faint with joy, knowing they were finally grandparents. He itched to call them, but decided he would bring Terrina to them as a surprise Christmas gift. They longed for grandchildren out of their three children. But his oldest sister married her husband and raised two golden retrievers as their children. His older brother worked in a fast-paced five-star restaurant in New York as an avowed bachelor. Most of their cousins had children and his parents sulked every holiday, lamenting at the fact they were everyone's favorite aunt and uncle, yet never grandparents capable of spoiling their own grandkids. Terry broke the baby drought finally. He couldn't wait to see their shocked expressions in three months.

He rested his large hand on his daughter's midsection to feel the rise and fall of her chubby tummy. She stirred. Her limbs quivered, and she wiggled a bit before opening her eyes.

"Hi my sweet little girl," he said softly above her.

Her lips poked out, and her fretful expression humbled him. Terry lifted her up and held her close to his heart, bouncing her gently to offset the unhappy noises she made. He was still a stranger to her. He cooed and made soft sounds. She didn't cry, only gurgled and squirmed in his arms. Terry rubbed her back and walked around the room. When he cradled her, Terrina's face looked ready to cry.

"Daddy doesn't want to upset you…let's go find mommy, okay?"

"Neh…neh…" she replied, with a crinkled nose.

He wandered through the hallway and journeyed to the front room. Mawmaw sat in her rocker with Nova across from her in another armchair. Nella sat on the couch watching the TV. All eyes gazed at him walking in with his baby.

"You must've slept well," Nella said.

He grinned.

Mawmaw studied his presence and he figured the thawing out came from holding his own child and loving on her. It shifted something in the matriarch. Maybe it was the curt words he had with Uncle Pete. He glimpsed lines on Nova's forehead and became alert to restlessness in the mood of everyone there. The bulk of the Walker family already left.

He sat down next to Nella on the couch and Terrina relaxed in his arms as the familiar sound of Nella's baby-talking voice kicked in. Mawmaw glanced at Nova. Nova fidgeted in her seat.

"Terry, Jordan is on his way to drop off Van-Van. He'll be here soon."

"He know I'm here?"

"No."

"I'll stay in the backroom when he comes."

Nova nodded.

"I have to face him soon, Nova. You know that."

"I know."

He stood and padded over to Mawmaw, handing her Terrina. She held the baby close to her chest.

A late evening breeze rattled a few of the bottles on the tree outside. The lights of a car pulled into the carport driveway. Nova jumped up, and Terry retreated to the back bedroom. He sat on the bed and rested his hands on his thighs. A car door opened and slammed shut. Terry waited for Jordan to enter the house with Van-Van. Instead, he heard a woman's voice.

"He had a nap earlier so he may take longer to get to sleep tonight…Jordan bought him more pull-ups and put them in his bag with the cleaned clothes," the voice said.

"I'll bring him next week earlier," Nova said.

"You can drop him off at Boppie's house, Benji's birthday party is on Friday."

"Alright. Please make sure Boppie keeps Van-Van at the house. If Jordy makes runs, I want someone going with him…I don't trust where he goes."

"We're doing everything we can, Nova…Charles has been keeping an eye on him. You can call me if you don't want to speak to Jordan directly."

"Is he in the car?"

"Yeah."

"Sober?"

"As far as I know, yeah."

"He must not be if you had to drive and not him."

"He's just tired from earlier. We took Van-Van to the park with Erika's boys…hey Mawmaw…Nella."

"Hey, Michelle."

"Night."

The front door closed.

Terry peeked from the window and watched Michelle walk down the steps. Her tall frame disappeared under the carport where the back bedroom sat above.

Nova joined him in the bedroom and sat on the armchair. Her face had relaxed from its pinched expression right before Van-Van arrived.

"Nella has Van-Van," she said.

Heaviness pressed down on the room. Reality sunk in for Terry. Nova's life and the life of the children were in his hands. He reached over and held her hand, threading their fingers together.

"Why did you leave Jordan? Did he cheat again?"

Nova lowered her gaze to their hands clasped together and shook her head.

"His friend Charles got him a job at the port authority…helping to manage the trailers and containers. He makes decent money. I thought we were going to be okay, but then…I started finding tiny plastic baggies around the house…in his car. There were extreme mood swings. He started peeing in the bed almost every night. I thought something was wrong with his prostate. I had to put rubber sheets on our bed because he soaked up two mattresses. He started losing weight, and his face looked gaunt. I thought he was sick and begged him to get help. People I didn't know started hanging out with him. White guys. Backwoods lookin' people. At first I thought they were his new co-workers, but Charles said they were a rough crowd that hung out at a bar I've never been to before. A bunch of drug dealers and users. I showed Charles the little bags, and he told me Jordan was hooked on meth. God, Terry, I wish he was seeing another woman."

She covered her face with her hands.

"Take your time," he said.

She ran a nervous hand over the curls at her nape.

"I confronted him about it and he promised to stop. I changed Van-Van's name during that time because I could see the writing on the wall. He agreed to the change as long as I stayed with him. I did so only to get his signature for the legal documents. I called his parents and told them what was going on. His family did an intervention, and he checked into rehab. He came home and two weeks later…I found the baggies again. That's when I left him. Took Van-Van to my brother's house and then moved here after Terrina was born."

Nova took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead.

"I filed for a no-fault divorce. We have to live apart for a length of time and I'm hoping it'll be finalized by Christmas or New Year's at the latest. I requested full custody of both children and he gave it because he didn't want me filing about his drug use. I just don't understand how someone who had everything handed to him could ruin his life on purpose. He comes from a solid family…had a promising military career. Our families are so close. The man isn't stupid. He skipped going to college because he wanted to be a marine his whole life like his dad. I thought our life was going to be perfect. But then he left for basic training…"

Nova leaned her elbow on the armrest and covered her mouth.

"What kind of man throws his life away…the life of his son and wife, too…for nothing?" she asked.

Terry pulled her onto the bed with him. They laid back and faced each other.

"I went to Oceanside thinking my dream had come true. The boy I was crazy about grew up into this handsome, virile man… a soldier…yet it all turned into a nightmare. When I look back on it, I really think he wanted me pregnant because he didn't think I'd leave him because of our families being tight. He had the nerve to tell me after I handed him our divorce papers that we'd get back together again because no one wants a single mom with two kids."

"What happened when he found out about Terrina?"

Her eyebrows knitted together. It took her a long time to gather her thoughts.

"When she came out of me, none of us suspected anything. She was all wrinkled and very sensitive to light. Her eyes looked puffy, and she slept a lot. It was her ears that caught my attention after I brought her home. Then…it was clear by the eyes that she was yours. Jordy was the first and only man I ever slept with until you came along. I believed Jordy was my one true love, so even when we were on the outs, I never let any other man inside of me."

She stroked his shirt.

"The first time I met you, I thought to myself, 'That is the type of man I want Jordy to become'. When I got to know you better, I knew Jordy didn't have it in him to be like you."

He pulled her in closer. She spoke in a whisper.

"I was attracted to you the first time I met you, Terry. I took one look at your face and got scared…like I knew my life was all wrong…like I'd made a mistake. The first time I kissed you, I knew you were my destiny. Jordy was out getting high when Terrina was born. He visited us at the hospital lit as hell. His family pressured him to clean up again a few days later, and that's when he found out. He saw Terrina's eyes and got real quiet. Scary quiet. I confessed to him everything. He cried…cursed your name…cursed me while I held her in my arms. My brother put him out of the house and we didn't talk for about a week. He came back and said he would claim Terrina as his daughter, no matter what. Said I got my lick back by having another man's baby, but I was still his legal wife and the law would see him as Terrina's father because his name was on the birth certificate. As far as he was concerned, Terrina was his daughter and he would take the L and deal with it. I called Bethany because you had changed your number. She told me to do right by Terrina and tell you the truth. It took me a month to get the courage, and even then, all I could do was send you a picture and my new number. Jordy didn't want anyone to know. Instead of leaving me alone, he got it in his head that he would raise Terrina. I told him I was going to tell you. That's when he threatened to kill you and me if you ever came into the picture."

Terry's body tensed.

"He threatened physical violence against you?"

She nodded.

"Did you tell anyone? Get a restraining order or anything?"

"I went to the magistrate's office, but in order to file a complaint, you must have two incidents of harassment, stalking, or anything else threatening."

"What about when he cursed you out about the baby?"

"He was angry and directed most of his hate at you. Besides, he has a cousin who works in that department, and another cousin who is a cop here. They'd lie on his behalf to protect him and keep their family's reputation intact. I kept the paperwork and let Jordy know if he ever did anything, I would file anyway, and then head to family court to deny him visitation rights with Van-Van. God…none of them witnessed what I went through with him in California. They coddled him and turned me into the villain who tore the marriage apart. I hate it here so much."

"We have to get tests done for me and Terrina. I have to file paternity rights with the court. I want his name off her birth certificate. Nova…I want to take you and the children to Louisiana for Christmas. I haven't told my family about you and Terrina yet because I want to surprise them. I have plenty of leave time to deal with court stuff and spend time here getting to know my baby. But I have to speak with Jordan this week. I can't hide from him. Things will get uncomfortable, but the sooner he knows I'm in the picture, he'll have to come to terms with going through me for anything dealing with you."

"I want to be with you, Terry. I don't want my kids growing up around him. He'll put up a fight with me taking Van-Van away, and I don't want to deal with that or his family."

She broke down in tears.

He wiped her tears away and kissed her nose.

"I don't have much in savings or anything. The only money I get now is what Jordy gives me for the kids. I can get a job when we go to California."

"Don't worry about money or working. I have enough to cover us and I'm making some investments soon for long-term financial moves. We'll figure out a budget and expenses while I'm here… together. My condo's lease ends next August. I'll let you decide where we live. I don't even mind commuting if you want to try that TV station internship again."

Her eyes shined with delight at the idea. She'd lost so much with her goals. He was determined to give her those opportunities back.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

Terry removed himself from the bed and opened the door. Nella stood before him.

"Hey…the kids want to be with you, Nova. Terry, I made up the pullout bed for you to sleep on in the front room. Mawmaw doesn't want you sleeping in the bedroom with Nova because Van-Van shares the bed with her."

"I'm okay with that," he said.

"I'll bring them in here. Mawmaw is going to bed now."

He nodded and took a seat in the armchair. Nella returned holding a sleeping Terrina. She ushered Van-Van inside. The boy rubbed at his eyes.

"Hi, Van-Van," Terry whispered.

Nella put Terrina in her crib, and Nova pulled her son onto her lap.

"Night y'all," Nella said.

Van-Van stared at Terry with open curiosity.

"I suppose you don't remember me at all, huh, buddy? I was your godfather for a minute."

The toddler leaned into Nova's chest. His little 'fro was an explosion of thick corkscrew curls about three inches long.

"I'll let you two get ready for bed," he said.

He left the room and meandered back to where he would sleep. Two blankets were folded and stacked for him in the middle of the made-up sleeper. He stepped out of the house and drove his truck into the driveway. There were still two bags in the backseat, along with his duffle bag of clothes and toiletries. He left his two rollerbags of clothes under the truck bed covering. No need to pull them out until they left town.

He showered and changed his clothes in the bathroom, donning a thin t-shirt and plain blue pajama bottoms. Brushing his teeth, he settled in for the night. He pulled a wave cap over his hair and returned to the front room. The sleeper bed wasn't too lumpy. The mattress was thin, though.

He fell asleep thinking about Nova in the next room.

Terry awoke to find Nova sitting in the armchair across from the sofa bed, feeding Terrina. He glanced at his phone on the end table. Four in the morning. She looked exhausted and half asleep. Terrina released her nipple and wiggled in her arms.

"Here, give her to me. You go back to bed," he said.

Nova handed him the baby, and he rested Terrina on his chest. Right near his heart.

"Go on," he said.

Nova lingered.

"I'm so happy you're here," she said.

He puckered his lips, and she kissed him.

"Bring her to me if she becomes too much."

"She's never too much for me."

"I'm going to use the pump to make a bottle for you, in case she needs to be fed again in the next couple of hours. I'll put it in the fridge. There's a bottle warmer on the counter right next to the toaster. You can drop it in and press the 'on' button. It's already pre-set for the temperature."

Nova touched her bottom lip and her eyes looked off into the distance as if she were trying to remember something else.

"Nova…baby…I'll figure it all out. I know where the diapers, wipes and creams are. Go sleep. I got this. When she's back to sleep, I'll put her in the crib. I have the baby monitor right there if she wakes up again."

Nova wandered back to the bedroom. The soft suction of the breast pump hummed after a few minutes. He looked down at Terrina.

"You and me? Tag team?" he said, softly.

He rubbed her back gently, and she released a little burp that made him smile. Listening to the sounds of the old house, it didn't take long to hear Nova's footsteps moving into the kitchen, putting a bottle away. She ducked her head back in.

"I was able to make two bottles," she whispered.

"Okay. We're good here."

She went back to the bedroom.

Holding his child so close, Terry felt like the world had grown bigger with Terrina in it. Used to living day by day, no further than the week ahead of him, he now had to consider years into the future. She wouldn't always stay a tiny baby. She'd learn to walk, talk…run. He couldn't worry about protecting the country anymore from outside threats. He had to hone in on the tiny girl on his chest from now on… his flesh and blood, not the unknown citizens he trained other men to go fight for.

The world could be a dangerous place, and little girls needed fathers who would slay dragons for them. His precious baby slept on his chest for about an hour before he was positive she wouldn't wake up if he moved. He carried her into the back bedroom and quietly put her back in the crib.

Van-Van slept against Nova's side. He watched them both sleep for a minute and then returned to the sofa bed. Sleep wouldn't come to him, so he watched the color of the sky slowly change into pale pastels to bring in the new day. Terrina's soft whimpering crackled on the baby monitor. He rose from his bed and entered the back bedroom again, getting a feel for everything Nova had to do twenty-four seven. Finding the baby's diaper clean, he picked her up; she stared at him, her tiny lips forming shapes as she stuck her tongue in and out.

"Somebody's hungry again. Good Lord, little girl, you'll be as big as daddy if you keep eating so much."

The corners of Terrina's lips went up at the sound of his voice, and she opened her mouth, making breathy sounds. He grinned at her and she gave him the biggest smile that melted his heart.

"Daddy loves you," he whispered.

Nova rolled over and looked at them.

"Sleep some more," he said.

He walked out carrying Terrina and went to the kitchen. Heating the baby bottle was easy and soon enough he was in the front room armchair feeding his daughter an early breakfast. Around seven thirty, Mawmaw and Nella roused up and started cooking breakfast, using the leftovers from Sunday's breakfast.

Mawmaw peeked at him holding Terrina.

"She take to una, real good, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Van-Van ran in and hugged her.

"Mornin'," Mawmaw said.

She patted Van-Van's hair and Nova came out to join him wearing a robe.

"Got some sleep?" Mawmaw said.

"Thanks to Terry."

"Breakfast is ready. Y'all come on in here," Nella said.

Terry could tell Mawmaw wanted to hold Terrina, but she moved her walker toward the dining room. He started following them, but stopped when he smelled a sudden odor. He sniffed and looked at Terrina. Her cheeks puffed out like she had jawbreaker candies stuck in them. Stink-stink.

He changed her diaper and enjoyed the rest of the day with his new family. Mawmaw started talking to him about his life and Nella listened in while weaving sweetgrass baskets with Nova on the porch. The women's nimble fingers wove the pleasant-smelling plant fiber using a long nail and twisting the long strands of sweetgrass around. Nella sold them in a little shop she co-owned with a cousin and also online.

Mawmaw was a master basketweaver and taught her children and grandchildren the skill. Nova instructed him on how to start his own basket and he was able to weave a little coaster for his beers. She showed him the round earrings she made for herself and wore them proudly. There was something sacred about watching the women weave as Mawmaw overlooked their work with advice and suggestions on the designs. He admired the baskets around the house that were over a hundred years old and crafted by Mawmaw's aunts and other kin. She told him stories about cymbee spirits in the rivers surrounding the island and warned him about trickster mermaids in the ocean who loved to seduce handsome men and drag them to their watery world. Terry grinned and Mawmaw teased him, "They like a big fella like una. Watch out now!" Nova giggled with embarrassment witnessing her grandmother warming up to him further.

In the late afternoon, he went for a walk to the beach with Nova and the children. She fitted his shoulders and midsection with a stretchy orange baby wrap, and placed Terrina in it so he could carry her while she held Van-Van's hand. A shyness came over her as they joined hands for the first time in public. Van-Van's curiosity about him would transform their relationship. This was their first step in becoming something new in the world together.

They watched Van-Van run around on the beach with his toddler waddle. Terrina fell asleep, and he loved the feel of her warm little body snug against his. On the way back, they stopped by the bottle tree so Van-Van could look at the pretty blue colors sparkle in the sunlight.

After putting the children down for a nap, he and Nova called to make an appointment for the paternity test. They also narrowed down a choice of lawyers to a Black woman with a solid reputation. He called and spoke to her directly, making a personal appointment for Wednesday.

By dinner, Terry grew comfortable in Mawmaw's house. He washed the dishes and looked after the children with Mawmaw while Nova helped Nella clean the porch. They laughed and told jokes and seemed at peace until Nova's father showed up.

Mr. Titus Easton was fifty-one, broad-shouldered, good-looking, with a cleft chin, and a boisterous energy about him. It reminded Terry of Jordan.

"Terry, this is my father. Daddy, this is…well, you know who he is," Nova said.

Mawmaw and Nella left the front room to find other things to do in the house. Van-Van played with the Captain America doll, and Nova held their daughter.

"Sit down, young man," Titus said.

Nova turned to leave the room, but her father pointed for her to sit on the couch next to Terry. Titus sat in the armchair and stared at them both with sad eyes.

"I didn't come to Sunday breakfast with your mother Nova because I was too upset and afraid of what I would say while everybody was here. But I thought about it and I want to know what you two plan on doing."

Terry sat close to Nova as she cuddled Terrina. Van-Van went on about his business saving the world with Sam Wilson on the floor.

"I contacted a lawyer, sir, and this Wednesday I'm getting a DNA test to establish paternity. We're getting Terrina's birth certificate amended as soon as possible."

"And then what? My daughter's divorce hasn't gone through. She's still married to Jordan. What are your intentions besides taking care of the child you made with her?"

Terry didn't sense anger in Titus. The man genuinely sounded worried for his daughter and grandchildren. Terry hadn't planned to talk about marriage until he asked Nova for her hand, but her father pressed him to speak about everything.

"I want to marry her, Mr. Easton."

Nova's eyes widened, and she couldn't hold back a smile.

"I see. Will you relocate here?"

"No. I'm taking Nova with me. The children, too."

Titus kept quiet. He looked at his grandson on the floor.

"Does your mother know this, Nova?"

"No."

"Is this really what you want to do?"

"I want to be with Terry. We have a daughter now, and we need to be together to raise her. Van-Van as well."

"Is he a good man?"

"Better than good, daddy. He supports me. Loves me. Wants to be with me."

Terrina wiggled and Terry took her from Nova's arms. Titus looked at his granddaughter's precious face and then studied the same features on Terry's.

"Terry is the one, daddy. Jordan was a terrible mistake that can't be fixed. Prayer and counseling don't work. He broke me…brought me to my lowest."

Nova's lip trembled, and she buried her face against Terry's shoulder. Titus stood and walked over to her.

"Come here, sweetheart," Titus said.

Nova stood and hugged her father. He stroked her hair and patted her back.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I had to come see for myself. I've always wanted the best for you and you've always been a good person who worked hard and did all the things in life right. It hurt me when your mother told me about what Terry said…how you suffered so much humiliation. Why didn't you tell us when you were out there?"

Nova wiped her eyes.

"You taught me to always try to work through problems…and Jordy and I…it was hard to tell everyone the truth about him because everybody had such high expectations for us…for our families connecting. I didn't want to give up if there was a chance for things to get better. They just didn't…not even when we came home."

"Okay…okay…I understand…"

Titus comforted his daughter. He stepped back from her and held his hands out for Terrina.

"May I?"

Terry handed the baby to him.

"Hey punkin, grandpa came to see you and Van-Van."

Van-Van heard his name and jumped up, grabbing hold of Titus's leg, showing him his new action figure.

"He fly, grampa," Van-Van said.

"He does? Lemme see."

He moved over to the middle of the floor and Van-Van ran in a circle around him, holding up Sam Wilson. Titus spent an hour with his grandchildren before handing Terrina over for a feeding.

"Come to the house for dinner on Thursday," Titus said. "We'll break the news to your mother and work out ways to help you."

"Thank you, daddy," Nova said.

Titus held out a hand to Terry.

"We can talk again…later. I feel like things are moving too fast for the two of you, but I won't stand in your way," Titus said.

"I respect that," Terry said.

Titus left, and Nova continued feeding the baby. Van-Van showed Terry the other things he bought for him and they interacted in a way that made Mawmaw smile when she returned to the front room and settled into her rocking chair.

The evening quieted his mind and he sat with Nova on the porch trying to catch a cool breeze. They held hands and talked quietly, reminding one another of why they fell in love. Each of them had inquisitive minds and they admired that about the other. Technology and new media interested them and they laughed about the short videos she posted on social media back in Oceanside, where she described life as a marine wife and Sci Fi geek. She had a couple of popular videos where she talked about books and others about being a new mother that went viral before she left for South Carolina.

On Wednesday, they packed up the baby in a car seat and left Van-Van with Nella to babysit so they could get the paternity test done at the South Carolina Department of Social Services. Cheek swabs were taken for him and Terrina, and afterward, they headed over to see his lawyer, Shelly-Anne, where they would make sure all legal paperwork went through her. They explained their situation and Nova gave Shelley-Anne Jordan's address to be notified of the legal proceedings as they came about pertaining to Terrina.

He dropped Nova and the children off at her parent's house Thursday morning and drove to a popular Charleston barbecue joint, Rodney Scott's BBQ. Terry didn't tell her he was meeting Jordan face to face before dinner with her parents. She would've freaked out and probably insisted that she come with him. He had to see the man alone. But he kept the venue public.

Arriving ten minutes after the place opened, he requested a seat on the outside patio and waited. He spotted Jordan as he rounded a corner.

The man didn't look well at all. Jordan once had the physique and clean-cut look the marines put on the cover of brochures for marketing, but now…

Meth had taken a toll on him.

There were deep grooves in his cheeks and the weight loss startled Terry. Jordan looked half his former size. Some muscle mass still gave him a cut, lean look with his frame, but the scruffy beard that didn't connect and the faraway look in his eyes hinted at the man's struggle. People who didn't know Jordan would probably see a handsome Black man out in casual dress of basketball shorts and a hoodie with a purposely unkempt short 'fro, with legs in need of lotion. To Terry's eyes, the man appeared unwell, and not just physically.

Jordan peered at the other patrons on the far side of the patio area with suspicion. When he lined his gaze with Terry, his body tensed and he halted, as if Terry were an apparition he wasn't truly expecting to see. There was no masking the blistering contempt in his eyes.

Jordan moved closer with an erratic bounce in his step and sat down across from him. For a full five minutes, they stared at each other. Actually, Terry stared and Jordan glared. A server brought them water and menus.

"We'll need some time looking this over. There's a lot to choose from," he told the server.

"No problem."

The young white woman walked away. Jordan leaned forward.

"I asked you to your fucking face if you were fucking her, and you told me…to my face…that you weren't. Some friend you turned out to be."

Terry didn't break eye contact and kept his cool.

"Why did you sleep with her?"

"Because your neglect made it easy to take her."

His voice came out condescending, and that's not how Terry wanted to sound. That was ego talking. That was male flexing to dig at a loser. False bravado masking the dirt on his hands for taking another man's woman even though he knew it was wrong. Jordan wasn't really a loser…just lost. Somewhere along his path to adulthood, he got stunted. Used other women to hide whatever internal failings he had.

Terry folded his hands on the table.

"I fell in love with her, Jordan. It's as simple as that. You didn't want her. I did. Now she and I have a child together—"

Jordan slammed his fist on the patio table. Terry glanced around. No one paid attention to them isolated in a corner.

"Nova is my wife—"

"Estranged wife. That divorce paperwork is coming soon. I'm also getting my name put on Terrina's birth certificate. I want you to hear this from me first…I'm taking Nova away from Charleston."

His words slowly registered in Jordan's brain. Tears welled up in the man's eyes.

"I take care of both my kids," Jordan barked. "Terrina is my daughter legally. I pay child support for her. Whatever you and Nova had is over, nigga. You're not taking my wife and kids outta Charleston."

"Nova doesn't want to be here. Her life will be away from you. I'm sorry, man. That's the way it's going to be. From now on, we'll work out things civilly without short-changing you. You can stop paying for Terrina because that's my responsibility as her father. You're Novan's father. Nothing changes that. But let's be real here. You failed Nova as a man. Look at you…wasting away like you don't care. Stressing her out to where she wants to leave her entire family. We can set up visitation for you and Van-Van—"

Jordan lunged across the table. Terry anticipated the action, deflecting Jordan's hands away. Both men stood up and faced off. Jordan reached into the kangaroo pockets of his hoodie and Terry clearly saw him grip the outline of a gun. He quickly glanced around to make sure no patrons were nearby to get hurt. Holding up his hands to his chest, Terry stayed calm. From his peripheral, he noticed Titus approaching them.

"He has a weapon, Mr. Easton," Terry said under his breath, not wanting to escalate the situation.

"Jordy, stay easy…let's not get out of hand," Titus said.

"Why'd you invite him here?" Jordan said.

"I didn't."

Titus gingerly approached Terry's side.

"Your sister Michelle got a hold of me and told me you were meeting Terry here. She was worried about you getting into it, and she was right…we can all work this thing out like sensible men."

"Work things out? He's stealing my wife…taking my kids away from me."

Titus glanced at the outline of Jordan's hand gripping the gun.

"Jordan, we can get you some help. Get you back on the right track," Titus pleaded.

"Nah. I'ma get me a lawyer…I'm gonna fight this. Fight for my marriage. Ain't no slick, pretty boy taking my family away from me. Life ain't promised, but death is for sho'. I'll kill you first, Terry, before I let you take what's mine. Your days are numbered, nigga."

A police vehicle rolled by on the street, spooking Jordan. He stormed past Titus and left the patio just as other patrons entered to be seated. Terry took a deep breath and sat down. Titus took over Jordan's spot across from him.

"I…I had no idea he was that far gone," Titus said. "I knew he had problems, but…he actually wants to kill you."

"I can take any threat as long as it doesn't go toward Nova."

Titus's hands shook.

"His eyes looked so dead. That is not the same young man that married my daughter. My God."

The server returned and Terry encouraged Titus to eat lunch with him inside the establishment with a good view of the entrance, in case Jordan returned. They ordered pulled pork with coleslaw and hushpuppies. Pauletta planned on cooking an enormous meal for their dinner, so a sandwich with easy sides was what the two men allowed themselves to indulge in. Terry's calm dealing with an agitated Jordan impressed Titus. They spoke about his work in the marines and he explained from his side of things how he fell for Nova. He tried to keep away from her, but the pull—the attraction — was just too damn strong. Titus let slip a smile at the way Terry described all the qualities that made Nova special to him…made him willing to risk it all for her. Her sweetness. The way her mind worked. How she made him feel whole when he was with her. How she made everyone want to be their best selves when she was around. Her low country cooking. The unassuming beauty she carried inside and out. He couldn't tell him the more mushy poetic things he felt, like how the sun rose in her eyes, or how her kisses gave him the breath of life, or how her touches on his skin turned him into sculptor's clay that she could shape any way she liked.

They ate their food and got to know each other as mature men wanting the best for Nova and the children.

Terry followed Titus back to his Victorian-styled home. Neither of them wanted to alarm the women about Jordan, but Titus encouraged Terry to find a place to stay where he could keep Nova and the children safe quickly.

Dinner was tense with Titus and Terry listening for any cars pulling up, or waiting for calls to come at Nova. The Easton household had outdoor security cameras, and that helped with any warning. Nova kept her phone off and that left her in the dark until they ended the meal, when she wanted to call Nella and Mawmaw and let them know they were on their way back. Titus had sounded the alarm to the Patterson family after they left the BBQ spot, and Jordan's people searched the streets of Charleston looking for him, afraid he would harm himself. Everyone agreed Terry was the target, and Nova called Jordan's mother, Boppie, to cancel all of Van-Van's weekend visitations with his father until further notice.

Both families were on edge. Terry found a decent extended stay hotel with a small kitchen and double beds. Nova turned it into a home for them, cooking hearty meals and sharing childcare with him. The hotel afforded them some measure of safety and freedom until his lawyer completed his legal paperwork. Titus paid for their accommodations for a month and checked in with Terry every day.

Through it all, he bonded with Terrina and Van-Van.

His daughter loved the animated way he'd speak to her and nothing gave him joy in the morning more than waking up to the sound of her squeals or Van-Van tapping his face to wake him up for a trip to the nearby park. Nova became more relaxed in her own space. At night, when the children were fast asleep, they snuggled together under the covers, their only intimacy holding each other. They laughed and chatted away the hours, reigniting a passion that never left, even when she had been far away from him. Sharing a bed with Nova unlocked a new level of closeness he never experienced with a woman before. She tended to talk with her hands, gesticulating her points with dramatic sweeps in the air like butterflies dancing. While he spoke of his dreams for them, she would stare deep into his eyes. His voice mesmerized her and sometimes she'd look at him as if entranced, even if he was just talking about buying her a car when they returned to Oceanside.

The first time they shared a bed all night together, Terry awoke with a jolt several times in a fitful sleep, and had to feel for her in the dark to make sure she was still by his side. He cherished the first time he watched delicate rays of yellow morning light touch her face before she woke up.

Sometimes they kissed. Other times they spooned and luxuriated in the freedom to touch each other without a time limit. Nothing sexual took place. That wasn't important to him. She was still healing and their reconnection started with the mental, which was where their love began in the first place. Talking to each other and discovering the hidden layers. Each night became a fun slumber party, and they'd hide under the covers to whisper to each other, not wanting to wake the babies.

He made the mistake of buying Van-Van a children's book that had bells and whistles and little noise makers on each page to correspond with the story. The boy loved playing with it every day as Terry read to him, but seemingly it occurred at the most inopportune times when Nova tried to put Terrina to sleep. She hid the book in a drawer from her son who always asked Terry to read it to him. However that didn't work because Terry also liked playing with the book, and would amuse himself with it after Van-Van went to sleep. Nova literally had to pry it out of his hands at night to hide it from him, too.

"I swear, you're just as bad as Van-Van, making all that noise when you know Terrina is trying to sleep," she'd scold with a playful tone.

Nova took him to his first baby doctor appointment for Terrina. She was weighed and measured and the doctor was pleased with her progress. He watched his baby receive a fresh dose of vaccine shots for two-month-olds. He nearly started crying himself, listening to his daughter wail after her shots. Her trembling bottom lip covered her top one as tears spilled down her chubby cheeks while he cooed soft words of comfort. His love for her soared and he walked around feeling blessed.

Two weeks in, he called his friend Von and had a long talk with him about his new life. Von took it in stride, although there was a slight hint of disappointment that he hadn't confided in him about his struggles being in love with Nova. He also called his friend Angie over a video chat and she listened to him, flabbergasted, for an hour.

"You must tell your parents," Angie said.

"I want to surprise them for Christmas.'

"Your mother will have a fit if you deny her this time to know Terrina and Novan."

"It's only a couple of months."

"Trust me on this."

Nova walked in on him with the children at the hotel. She'd gone down to the courtyard to get some air and to let Van-Van explore.

"I told Angie about us…about Terrina," he said.

Nova handed him the baby, and Terry showed his firstborn to Angie.

"Oh…Terry…aw…she's so cute…listen, I'm hanging up. Make a zoom chat with your parents. They have to know about this before Christmas."

He glanced at Nova.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Nova released Van-Van's hand and sat down on the bed next to him.

"I agree with Angie."

"Hey, Nova. I'm happy for you both. I really am."

"Thank you."

"I'm jumping off this call. Contact your parents right now, T. Bye!"

He lifted Terrina into his arms and sniffed her dainty curls. They smelled like cocoa butter.

"We should do it now while it's still early…and I'm feeling brave," Nova said.

He carried the baby over to his laptop on the hotel desk and Nova dragged a wingback chair next to the roller one he plopped down in, holding Terrina. His entire body shivered and his mouth went dry. He always did video chats with his parents every two weeks, so it wouldn't be out of the blue contacting them. Nova rubbed his arm.

"Are you nervous too?" he asked.

"A little."

He glanced over at Van-Van, who happily played with two race cars Terry bought for him. His squeals of delight encouraged Terry to turn on the laptop. Nova held Terrina for him, freeing his hands to text his mother quickly. His mother, Tonette, responded three minutes later, asking him to wait five minutes so she could get his father from their backyard garden.

The time came, and he sent a link to his parents to jump on a call with him. His parent's faces popped up together, but on his half of the screen, he left up the avatar picture of himself in full marine regalia.

"We can't see you Jaybird," Tonette said.

"I'll turn on the camera in a minute mama, but I need to talk to you both about something important."

"They're finally shipping you out, aren't they?" Tonette asked.

His mother's pleasant face shifted into a concerned expression behind her glasses. The short micro-braided brown bob she sported gave her a youthful exuberance. The tone of his voice brought worry lines to both of his parent's foreheads. His father, Gordon, pressed his lips together, steadying himself for any news that could be bad. Terry noticed the sun's darkening of his light nutmeg-colored skin from spending days of his early retirement outdoors growing beans and squash. He'd recently trimmed his beard that had more gray in it.

"Is that why you couldn't come see us?" Gordon asked.

Terry took a deep breath and watched his avatar blink as he spoke.

"I had to take a trip to South Carolina to meet someone."

His mother clasped her hands together.

"You finally have a steady girlfriend? Is that it?"

Her face became animated.

"Um…it's a little more than that, mama. I did meet someone special. Three years ago. It's a bit complicated, but we've decided to be together. Her name is Nova."

"Nova…ooh that's so different. That's Latin for 'new', isn't it Dino?" Tonette said.

She nudged his father's arm, using her nickname for him.

His father's expression remained neutral. He could hear the stressors in Terry's voice.

"I'm going to bring her with me to Christmas."

Tonette's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Oh, she's definitely special if you're bringing her home with you," Tonette joked. "Jaybird, is your camera not working?"

Terry glanced at Nova, and her eyes were bright, appreciating his mother's enthusiasm.

"Mama, Dad, when I come, I'm bringing you a very special Christmas gift, but I want to share it with you now."

"If it's special, save it for then," Tonette said.

Terry swallowed the lump in his throat. His father's face loomed on the screen next to his mother.

"I can't save my gift because she'll be a lot bigger by then, and I want you to see her now."

"See her?" Gordon asked.

Terry tapped the camera view on his end. He cradled Terrina in his lap with Nova pressed into his side.

His mother's mouth fell open.

"Nova and I had a baby. This is your first grandchild. Say hello to Terrina Octavia Richmond."

His mother burst into tears and nearly knocked her glasses off by holding her face in surprise. His father's eyes lit up so brightly that Terry could feel the warmth eight hundred miles away.

"Oh my, God…oh my God," Tonette murmured.

She peeked at Terrina with watery eyes. His father swelled with pride. Terrina babbled and cooed, her baby feet kicking his thighs.

"That's my grandbaby?" Tonette asked.

"She sure is, mama."

"She looks like you, oh Lord, she looks like me too!"

Tonette laughed and covered her mouth. She gazed at Nova.

"Hello, Nova...oh, I look a mess. Had I known this was a momentous occasion, I would've dressed up to meet my grandbaby!"

His mother sniffled and hid her face in Gordon's neck.

"Hi there, Terrina…I'm your grandpa…Grandpa Dino."

Nova wiped her eyes and looked at Terry. They both didn't want to go into how it all happened, but they had to. His mother calmed down, her face all blotchy and wet from the news.

"How come you didn't tell us?" Tonette asked.

"It's complicated, mama. Nova and I are dealing with something, and it's why I had to come to Charleston to get her and Terrina."

"What's going on?" Gordon asked.

Van-Van squealed and ran over to them, waving a toy truck around.

"You gave us two grandbabies and didn't tell us?" Tonette shouted with glee.

"Novan is my son from a previous relationship," Nova said, her voice quivering.

"We get to have two grandbabies for Christmas?!"

Tonette was over the moon.

"Van-Van, go play over there so we can talk, okay, baby?" Nova said.

"Hi Van-Van, it's your Grandpa Dino."

"Hi!" Van-Van shouted.

"He is so adorable," Tonette said.

"Mommy, come play with my doll."

"In a minute. Mommy has to talk some more, okay?"

"Talk to the people in the TV?"

Gordon chuckled, and Tonette beamed in her seat, so enamored with both children.

"How old are you, Novan?" Tonette asked.

Van-Van held up two fingers and then ran over to his bed. He played with all the cool toys in his new collection.

"Mama…Dad…Nova and I met three years ago in Oceanside. She was married to a soldier I trained and…well…he mistreated her. She and I fell in love while she was pregnant with Novan and then we parted when she wanted to make things work out with her husband."

"You're still married, Nova?" Gordon asked.

"I'm waiting for my divorce to go through. I gave birth to Terrina here, in Charleston, and didn't know she was Terry's until I saw her. We recently had a paternity test done and we're waiting for Terry's name to go on the new birth certificate."

"My goodness," Gordon said.

Terry's parents looked at each other with a wordless understanding. Terry cleared his throat.

"As soon as I get the paternity papers, I'm going to convert my accrued vacation leave into paternity leave so I can save all those other vacation days for another time. I get twelve weeks of paternity leave, and we want to spend that time with you in Cypress Bend. That way you can know the baby, Novan…and Nova."

Tonette burst into tears again and left her seat. Gordon nodded his head.

"You can stay for as long as you like. We can't wait to meet you, Nova," Gordon said.

Tonette returned with a tissue in her hand, sans glasses. She wiped her eyes and sat back down.

"Sorry y'all, I'm just overwhelmed. I can't believe all of this. I'm happy …overjoyed. I've been wanting this for so long…oh! Nova, I don't know if he told you…we've been waiting to have grandchildren for years. Dino is retired, and I work part-time now from home, so we have plenty of time and the energy to help with grandbabies, and none of our kids gave us any! I need pictures and video. I have to tell everyone and brag that I'm a grandma now!'

Tonette stared at Terrina. The baby seemed confused by the voices and faces staring at her.

"Say hi to Grandma and Grandpa," he said.

Terrina stared up at his face and gave him a happy smile. His parents watched him, and Terry let go of the anxious burden that sat in his chest from the start of the call. They accepted the situation.

"My baby had a baby," Tonette said, and wept again.

Their call lasted nearly three hours until Terrina had to nurse. Nova moved out of view of the camera to feed Terrina and Van-Van chatted with his parents for another twenty minutes until they ended the call.

Terry put Van-Van down for a nap, and Nova placed Terrina inside the portable crib he purchased when they first moved into the hotel. He cuddled with Nova on their bed. Relief shined in her face. His parents accepted her with open arms and no judgment.

"They are going to fall in love with you the way I did," he reassured her.

"I'm so happy they took to Van-Van well."

"Are you kidding? Did you hear my mother? She's already shopping on Amazon to order everything that little boy could ever want for Christmas. I bet she's going to have matching pajama sets for all of us when we get there."

"I can't wait to meet them in person."

His cell phone blew up with texts from his brother and sister. Even his favorite cousin Mike left a voicemail congratulating him. He shot off photos and videos of Terrina and Van-Van from his phone. Angie had been right. Telling his parents sooner would make their Christmas even sweeter together. Also, the truth about them as a couple was out in the open. Nova was excited about staying in Louisiana for a good chunk of time during the holidays. She looked so happy. All he could do was hold her tight.

Shelly-Anne filed the paperwork for the birth certificate.

Terry held the copy of the parternity results. He informed his commander that he'd already contacted Human Resources to claim his paternity leave, and spent most of his days organizing his personal affairs. He set up an allotment to Nova's bank account for the children and contacted his health insurance company to add them, too. Things were falling into place nicely.

He took a drive around town alone to enjoy the day while Nova spent the afternoon with her mother and Brielle shopping for clothes. He gave her money to buy herself some new things to spoil herself. By late afternoon, Nova texted about Jordan's suspension from his job for acting strange. His friend Charles sent him home. Terry had been ready to shoulder the responsibility of providing for Van-Van. Nova wanted to use his child support money as a monthly college deposit for her son. If Jordan's financial stability tanked already, he'd have to fine tune the budget he and Nova put together for their expenses. She had encouraged Terry to think about finishing college after he left the marines. He completed his junior year at Louisiana State University before dropping out to join Von in the military after Von lost his athletic scholarship because of a serious football injury. They both started acting a little wild and the marine discipline shaped them both right up.

Terry stopped at a bar & grill to eat a burger and have a beer before joining Nova and the kids. His mother kept texting him questions about Nova and her interests so she could find Christmas gifts for her. Nova loved to read, and he mentioned books. Since she picked Terrina's middle name after her favorite science fiction writer, Octavia E. Butler, he suggested a box set collection of Octavia E. Butler's Patternmaster series that he checked out online on Nova's public wishlist. Moments later, his mother sent him a jpeg of the book set she ordered for Nova. Terry tapped his front pants pocket. He had the perfect gift he planned on giving her.

An engagement ring.

He had to be slick trying to get her ring size without her knowing. While she slept, he snuck one of her everyday rings out of her small jewelry box she packed at the hotel. He took it to the best jeweler in town and chose an oval cut diamond ring with a 14K white-gold band. Taking the black velvet box out of his pocket, he set it on the bar table and peered at it again. He planned to do his big one by proposing to her properly on Christmas Eve when his entire family got together for caroling and eating oysters with champagne, a family tradition. He would use that time as a partial engagement party for them among his family and friends. Von and Bethany were going to be there for Christmas, and he would take that time to ask Von to be his best man for a future wedding after they settled in Oceanside. Maybe they could have a beach wedding with flag football. He grinned. In his mind, he could already see Nova running up to him in a puffy white wedding dress, snatching a flag from around his tuxedo as he tried to throw a football.

He pocketed the ring box and paid his tab. Wandering out to his truck, he had the sensation of being watched.

The parking lot was full of cars. He glanced back and forth, looking for other patrons. No one. He couldn't shake the feeling and moved with caution. Starting his truck, he didn't waste time glancing at his phone like he normally would to check-in with Nova. He backed out and drove onto the street, checking his rearview constantly. Going straight to Nova's parents had been the plan, but he opted to drive around to make sure he wasn't being followed by Jordan.

Merging onto a main highway that led to the suburbs, he noticed a dark, mid-sized sedan following him. He changed lanes twice and sped up, but the other vehicle filled the gap between them by at least three car lengths. Tinted windows didn't help him make out the driver, and the two-lane road had no other cars heading in their direction.

The other car sped up next to him and swerved to the right like it wanted to hit him, causing Terry to jerk the wheel and fly off the shoulder onto a grassy field. He braked hard before his truck hit a ditch and rolled. Startled, his eyes narrowed, and he shifted gears. He chased the car down, losing it on an off-ramp. He considered following, but didn't know the area well enough to trust that he wasn't being led to more trouble. Unable to confirm it was Jordan or some racist redneck trying to be funny, Terry continued to Nova's parents.

Outside the Easton home, Nova argued with four other adults alongside her parents. Terry pulled into the driveway and hopped out. He recognized an older woman as Jordan's mother, Boppie and Jordan's sister Michelle, along with their father, Maxwell. He guessed the other man harassing Nova and her parents was a brother. Jordan's mother was teary-eyed, but cursed a blue streak at Nova and Pauletta. Titus stayed in front of his wife as Jordan's father spewed angry words like his spouse. The Easton's returned the same fervor, blaming Jordan for everything.

Boppie spotted Terry and shouted, taking her purse and striking him in the face. Nova shoved the woman back.

"Don't you touch him!" Nova screamed.

Terry touched his lip. The purse emblem cut his lip. He bled a little and Pauletta charged Boppie, but Titus held his wife back. Michelle yelled at Nova.

"He has a right to see his son! So do we!" Michelle shrieked.

"How can you do this to Jordy, Nova? To us?" Boppie screeched.

Terry reached for Nova's arm and tried to pull her away, but she thrust herself in front of Jordan's relatives.

"Jordy is a fucking meth addict!" Nova screamed. "Stop treating him like a baby and demand that he act like a grown ass man for once and control his substance abuse! I'm leaving this place and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Terry let her get the emotions out. It felt terrible watching two close families go at each other, however he recognized the power it took for Nova to speak up for herself and her needs, no longer letting her ex's trials and tribulations stop her from moving on.

"I will never trust him with Van-Van! None of you!"

Boppie threw her head back and lashed at the sky, begging God to intervene. Maxwell glared at Titus.

"You'll let some stranger tear apart twenty-five years of friendship?" Maxwell said.

Titus walked up to his friend.

"Jordan needs help, Max. He's abusing that stuff. He abused my daughter's trust. Humiliated her as his wife. I watched him threaten to kill Terry with a gun!"

"Liar! He would never do something like that!" Boppie shrieked.

Maxwell wore bewilderment on his face.

"He had a gun?" Maxwell asked.

"He carried it in his hoodie," Titus said.

Nova stomped over to the Patterson's.

"I'm leaving this state. Jordy needs long-term help. Something is wrong with him and I won't let my son be around any of you in the future until you deal with that. Terry is the man I love…we're leaving soon and I don't want you coming to my parent's house like this ever again!"

The tone in her voice quieted everyone present.

A police car pulled up to the curb. The neighbor called for disturbing the peace. Terry glimpsed an older white man standing in his driveway across the street with a cordless phone, observing the entire confrontation.

"Let's go in," he said.

He ushered Nova and her mother inside the house while Titus dealt with the cops and the Patterson family. Nova shook with a feral rage in his arms.

"Can we leave here now?" she begged him.

"We'll head out Wednesday. I'll reserve the U-Haul tonight," he said.

The cops gave Titus a warning, and it took a long time to calm Nova down. She wanted to fight everybody. Pauletta wept about them leaving, but nothing would change their minds. Nova tended to his cut lip, and he kept his mouth shut about being run off the road. They were leaving Charleston. That's all that mattered.

Within two days, they had a U-Haul cargo trailer ready to hitch on his truck in Mawmaw's driveway. Nova packed everything she owned inside of it. She carried purpose and determination on her face, and he loved her more for it.

He spent a brisk fall Tuesday morning making a final payment to his lawyer for her work and bought Nova a bouquet of sugary pink roses just because. Under different circumstances, Charleston might've been a cool place to vacation and spend more time in, but the Patterson family soured every inch of the low country for Terry. His mind stayed on spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with his family in Cypress Bend.

"Comeya, follow me," Mawmaw said, after a hearty lunch.

She had cooked Nova and Terry fried fish and Charleston red rice with a side of thick okra soup, and he suspected it was an attempt to keep them there longer by stuffing him with delicious food. He followed her into the front room.

"Take it down," she said.

She pointed to the painting above the mantel. He lifted the heavy frame from the thick hook in the wall.

"Dat is my gift to una… and Nova. Parta we go with the chirren. Hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Nella and Nova wrapped the painting in a blanket and he secured it carefully under the truck bed covering he kept locked. Mawmaw also handed him a small sweetgrass basket she made.

"I put Carolina Gold Rice in dere. Nova cook up some red rice for oonah family," Mawmaw said.

Uncle Pete arrived and picked Mawmaw up. She didn't want to be around when they left in the morning, and gave long hugs and kisses to Van-Van, Terrina, and Nova. Before climbing into Pete's Escalade, she moved away from her walker and hugged Terry. Whatever litany of exaggerations she may have formed in her mind about him when he first arrived had dissipated. He was family now.

"Take care of Nova and dem chirren, hear?" she whispered in his ear.

"I promise, Mawmaw," he said.

He released her frail body that encased an inner strength. Nella patted his back.

"She'll be okay. You showed yourself to be an honorable man to Nova. She knows you love them kids fierce, too," Nella said.

He went to gas up the truck and picked up snacks for the road at around two-thirty. Edisto Island looked glorious in the early fall, and he took himself to the beach to gaze at the eastern shore one more time before they departed for good. He kicked off his shoes and socks and dipped his toes in, letting the Atlantic Ocean chill rejuvenate his tired feet. Lifting and packing things for Nova, while also running around playing with Van-Van, had his dogs howling. He plopped his backside on the sand with the tall sea oat plants against his back and surveyed the horizon where the sky touched the impossibly green ocean.

He closed his eyes and let the ocean breeze kiss his eyelids.

"God…thank you. Thank you for bringing Nova into my life with Van-Van. Thank you for allowing us to have Terrina. Please watch over us as we make this journey to my family in Louisiana. Grant me the strength and fortitude to be the best man and father I can be for Nova…"

He listened to the sound of the surf and the squawk of a seabird after he finished his prayer. The sharp scent of the ocean refreshed him, and he took a deep inhale. Opening his eyes again, he stood and wandered slowly back to his truck as the shadows of early evening enveloped him.

At Mawmaw's, he pulled his truck into the driveway. He'd connect to the U-Haul trailer in the morning. Craning his head to look up at the house, he noticed the front room lights weren't on. He guessed Nova went to bed early to rest with the children. Nella's car was on the street and she was probably watching her shows in her room. He clicked his key fob, locking the truck. Stretching his arms, he knew Terrina would be antsy to eat. He hoped there was a bottle in the fridge he could heat so that Nova could rest. Another strong breeze blew across his face.

Heading for the stairs, the sound of glass breaking steered him toward the carport. Shattered pieces of blue bottle glass sat under the bottle tree. A gust of wind shook a branch so hard that another bottle fell and broke, glass fragments shooting toward the cement driveway.

The back of the U-Haul trailer caught his eye.

It was partially open.

He lifted the handle to check if anything had been stolen. Nope. The trailer remained packed to the gills. He slammed the roll-up door back down and locked it with the key still stuck inside the lock. That's when he glimpsed something shiny jammed against the right back tire and picked it up. Nova's cell phone with a shattered screen. He glanced around the rest of the driveway, using a flashlight app on his smartphone. Drops of blood led to the edge of the property where he found Nella crumpled in a heap.

"Nella!"

Terry dropped to his knees and touched her neck. She was alive, just knocked out cold.

"Nella…Nella…"

Nella moaned with groggy energy. She came to and stared at Terry with unfocused eyes.

"Jordon…" she mumbled.

"Jordon did this to you?"

She nodded and grabbed his arm.

"He walked up on us. Nova tried to call the police…he knocked her phone out of her hand and grabbed Van-Van. He…pulled out a gun…she was holding Terrina, and he threatened her…ordered her to get in his car. I tried to stop him, and he… hit me with the gun. He took them. "

"How long ago did he take them?"

Nella sat up and touched the back of her head where she bled.

"Maybe thirty…forty minutes ago."

Terry quelled the panic rising in his chest.

"Is there any place you can think of where he would take them other than his family members?"

Nella shook her head.

"Tell me exactly what he said."

"He told Nova she would never leave him. Her or the babies. She pleaded for him to let the children go and just take her, but he wanted them all. Terry…he had this look in his eyes about Terrina. He said she was the reason their family broke up…I think he's going to do something to her to get back at you."

"I need you to wait on calling the police, okay? Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

Nella stood on wobbly legs. He tried calling Jordan's number and heard a ringing sound out near the street. Holding his cell to his ear, he followed the rings and found Jordan's phone near the curb.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

Nella glanced at Nova's phone in his hand and snapped her fingers.

"Wait…wait! Nova's Airtags!" Nella shouted.

She snatched Nova's phone from his hand. The touchscreen still worked.

"She put one in Terrina's car seat. Van-Van should have one stuck in his little zipper pocket on his jeans. She started putting them on the kids as a precaution when she dropped them off at Boppie's house, in case she let Jordan take them somewhere without being watched. She stopped letting them see Terrina, but probably left the tags on them."

Nella swiped the phone and found the Airtag app on Nova's phone.

"See, there they are! They're still on the island."

Terry shook his hands with enthused encouragement and kissed Nella on the forehead.

"Thank you, thank you!"

He grabbed Nova's phone and ran to his truck. The Airtag stopped near an area by the Edisto River. He held the phone up to Nella's face.

"Is there any place by the river that Jordan would possibly go?"

"He never lived here year round, but his family spent summers with us on special occasions."

Precious time ticked on.

"Think, Nella…think!"

Nella's eyes watered, and her lips poked out in concentration.

"The Edisto River…our families used to go fishing there. I never went because I don't like to fish or camp out. They'd rent a treehouse cabin."

"Call Titus or Pauletta and ask them where, and call me on my phone afterward! Do not tell them what's happening or they'll call the police and make things worse. Jordan is dangerous, and he's also a trained sniper."

Terry tore off in his truck and stuck Nova's phone in the holder attached to his dash. He followed Terrina's Airtag timestamps on the phone. Thank God there were other Apple devices nearby to help track the data.

His cell rang. Nella.

"Terry, Titus said they used to rent the cabins at a place called The Edisto Treehouse Retreat. They usually stayed close by the river to launch their paddle boats."

"Got it, I'm headed there. Give me an hour's head start before you call the cops."

He pulled over to switch his phone onto the dash so he could save the battery life of Nova's phone. Punching in the name of the rental cabins, he jetted there on a wing and a prayer. Jordan sought seclusion and privacy. The river was a good place to hold Nova and the children captive without attracting attention.

Since he was only thirty to forty minutes behind Jordan, he prayed to reach them before anything turned grave. He ventured into the more natural parts of Edisto and worried about losing a signal out in the wild. The temperature had dropped, too. Nova had worn a long sleeve shirt and a jean skirt. Terrina only had on a pink cotton onesie and Van-Van wore little jeans and a T-shirt.

"Don't do anything fucking stupid, Jordan," Terry mumbled to himself.

Part 2 of Lick Back 2 HERE.

A.N.:

The painting used in the story was made by the Gullah artist Sonja Griffan Evans. You can find her work at:

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