Summary: being smothered by intrusive thoughts about your dying affair was never an ideal situation, especially when it was with your brothers closest friend.
warnings: non cannon, everyones 18+!!, toxic relationship, smut and some plot, ! amateur writing !
Restraint. It was the only thing you allowed yourself to feel or do anytime you found yourself in the same room as her.
It was a habit you'd picked up from none other than Riri Williams herself.
But don't get it twisted; you were not forcing yourself to stare blankly at the tv because you liked her so much you were worried you wouldn't be able to control yourself from jumping her bones if you so much as peeked at her from the corner of your eye—No.
Not anymore atleast but, because each time she had been around you she liked to play a selfish game. She'd wait till your brother had looked away from her general direction before looking over at you with a curious gaze, her eyes flickering over your figure multiple times.
She'd keep at it until you finally acknowledge her existence, turning your head to the left for the slightest second to find her eyes right back at you, she'd raise a bushy brow at your attempt to stare her down and wait for the oncoming frown before smirking at you and shaking her head back to the direction of the television.
You swear she's like the world's biggest jerk.
And even worst, after she'd been long gone, you were still just laying under your fluffy comforters, tossing and turning, your mind flashing through the days events but mostly just her and her stupid smirk.
It Illogically made butterflys swarm in your tummy the same way they did when you realized for the first time she took interest in you... And simultaneously made you feel like vomiting in your own mouth.
She made you so irrationally upset & confused. This was one thing you were sure she knew of and used to her advantage, knowing she knew you still felt guilty about your previous rendezvous aswell which is why it was so easy to get under your skin in the first place.
For the short amount of time you were fond of her, you still wondered how she could just come by everyday and smile in your brothers face like she wasn't sneaking into his little sisters bedroom in the middle of the night after he had long fell asleep ; like the same fingers she'd use to toy the controls of your brothers joystick weren't the same ones she'd bring you past the brink with on a multitude of occasions.
The way she could speak so casually to your brother the next morning after grinding you on her bare thigh, reminding you that you were hers, hers to touch and whatever else she wanted you to be and like no different than a fool in the moment, you agreed knowing she'd pretend you barely existed when it's all over.
But if you were lucky, maybe her guilt would outway her ego and she'd hesitantly lean over and peck your plush lips before making her exit. You still remember how rapid your heart would beat after, the thrill of her lips on yours being the pro to knock away all the cons that came with sleeping with your brothers friend. Pathetic.
You used to dream of her staying in your bed all night and holding you tight to her chest, wanting to wake up next to her in the morning, wanting to be more than just a plaything. But it didn't take long for you to get out of that predicament.
Witnessing how quickly she would switch up– how she would just play in your brothers face not even a few hours later, ignoring your greetings in the morning if you dared speak to her. It made you sick; your stomach twirling with an emotion you refused to name.
Yet even when you felt like you hated her, on occasion, the dreams never really stopped.
"You think anybody else could make you feel like this?" She mutters before kissing the inside of your thigh.
You run a hand over your heated face and reply with a meak, "mm mm n-never.", your hips twitching up to show her your were ready.
Riri cackles at your desperation before sliding your panties to the side and bringing her face closer to your glistening folds. The sound of the thick strings being spread spurred her on as she spread your lips, your bud was jumping every now and then as you laid open all for her viewing pleasure.
"You'd be a fool to think so." her cool breath blows on your clit and you whimper before grabbing at the hand that was on your hip.
Ri rips her orbs from your cunt for a few seconds to look you deep in your eyes and immediately you're intimidated.
But you want her mouth more.
"Please, Riri." you intertwined your fingers with hers.
She pokes her cheek out with her tongue, eyeing your connected fingers, almost admiring how much more nimble and soft yours were compared to her calloused ones, how when you touched her like that it didn't feel completely wrong and she almost loses her cool.
Until a roll of your hips ends up with your clit touching the bottom of her chin, wetting the skin with your juices. You gasp and clasp your hand over your mouth, "I'm sorry."
Riri tilts her head at you before snatching her hand out of yours, "You trynna rush me?"
You shake your head hurriedly, worried she might be too upset to continue.
She eyes you for a bit before dragging her pointer and index down your area, your breathe in quickly and try not to move just watching as she brings it to her own face, sticking them in her mouth and licking them clean of the creamy substance that was just there.
Riri hums and looks back to you, "open." she demands and you spread your legs as far apart as you could with hopeful eyes.
"I want you to count f'me." her rough hands grip your lower half and slide you all the way to the edge, "And don't even start that whining shit or you starting over."
You nod stiffly at her demand, your body tensing in anticipation.
"Fucking spoiled brat." she raises her hand before smacking her palm against your clit with no warning.
You jumped at the first strike, biting down on your bottom lip so you could swallow your yelps.
"nmph—! O-one."
Riri strikes you again and again and again, 6 times total but she's not completely cruel. She atleast tries to soothe you by rubbing up your thighs when they were ever shaking.
She coos at you in a way you knew was clear sarcasm as you were ushering stuttered breaths. You were trying to calm down but then the pads of her thumb started circling your button, slipping off a few times from how slick it was, you threw you head back swiveling your hips to meet each one.
Eventually your wish is granted and Riri gives in, flattening her tongue against your clit as she stared dead ahead at your frowned up face and you knew if she could she would be smirking at the slightest contortion you were making.
Your hands run down and pulls her head further between your legs. You rock your hips as she slurped you out and you're nearly going cross eyed as the tip of her wet tongue prodded at your leaking entrance.
Riri could feel her lips twitching with pride in herself from how stupid she could get you.
Her tongue stops its teasing and takes its time licking between your folds and then directly over your clit. Your thighs shake when she sucks the puffy bud into her mouth, flciking her pink muscle over it in prolonged motions.
She wanted to savor her time enjoying you, wanted every little moan & furrowed brow etched into her brain forever, the next chance where she'd be able to have you like this too unclear.
And the pleasure is not lost on riri either as your syrupy taste infiltrated her senses, making her groan into your mound like she was the one receiving.
Your legs start loosening from around her neck, your moans start to become more the same of a whimper; a tale tell sign that you were close. Riri utilizes her impressive biceps at her advantage to hold your quivering thighs down to your chest as your haste pleads finally met her ears, "nmph– wait!"
"Hold it." She growls referring to your position as she trailed her hand down to your entrance, collecting slick with two fingers before rubbing at your entrance, poking one in first to open you up.
You throw your head back as your nearing orgasm she intruded your walls, strumming them to her own rhythm before lowering her face again and spitting on your neglected clit, collecting it back into her mouth as she closed it around your bud.
The heat sparking in your toes now rising and bubbling in your tummy let's you know your close and it's like she can tell, adding a second finger and accelerating her pace, pressing around for that one spot that made you clamp up on impact and you're whining as you twisted trying to escape from her, feeling overwhelmed.
Riri let's go of your clit with a pop, wiping her lips as she pulled your crossed legs apart and spread infront of her.
"Nah, don't run now." she holds you down with her free hand as she grazed that soft spot once again, tunneling her fingers at a continuous state, "Take that shit, y/n."
Your toes curled against the material of your socks as you squeezed around her fingers, "Riri-!" you whined, trying to squirm again.
"You wanna be good for me, right?" She whispered lowly, while rubbing at the smooth skin of your hips with one hand.
You nodded as tears started a river down your warm cheeks, slowly opening your legs to accept her again. Her index probed your walls again with no hesitation and Riri can't stop the cruel laugh that escapes her lips while your legs began shaking all over.
"Breathe, mama." she encouraged as she kissed under your ear, almost your cheek. Riri continues to pump you, sloppily, helping you over the overwhelming high. You tried to breath slower for her but on the verge of an orgasm it was no use. You were no longer forming coherent sentences as you panted frantically, biting into the sweaty yet sweet skin of her shoulder as a desperate attempt to hide the taboo eruption.
The dream usually ends there but each night, despite telling yourself you weren't into her you tried to add new recipes into the almost euphoric alternate reality.
You fight the urge to wake up just wanting to get back to that secret little place when
"Y/n?" your eyes snap open at the sound of her voice, heart already thumping rapidly against your chest.
You sit up so fast, you start to feel dizzy but, you can't help it, she sounded scared.
She's standing overtop of you with wide eyes and she looks kind of worried..? 'about me?', You thought..You're quick to deny it though, your eyes darting every which way for something— anything to fixate on.
But, of course they still chose her. It's not like you fought it too much though. In fact, one might as well say you encouraged the slow rake over her figure. Your sleepy eyes glowering at her boxer shorts under her plain tee, that you can only assume was your brothers considering the size difference, twisting the blanket in your tight fists at all the thoughts that came running.
You flinched when she randomly brought her warm hand down to your forehead, becoming extremely aware to the thin layer of cold sweat covering your body.
"What are you doing in here?" you asked with a snarl as you smacked her hand away.
"I had to use the bathroom but Xay was already in there, I was bout to go downstairs till I heard you crying." she looks at you then her eyes trail down to your clenching thighs, "I think I know why, now." she says with a chuckle.
You feel stuck as you took notice of them too, "fuck" you cussed before draping your blanket over them, disregarding your current body temperature as you prayed she didn't hear—or see— too much else.
Your mouth opens and closes slurring together random words as you try to think of what to say in defense of yourself, "I was just dreaming about the political and economic state of the world."
"Huh?"
"What else did you..hear?" You asked, glaring at the obnoxiously observant girl because you don't really know how much she heard and denying it could possibly make it worst.
Riris brows furrow, "Was there something else you wanted me to hear? You mean the crying wasn't enough..?"
You gulped as your eyes traced down her figure, lingering over her exposed thighs. Why was she so fine this early in the morning?
She scoffs at your audacity to stare but not answer her question. Your eyes snap up to hers once more as you feel yourself becoming more alert.
"Get the hell out of my room, Riri."
Riri shrugs as she strides over to the door with heavy but silent steps, "Didn't even have to do allat." she mutters sourly under her breath.
Before she can actually exit something compelled her to poke her big head back in your direction, "I'm going..but if you need someone to solve that problem.." she motions to your lower half with dark eyes, "You know where to find me."
A/N: this has been sitting for wayyyy tooo long but anyways, I hope this was intelligible 🙇🏾♀️ lol
warnings. reoccurring dream. attraction. tense relationships. assumptions/bias. fluff. memories. gens and her father. highway to the moon. sibling-like relationship with julian. growth. (edited) lyrics and flashbacks. a look into genesis’ life. angst. mention of character death. presenting grief. tish is gens safe place. the hum
notes. whewww this is a lot… very emotional making this, touching deeper into genesis’ (new) backstory. this chapter uses lyrics from stephen marley’s song “old soul”, edited by genesis when she sings, purposefully. on another note, i also posted both my full masterlist and an about me (pinned post), so go make sure you check those out. much love ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
She grips the steering wheel tightly as the van bounces over the rugged, uneven, terrain, leading to the remote set location. The early morning sunlight’s beginning to pierce through the thin veil of dawn, casting a soft, golden, light over the desert landscape. Despite the beauty of the sunrise, Genesis’ mind is far from peaceful.
The echos of last night’s dream is still vivid in her consciousness. As she navigates the bumpy, off-road, path, flashes of the dream replay in her mind—the roaring fire, the haunting hum, the strangely familiar melody that seems to call out to her. Each bump in the road seems to jolt another memory loose, the scenes playing out behind her focused eyes on the road ahead.
Her expression grows increasingly furrowed, unknowingly, as she gives in, delving deeper into her thoughts, trying to dissect the meaning behind the reoccurring dream. Still, the hum nags at her with its familiarity. It’s more than just a sound, it feels like a voice she should recognize, a voice that pulls at her heart, seemingly calling to her. The emotional intensity of the dream, this time around, has left a residue that clings to her, making her heart race a little faster, even now.
The landscape outside blurs as she focuses inward, subconsciously knowing her way there, her hands mechanically adjusting to the movements of the van. She recalls the way the hum had woven through the chaos of the dream again, a constant presence that seems to guide and sooth her simultaneously as she watches the dream play out every single time. It’s as if the melody carries a message, one that’s on the cusp of her understanding, yet just out of her reach, elusive yet profound.
Her brow only furrows deeper, her eyes narrowing slightly on the road as she attempts to connect the tangled dots.
Why does the melody feel so integral, so deeply ingrained in my being?
The recognition of the notes tugs at something within her, a memory or a feeling that’s just out of her reach. The more she focuses on the hum, the more she feels the undeniable connection to it, as though it’s a part of her own soul’s narrative.
As she pulls up to the set, mindlessly parking the van, she sits there for a moment. The dream’s unsettled her more than she wants to admit, causing her to take in a deep breath through her nose, trying to shake off the remnants of it. She takes a glance in the rearview mirror, her face a complex tapestry of emotions—confusion, curiosity, and even a hint of fear in her eyes.
Why dose the dream, that voice, feel so important?
She sees the flames flash behind her eyes once more before she breaths out, finally, smoothing her expression in an instant, tucking away her personal turmoil to showcase a set expression, prepared to step into her professional role. But as she opens the door, following the sounds of the others, the hum echos in her mind once more, like a promised return.
Having resonated so deeply in Genesis’ mind, it comes to an abrupt halt as she shuts the van’s door behind her, the silence following is almost jarring, the sudden absence of the tune leaving a tangible void. For a moment, she stands beside the van, in place, taking in the sharp contrast between the stillness of the early morning desert air and the turmoil that’s been churning within her.
The set laid out a ways before her, a professional landscape with activity as the small crew prepare for the day’s shoot. Camera operators are already setting up their equipment, and production assistants walk around with clipboards and headsets. It’s a world away from the quiet introspection and haunting echos of her dream, a reminder of the dual aspects of her life, her internal, personal, experiences, against the backdrop of her external, professional, duties.
As she composes herself, Julian walks over to her from the other side of the car, holding out the bag of makeup and styling tools, which she takes. Both of them are dressed conspicuously warm for the desert, the early morning bringing the cold.
Genesis wears a black hoodie, slightly loose on her thin frame, with the hood up over her locks, paired with matching black, denim, pants, the cuffs hanging loose over her worn-in, reliable, boots suitable for the rugged terrain. Over her hood, she wears Letitia’s long, black, leather Prada jacket— a piece that’s become a staple for her not only for its warmth but also for its sentimental value, considering her modest living circumstances.
Julian, on the other hand, embraces a slightly more relaxed version of her style. He wears a loose white shirt underneath a baggy, collared, denim, button-down, the sleeves rolled up underneath his black, leather, jacket, paired with washed denim jeans, loose on his tall, slender, frame, a knitted lanyard hanging from his right pocket, his dreads hanging just past his shoulders, and around his neck, loosely, being a scarf, light and woven, the tone a slight nod to the earthiness of the desert.
With the smooth hand-off, Genesis slinging the bag over her shoulder, they start their walk across the crunching dirt and rock towards the set. Julian glances at Genesis, noticing a tightness in her expression that hadn’t been there the day before when he met them in Phoenix.
“Yuh alright?” Julian asks, his deep tone softened, filled with a genuine concern. He notices the far-off look in her eyes, more and more usual these days.
Genesis, still wrapped in the remnants of her haunting dream, finds herself momentarily lost in thought, the images from her dream—the fire, the hum, the strange familiarity of it all—still cling to her mind, casting a shadow over her morning. Caught off-guard by Julian’s question, she manages only a brief, noncommittal, response.
“Yeah,” She mutters softly, almost too low for him to hear, a mumble if anything. Her gaze remains distant, a small shrug leaving her shoulders, as if to physically dismiss the concerns—or perhaps to try and reassure Julian without delving into the depths of her thoughts.
Julian’s eyes narrow slightly in concern, but he chooses not to press further, understanding the importance of space, especially with Genesis. Instead, he offers a supportive nod, allowing the conversation to lapse back into the comfortable silence between them as they continue their walk.
As they approach the bustling heart of the set, ready to go their separate directions, Genesis points towards the costume trailer.
“Over there,” She gestures, her voice regaining some of its usual clarity. “You’re working with Jojo. Vandalkidd? She’s one of Letitia’s friends, handling the main wardrobe things, pretty good stylist.”
Julian nods, recognizing the name.
“Got it. Jojo, yeah?”
“Two of you gonna be coordinating on how the outfits align with the scenes and to which actor, make sure it’s seamless.” Genesis explains, her professional demeanor smoothing over the earlier traces of distraction, her clear on-set experience showing.
Meanwhile, by the said area, Jojo’s in deep conversation with Letitia. The two of them share a relaxed, almost familial, rapport, catching up from the last few weeks amidst the professional chaos of their careers. As they converse, Jojo’s gaze inadvertently drifts past Letitia, her eyes landing on a figure who’s walking over from the hair and makeup trailer. The early morning light catching the silhouette in a way that highlights a lean frame.
“Who’s that over there?” Jojo asks, her voice trailing off as she watches the unknown girl, her interest clearly piqued.
Letitia turns to follow Jojo’s gaze, a smile soon tugging at her lips as she recognizes Genesis. But before she can respond, Jojo continues, her eyes still fixed on her.
“She’s got this aura, don’t she? Look at her… damn.”
Genesis, unaware of their observation, reaches up to adjust her hood, lowering it, her striking green eyes against her dark melanin skin and the sharpness of her facial features come into view.
“Oh wow…” Jojo murmurs, more to herself than to Letitia. Her appreciation is evident, her tone shifting to something more flirtatiously admiring. “She’s fine… Look at those eyes.”
Letitia’s caught between amusement and a desire to introduce Genesis properly, but she remains silent for a moment, watching Jojo’s reaction with the smallest grin.
Jojo, still unaware of the personal connection between the two, leans slightly closer to Letitia, lowering her voice in a playful whisper.
“You think she’s seeing anyone?”
Jojo’s flirtatious inquiry hangs in the air as Letitia’s, momentarily taken aback, eyebrows furrowing, looking to her friend in a quick motion, formulating a response in her mind. But before she can reply, Genesis, having noticed their exchange from across the way, stars to slowly jog over.
Her approach is marked by a light, almost shy, smile that’s directed solely at Letitia, her green eyes holding a soft glint of both playfulness and affection.
“You left me.” She teases lightly, her tone warm and intimate, reserved just for Letitia as she alludes to this morning, having woken up alone and having to drive in with Julian.
The moment Genesis reaches Letitia, their interaction shifts seamlessly into one of comfortable intimacy. They lean in simultaneously for a brief, tender, kiss, a simple peck that naturally flows from their greeting.
Jojo watches, the realization dawning on her slowly as she puts all the pieces together. The atmosphere shifts subtly then; the playful curiosity Jojo held in her demeanor fading away, replaced by a complex express of confusion and discomfort. She realizes then that this is Genesis, the girl Letitia had started seeing just past a week after Fidji and her broke up, a mutual friend of their’s who Jojo’s closer with due to her bond with her younger sister, Samira. She’s only heard about her through Fidji and Samira, but never having seen her herself, nor does Letitia mention her much, content on keeping what they have private, but then again, Jojo didn’t see her between that time.
The air thickens slightly with unspoken thoughts, but Jojo manages a polite smile, though her eyes are guarded, the warmth that had animated her features moments before cooling into a more calculated, distant, gaze.
Genesis, picking up on the change, understanding the context, remains quiet, her demeanor naturally reserved, not one for many words to most people, but she moves her gaze from Jojo to Letitia.
“I sent Julian this way, should wander by here soon.”
“Jojo will show him the ropes.” Letitia pecks Genesis’ lips again before they pull away fully this time, standing slightly apart, Genesis needing to head back to the hair and makeup trailer to help Nikki set up for the boys.
“Gotta head back before Nikki starts blowing my phone up.” Genesis murmurs, her voice low, a hint of reluctance threaded through her words.
Letitia reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Genesis’ face, her touch gentle and lingering, matching her tone.
“I’ll see you in a bit?”
Genesis’ lips curl into a small, affectionate, smile, starting to walk backwards slowly, in the direction of the trailer, nodding.
“And don’t leave me again!” She calls out gently, causing Letitia to chuckle slightly, putting her hands up in defense with a shrug and Genesis turns, her figure receding into the distance, Letitia watching her go, a fond look in her eyes, appreciating.
After a moment, Letitia turns back towards Jojo, finding an almost scrutinizing gaze.
“So that’s the chick…”
Letitia can’t help but sigh. They hadn’t had an opportunity to speak of it beforehand, and part of her thought Jojo wouldn’t be bothered. But Jojo’s feelings about Genesis, though unspoken in depth, are clear in her expression. She disliked her personally to an extent. She barely knows her, yet she can’t shake off the odd feeling which stems from the rapid transition Letitia had made from Fidji to Genesis, one Jojo keeps hearing about, and it’s a little to at home, too tangled with her friendships and past.
Adding to the complexity is Letitia’s decision to bring Julian onto the project, a seasoned stylist, just as Jojo, but his presence, off-putting, having Jojo’s same title and being a close friend of Genesis’.
“You were fine with her five minutes ago.”
“That’s before I knew who she was!” Jojo defends herself. “You brought the girl you moved on with within what? A week? To help work on this short film and let her bring her friend-“
“Julian’s here to help you. And Genesis was an amazing hair and makeup artist long before we got together. This is about work-“
“But it’s not just about work, though, is it? This whole thing affects our circle, our dynamics. I already get an earful from them.” Jojo motions around, alluding to the sisters, as she speaks animatedly.
“Look-“ Letitia sighs. “She’s not just some rebound or a distraction, yeah? I need you to try and see that and let her in a little. I think you’ll really like her if you just give her a chance.”
It’s a tentative response, and Letitia looks to Jojo unsurely as she absorbs the plea. Letitia watches as Jojo’s expression softens, even if only a little as she considers her words before sighing, turning to head to her own workspace.
“No promises.” She finally says, leaving Letitia standing there alone.
And Letitia’s head drops with a sigh, her fingertips going up and massaging the space between her brow at the prospect of the mess she may have created.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
On the final day of filming “Highway to the Moon” in the vast, sweeping, landscapes of the Arizona desert, the crew works tirelessly under the slowly descending sun. The late afternoon casts long shadows, painting the desert in hues of gold and amber, a fitting close to their intensive schedule.
As the last setup of the day’s being prepped, Genesis finds a moment for herself, drifting away from the bustle to sit on a large, flat, slab of sun-warmed rock, an easy, short, climb for her. The wind whips around her, tugging at her clothing, still dressed warmly, and hair, but she sits unbothered, her gaze fixed on the horizon ahead where the sun begins its final descent. The scene’s almost reminiscent of a painting, ethereal and serene, almost like a reflection of the themes of innocence and joy that Letitia’s film seeks to capture.
Her thoughts drift, the film’s exploration of black boy joy sparking a personal reflection. She remembers a faded photograph somewhere back home—a picture of herself as a toddler, standing in front of both her grandmother and her father, a man who in particular stands out in her memory, a figure of strength and warmth.
She remembers her father, always the storyteller, had a way of bringing laughter and light into their small home. Genesis remembers this particular afternoon, the evening being very similar to this desert scene before her, only the backyard was filled with the lush green of a Guyana landscape, not the arid expanse she sits in now.
She remembers—her father, a man with a gentle smile and unwavering kindness, hoisting Genesis onto his shoulders with effortless ease. Genesis, with her little hands gripping securely on her father’s beanie, giggles heartily, her joy infectious and unrestrained. Her father’s face lights up in a proud and joyous grin, the kind that speaks volumes of the bond he shared with her.
“Look at yuh! You can touch the sky if you want to!” He exclaims, his voice a mixture of encouragement and delight.
Genesis only giggles more, her hand gently pulling on his beanie to keep her secure.
“I’m gon’ catch the moon for you, Daddy!” She declares, her imagination ignited by the feeling of being so high off the ground and the sight of the moon up in the clear blue sky, no clouds in sight, and her grandmother, standing beside her father, chuckles warmly, the sound rich with affection
“And bring down a star for me, baby girl.” She adds, her eyes twinkling with mirth and love as she adjusts the knitted shawl around her shoulders. Her gaze is soft and loving as she watches her son and her granddaughter revel in the moment.
“Ah, and get one for Aajee and for yuh. We need all the stars we can get in dis family.” Her father plays along.
Genesis, feeling as though she can truly soar in the moment, among the sky and the moon and the clouds, giggles heartily again, a melody of happiness that seems to dance through the crisp air.
As her laughter settles, Genesis’ father gently manages to set her down and he kneels to meet her at eye level.
“Remember this, yeah? Always reach high, always dream big. Because in this family, we chase every bit of joy and dream we see, none matter how far or how high.”
“I will, Daddy. I’ma catch all the stars and the moon!” Genesis nods, her young face set with a determined expression.
She remembers her father’s smile in that moment, alighting warm, engaging, so striking that it lights up everyone around him.
“I know yuh will.” He says, gently reaching out to push one of her tiny locks back behind her ear.
She comes back to reality as the wind continues to blow against her body, and she can’t stop the smallest smile that graces her lips in the moment, remembering. Her memory’s a personal truth, inspiration of the idea she gave Letitia for this very film.
“A journey to the moon.”
The moment’s suddenly pierced by the sharp sound of a whistle, slicing through the tranquil desert air, jarring Genesis from her deep reflections. Her head snaps downward in surprise, her eyes quickly finding Julian standing there, his hands lowering from his lips, having delivered the whistle, but only to wave his hands in her direction to catch her attention.
Genesis, realizing that filming’s resuming, turns her gaze back towards the expansive desert vista for a brief moment, as if to capture one last mental snapshot of the serene scene before the demands of the set reclaim her focus.
With a deep breath, she prepares to descend from her lofty perch atop the slab of rock, not too far from the ground that it’s deemed dangerous or unsafe, though it probably wasn’t her smartest idea. She swings her legs over the edge, dropping herself, the smooth surface cool against her palm as she grips it tightly. For a moment, she hangs there, suspended by one hand, surveying the drop—manageable yet still a decent distance, almost like climbing a tall tree in Guyana.
From a short distance away, Letitia, who had been conversing with Nikki and Jojo, catches sight of Genesis’ actions. A flicker of worry crosses her face, eyebrows knitting together as she watches the somewhat risky maneuver. Despite knowing Genesis’ capability to handle herself, the instinctive concern is immediate.
With a practiced ease that belies careful calculation behind the move, Genesis releases her hold, allowing gravity to take over as she drops gracefully to the ground below.
The scene makes Letitia externally cringe as her heart tightens, yet Genesis lands on her feet with a soft thud on the sandy, rock, ground, straightening and dusting off her hands like it was nothing, and Letitia feels the release of weight off of her chest at the sight, finally exhaling her breath.
Genesis starts to jog over, but Julian’s eyes twinkle with mischief. Just as she nears, expecting to delve straight into any work needed of her for the last scene, Julian reaches out swiftly, snagging her into a playful headlock. His movement is quick but gentle-ish, a brotherly tease that’s common in their dynamic, especially when the stress of long days weigh on everyone.
“Gotta pay the toll first!” Julian exclaims, his grin wide as he securely wraps his arm around Genesis’ head.
Genesis can’t help but let out a suprised laugh, struggling playfully within his grip.
“Jules- let go ya-“ She laughs, her voice muffled slightly as she playfully wiggles, her whole body moving around, trying to duck out from under his arm.
Letitia watches the interaction, a smile spreading across her face as she stands beside Nikki and Jojo still, conversation still halted. It’s a lighthearted moment that eases the intensity of the day’s final hours, and seeing Genesis so openly spirited and joyful warms Letitia’s heart.
“Those two are always at it. You’d think they’d get tired after a full day’s shoot.” Nikki chuckles, looking towards the playful scuffle.
Jojo, whose initial reservations earlier in the week about Genesis had cast a shadow over their earlier interactions, watches with a newfound kindling appreciation. Seeing Genesis in this light, over the last few days, vibrant and full of life, chips away at the remaining ice.
“She’s got that energy, I’ll give her that.” Jojo remarks, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
As they look on, Genesis finally manages to twist out of Julian’s hold, freeing herself with a triumphant “Ha!”, quickly trying to turn the tables, trying to push Julian into a playful lock of her own, but he dances away, both of them laughing heartily at the chase.
“Hey! We’ve got a scene to shoot!” Letitia’s voice carries across to them suddenly as she calls out, hands cupped around her mouth.
Genesis and Julian, reminded of their professional duties, break from their chase, slowing into breathless jogs over back towards the setup, their playful energy a welcome relief to the day’s long tensions of filming.
The day of filming closed with a seamless blend of relief and triumph, and a couple hours later, under the canopy of stars, some gather in the sprawling backyard of the Airbnb that Letitia, Genesis, Julian, and Jojo share. A rustic fire pit crackles at the center, casting a warm, flickering, glow over everyone’s faces. The mood is light and celebratory, laughter mingling with the occasional pop and hiss from the fire being kept alive by Julian.
Genesis, now dressed in more comfortable clothing—a cozy black hoodie branded “Lord’s Child”, one of Letitia’s own, and loose-fit, black, pants—sitting slightly apart from everyone else, her guitar resting on her lap. The casual attire echos her relaxed demeanor, a sharp contrast to the more professional outfits she wore while on sets, her locks back up in a semi-mess of a bun, accentuating her thoughtful expression as she tunes the guitar.
“You gon’ give us a little something?” Julian urges gently, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of conversations.
Genesis looks to him with a questioning look as all the other conversation dies down, all attention now on her, a slight hesitation settling quickly in her eyes at the feeling. She’s always comfortable behind the scenes, less so in the spotlight, yet she glances around the fire, finding curious gazes from Letitia and Jojo, coupled with Julian’s gentle smile, nudges her forward.
She glances back down, a heavy sigh releasing from her lips, adjusting the guitar in her lap to a more comfortable position, her fingertips lightly touching the strings as she thinks about what to play.
Letitia, sitting on the bench across from her, on the other side of the fire, watches her with a curious gaze, and Jojo leans closer to Letitia, whispering.
“She sings?”
It’s a question Letitia doesn’t really know the answer to. She heard her mumbling as she played in the early hours of that morning in the Airbnb in Los Angeles, but similar to all the other times she’s now seen her play, Letitia doesn’t think she’s ever heard her actually sing, peaking her curiosity.
She stays silent, not answering Jojo’s question, watching as Genesis closes her eyes for a moment, her fingers beginning to idly strum as she hums quietly, a mumble, finding the tune she wants to showcase. And after a moment, her eyes open, her gaze steady down at the strings, her posture relaxed as she begins to truly play.
The melody, soft and melodious, a simple, yet heartfelt tune that fills the air. And as she plays, her voice, soft with a experienced rasp, joins.
“It was 1993
My mom and papa brought me through
Back then I was the favorite
So they say”
Genesis’ mind travels back to her earliest childhood memories, a montage of sunny days, laughter, and the comforting presence of her father. In these flashes, she’s a toddler, tottering around under the watchful eyes of her father, always with a video camera in hand, documenting precocious moments, his raspy voice often heard in the background of these old videos proclaiming: “There’s my favorite girl!” or things as such. These were the days of unquestioned love and attention, where Genesis felt like the center of her father’s universe, cherished and celebrated, and she doesn’t think that ever changed.
“Even though he was way before his time
I knew every Nesta Wrights line
You knew that Bob Marley was fly
In Adidas shoes and corduroy”
She remembers—in the living room of her childhood home, the smell of vinyl records, ganja, and vanilla, her father returning from having performed at a music festival in Georgetown. Yet, her father, with his guitar cradled expertly in his arms, sat criss-cross on the carpet. The evening was then quiet except for the continued soft strumming of his guitar and the vinyl of Bob Marley and The Wailers playing in the background. The melody was smooth and flowing, much like the things he often sang of, carrying stories and songs through the landscape of her childhood.
Her father, like Marley himself, believed music was not just an art but a force, a universal language that can express truths deeper than words. He used to explain the significance of each of Marley’s songs, how he wasn’t just a musician, but a poet and prophet of sorts.
Genesis, then a little girl, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, her eyes wide with admiration as she watched her father play, soaking up every note and word, learning lyrics by heart.nHe would sometimes close his eyes as he did such, lost in the music, his fingers moving deftly over the strings. Every note he played seemed to tell a story, even then, painting pictures, and his style, often reminiscent of Marley’s as well—with his Adidas shoes and the common corduroy shirt or jacket on his body.
“Fast forward to 2001
My dad moved on and so did I
Inside I kept his songs alive
So they say”
She remembers—the year that marked a significant turning point in Genesis’ life. The year her father passed away, a moment that felt as if a great light had gone out in her world, leaving her alone. But despite the deep loss, and the whirlwind of events that followed, Genesis carried forward the legacy of her father’s music and spirit from Guyana. She remembers sitting alone in her room in the residential home in Tottenham, his guitar in her hands, strumming the chords he had taught her earlier in her life. It was in those quiet moments that she truly understood the depth of what he imprinted on her—a resilience. His songs, his lessons, continued to resonate with her, a constant presence in her daily life.
Now, even in his absence, years later, it feels as though he’s still guiding her. Sometimes, in moments of silence or decision, she can almost hear his voice, offering advice or encouragement, a spiritual guidance that continues to shape her path and decisions.
“I’m an old soul
Living in the body of a seven-year-old
I guess I’ve been here before
I’m an old soul
Tribute to the ones who made it all possible
Inside me your legacy lives on”
As she sings the these words, Genesis’ mind wanders to her early childhood again, where despite her young age, she often felt a profound connection to the past, as if spirits of those who had come before her whispered in her ear.
Her mind finds its way back to a sunny afternoon filled with laughter of a family and friend gathering in their backyard. As a young child, she had sat with her father, attached to him, needing his presence, and several older relatives who shared stories of days gone by, each a tale, a stitch in the fabric of their family’s history. Her father, amused and proud, had often turned to explain an old saying or a piece of advice, and even then, Genesis had a knack for grasping these wisdom’s quickly.
Young Genesis, her curiosity always piqued by the stories and secrets that adults just casually mentioned, was also keen to randomly taking hands and reading their palms, her fingers tracing the hand lines like some kind of calming action to ground her. Adults around her often thought of it as just something silly, only soon after, finding out that she was right.
“I told you so.” A phrase she commonly muttered, not being able to resists the cheeky remark and family members in that moment erupted in laughter, marveling at her seemingly innate knowledge beyond her years.
She remembers her father chuckling and his words that followed.
“Yuh always seem to know, kiddo.”
As the final chords of her little piece resonate through the cool night air, Genesis allows the last note she plays to linger, slowly fading into silence that envelopes the backyard. She gently holds the guitar, her father’s, her hands resting over the instrument as she takes a moment to absorb the atmosphere. The fire crackling softly, casting a warm, flickering, light on the group surrounding, all looking on with gentle gazes, faces reflective and touched by the raw honesty and beauty of the lyrics and her voice.
“She’s alright…” Letitia hears Jojo murmur beside her, glancing over to find Jojo still looking ahead at Genesis, an understanding in her eyes now, seemingly seeing that as her story.
Letitia then quietly moves closer to Genesis, a seamless grace in her approach, an unspoken understanding of the moment’s intimacy and significance. As she reaches her, Letitia simply slides beside her on the bench, their sides touching lightly. The action’s subtle yet profoundly comforting.
Genesis, feeling the warmth of Letitia’s presence so close now, instinctively leans into her. It’s a natural, tender, motion, one that speaks volumes to their deep bond and mutual support. Letitia responds by wrapping an arm around Genesis’ shoulders, drawing her in gently, allowing her to rest her head against her. The contact is soft and protective, a physical affirmation of love and understanding.
Genesis nestles closer into Letitia, her eyes closing as she rests her head under her chin, body slouching with emotional exhaustion, yet content in the moment. The weight of the evenings emotions, the joy of shared memories, and the comfort of Letitia’s embrace blends into a perfect, peaceful, conclusion to the night.
But in her ears, she hears the hum.
And suddenly, behind her closed eyes, she sees her father, that same evening as an earlier memory, humming something so familiar in their living room with his guitar cradled in his lap, his fingers caressing the strings with a skilled, gentle, touch.
And it dawns on her, the hum, it’s the tune he always murmured before he began her favorite song.
izzy806
stormborns
pixelskylines
gummygunk
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
jbbartram-illu
