#kovu prompt

[withalustforbeing--bad-blog]

Unapologetic | Kita

un·a·pol·o·get·ic adjective         not feeling or showing regret or shame; not apologetic

Kovu and Rita didn't mind using each other for this particular need. And they most certainly weren't sorry about it. 

“Oh come on,” Kovu teased, giving a playful roll of his mischievous emerald eyes. "Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”  Because he knows he sure thought about it. What she’d feel like, what she’d sound like, if she’d call him “Papi” in that accent of hers like he imagined she would.

“Maybe,” was her coy reply, glancing at him through her long lashes.

Their talk was small that first night, but their drink was plenty after he had invited her in and took her by the hand leading her into the kitchen. He’d chased down their liquor with the grape juice he kept in the fridge. It wasn’t long before his cheeks were warm and her tight resolve had loosened around him as she leaned against the island counter. They’d gotten closer as they drank, his arms boxing her in casually, as her focus seemed trained on the turquoise stones that hung from his neck. Just a single heated gaze from her sent his lower abdomen stirring. And just a single tug on those stones about his neck brought his lips to hers.

He thought she was oblivious to his intentions when he texted her - but he had been oh-so-wrong. See, Rita was completely ready, not at all blindsided to what this was, what he wanted. She met his kisses head on, responded to his touches, pulled at his clothes before his hands could reach for them.

But his bed was simply too far.

So they had at it right there on the kitchen counter, moving then to the couch, finally landing in a heap of naked sweat-slicked limbs on the floor. Ragged breaths reverberated off the walls as they came down. There was a smug quirk in Kovu’s lips because he was right - about her calling him “papi,” I mean.  

“Shit...I don’t know if this can be a once off thing,” he’d mumbled, his hand toying with her dark wavy hair while she kissed and nipped at the tattoos along his chest.

Kovu was always considered selfish, but Rita Santiago gave him even more reason to be so. She was all pretty face and slick tongue, her thick accent dripping over her words like a spicy chocolate sauce making mere English sound a lot smoother than it was. And he was selfish - so damn selfish - and after having a taste of what being with her was like, his body felt insatiable, wanting to take more from her. Why deny this when their attraction and benefits are mutual for them both?  He was sated for now, sure, as was she, her eyes closed with contentment. But who was to say he would be tomorrow, the day after that, or next week, even next month? He didn’t like that kind of uncertainty.

“Everyone else is getting theirs. Who the fuck’s to say we can’t get ours too,” was her easy reply.

He knew this was her agreeing. ____________

“Miss me?” he always asks cheekily.

“Shut up,” she laughs in reply.

It’s been five times they hooked up since this whole “affair” began (it could have been more, but Rita was playing games with him as she usually did). But Kovu wasn’t exactly sure who they were “affairing” on. He wasn’t sure there was anyone to begin with - not that it was his business. More importantly - not that he cared. But it was a bit of a rush, having to speak in code when they wanted to meet up, lying to Sticky so he could get the room for the night. Their arrangement was easy, it was convenient for both parties as they both wanted nothing less than the great friendship they already had and nothing more than the perks of physical pleasure with no strings attached.

She’d just wrestled him to the bed, straddling his hips. Tugging his shirt over his head, her lips instantly attaching to the picture of a lion inked at the base of his throat - he knew she liked that one best, while she hated cats. The boy’s closed eyes opened slightly, squinting suspiciously as he heard rustling by the door. His distraction didn’t last long before Rita had forced his gaze back to her, and he sat up on his elbows so he could claim her mouth.

Releasing the hold his teeth had on her bottom lip, his eyes darted around as he heard the sound once more. “You hear that?”

“All I hear is you asking me dumb ass questions,” she pushed him back, wasting no time in removing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. “Relax,” she purred in his ear, the tips of her fingers gliding down his chest to calm him.

A skid. A crash. And the door to his bedroom flew open, the force causing it to bang loudly against the back wall.

“Shiiiiiiit,” Kovu heard a voice hiss. The South African boy went into defense mode, leaping from the bed. He wasn’t about to let someone roll up on him like this, not without consequence. Grabbing his boxers from the ground, he slid them back on, grabbing the first weapon he could find - an umbrella.

“Really?” Rita mouthes, gesturing to the umbrella. He held a ‘don’t try me’ finger up to her as he advanced to the door. If he was closer to his Timberland boots, he'd have picked up the pocket knife he kept in there, but Kovu was resourceful. He was met with someone’s feet as they fell face first to the floor. Kovu didn’t waste any time, attacking the kid with hard swings from the umbrella.

“Ow! OW! STOP! KOVU STOP!”

He stopped. “Sticky?"

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Kovu dropped the umbrella instantly, when he noticed his best friend on the ground, his legs at odd angles as he sought to cover his face from the attack. Upon his yelling, Rita had ran to the door behind him, quirking a perfectly arched brow at the boy on the floor.

“You see…what had happened was. Um…I forgot my…phone?” Sticky stammered, forcing an excuse out that he figured would be sufficient enough for the set of hard eyes glaring at him.

“Are you asking or telling him?” Rita snapped, her lips pressed into a displeased line.

“Rita?” Surprise shone in Sticky’s features as he gazed up at her. “That’s who you’ve been inviting over all this time?” He directed the question back to Kovu.

Kovu rolled his eyes. “Yeah, bruh. Happy? Now you know, now get out,” he demanded, grabbing the other boy by the back of his collar forcing him to stand, and pushing him towards the front door.

“Alright, I’ll go, but this conversation ain’t -“ Slam

“It’s over. We should do this at your crib next time..."

[withalustforbeing--bad-blog]

Die In // Prompt

A/N: So as many of you should know, the biggest topic of national conversation is the Ferguson and Eric Garner cases. Topics of blatant racism and the quality of black life has come into question time and time again by the government's lack of indictment. Kovu, being one who advocates for causes like these obviously had a lot to say in my head regarding the cases, and Tiffs urged me to drabble my ideas. so I hope you guys enjoy it!

It’s going down today. 4PM. Clark Arena. Tell a friend and bring a friend.

  His slender fingers flitted across his keyboard at quick speed as he composed the message and sent it out to all his friends and classmates along the Elias blogs. After all his planning, the die-in was going to happen.

  It didn’t take long for news of the Ferguson case verdict in America to get to him in the Bahamas. It didn’t take long for him to hear days later about the results of Eric Garner’s case either. But it took an even shorter amount of time for Kovu Leon to make up his mind that he wanted to do something about this.

  Injustice in the land of the free was an injustice everywhere, he believed. When would everyone see that the black life was as worthless as a penny? When would they wake up and realize there is no such thing as an isolated incident when black men and women are being gunned down and murdered for doing no wrong other than being black and alive? When will America see that their laws and beloved constitution weren’t framed to protect everyone? When will they see that racism is not a card, but still a very real thing?

  Kovu didn’t know.

  And after speaking with his professor on the matter at hand facing their neighbors up North, he was urged to research further. It disgusted him that rarely had anyone spoken up on the issue on Ferguson other than in his government class. It was almost as if because it was America’s problem, that it didn’t belong to them in the Bahamas, that it didn’t matter, and that enraged Kovu the most. Because this is how most of the biggest of society’s issues are dealt with. They are swept under the rug to be forgotten until people like him back down and commence sweeping it under the run as well.

  But Kovu refused to be silent. He was going to raise noise on the Elias campus.

  He’d focused on nothing more for the past weeks than organizing this protest, shirking menial things like homework and studying for exams in exchange for filling out request forms for time and space slots to make his idea a reality. He almost ran out of printing money as he ran off copy after copy of flyers, passing them out to his classmates and posting them up around bulletin boards in the hallways and in the dorms.

  There was no way anyone could possibly not know about it, and that’s what Kovu wanted.

  On that very day Kovu went to class with his black beanie on his head, his black button down and black jeans stuffed into his boots. He dressed for solidarity.

  He’d waited all day anxiously, gone through all his classes, listening with a mischievous glint in his eyes as his peers whispered around him. They asked each other if they were going to this “die in” they saw the posters of. Many of them said yes while others said they had better things to do. Many others were wary. Some wanted to go just to see what it was about. And Kovu thought that was fine.

  The clock hit 3:50 and he bolted out of class, making his way to Clark Arena. He shot a genuine smile to the few faces he’d just seen in his International Relations class, glad for the support. He jogged lightly up the steps, taking a spot at the top of them – he needed to be seen. Wringing his hands together, Kovu began to get nervous. An emotion he wasn’t proud to say he was feeling, but it came at full force.

  What if this was it? What if these five are the only ones who show up?

  Doubt was talking to him, but he wouldn’t back out now, he worked hard for this. More importantly, it wasn’t about him or for him, it was about the message. Soon, the five students in his class soon turned to 15 and then 30 after that. As the clock ticked down to 4:00, Kovu was staring into the faces of about 60 students. His face lit up as his eyes connected to the faces of his friends: Sticky, Tia, Poca, even Rita came out to support the cause – probably dragged by Tia but he didn’t mind. He saw his government professor and his class in attendance as well.

  But he didn’t expect her to be there too.

  When the grand clock struck four and emitted its chimes throughout the campus, Kovu took a breath to focus before commanding his audience.

  “Everyone!” He spoke loudly, causing a silence to fall among the growing crowd. “Today we are here because a lack and a problem has been realized. Innocent lives are being taken. Ripped from this earth before getting the chance to fulfill their purpose, at the hands of those who are trained and being paid to serve and protect them. There is a lack of respect for life – black life. There is a lack of people who are willing to listen, willing to educate themselves and realize that there is a race and a justice problem and it needs to be changed.”

  “Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Darrien Hunt, and lastly Mike Brown, the boy for whom we are dedicating this die-in today for, all black men, all killed by the forceful hand of police brutality.”

“Mike Brown, native of Ferguson, Missouri, was 18 years old and completely unarmed when he died. Just graduated from high school. He and a friend were walking in the street when Officer Darren Wilson confronted them, forcing them to walk on the sidewalk. The confrontation led to a scuffle, which led to a fatal end for Mike Brown. 6 merciless shots in total. All while he had his hands up,” Kovu continued, putting his own hands up to demonstrate surrender, “pleading that the officer stop shooting him because he didn’t have a weapon.”

  “If it isn’t worse already, imagine someone you love – your father, your brother, your best friend – gunned down, and left in the streets for 4.5 hours. That’s what happened to Mike Brown. And if it wasn’t enough to lose this life, the courts basically said fuck you in the end.” A few gasps and murmurs erupted at his choice of profanity but Kovu didn’t care.

  “They basically said Mike Brown deserved what he got, that they don’t care about people like Mike Brown, that the law can protect everyone else, but not people like him, not people like Eric Garner, not people like you, or me. By not indicting Darren Wilson they basically sent the message that black lives don’t matter.”

  “But that’s why we’re here. To make them see that black lives, just like all other lives - white, yellow, purple, I don’t know - they all matter. So for 4.5 minutes, we’re going to lie here for Mike Brown…he deserves that much.”

  Kovu then watched as one by one, people began kneeling to the ground, lying on their backs in silence. Distributing chalk to his friends, he urged them to draw chalk outlines of all the bodies on the floor.

  The boy could only swell with pride then.

  He had started something here.

[withalustforbeing--bad-blog]

Kovu Meets Malcom X // Prompt

A/N: So I got VERY carried away with this, BUT I was doing character development for Kovu and was prompted to write this little story from this question: Choose a person, historical or fictional, and write about a meeting between them and your character. It's AU, in a world where Kovu lived in New York in 1960 as opposed to South Africa. His parents are still alive and together as well. So I REALLY hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

New York City, circa 1964

He needed to get to the Baptist Church.

His strides were long and fast as he broke out into a jog when he rounded the corner. Backpack slung onto his shoulder, Kovu dashed through the streets swiftly as he got further and further away from the university campus. The boy received a plethora of shouts and surprised yelps as he navigated himself along the busy city streets, muttering a few 'Sorry's and 'Pardon me's to the people he ran into. 

He had borrowed his father's gray newsboy cap from off it's hook on the hat rack that morning because the boy knew how important today was. His white button down fit close to his form, displaying broad shoulders and taut biceps. It was tucked into his jeans, belted and rolled at the ankles to reveal the long black socks peeking from beneath his--also gray--laced oxford shoes. 

He was going to be speaking tonight. 

The one they always talked about, whether it was out on the quad, at lunch, or even in hushed whispers in the halls. Never in class though, they'd get into trouble for speaking of him aloud during their studies, but this man had captivated the young radical blacks with his big ideas, and Kovu Leon was no different. The man stood for black pride and social change, both things, the boy strongly advocated for among his peers.

Malcom X is what he was called. And the legend himself was giving a speech that very afternoon of April 8th. Kovu was more than determined to at least see the man who he idolized. 

The church was packed, wall to wall, and some couldn't even fit through the door, but Kovu did. He managed to squeeze his way inside and lay low by a back wall. He didn't miss too much, he figured as he looked down at his pocket-watch. He looked up, the six-foot tall boy even had to stand on his toes, but could only catch the face of the powerfully spoken, spectacled, man that stood before them all. But he didn't need to see him as he felt the man's voice all around him.

"And just as they themselves have the ingredients of hostility toward the West in general, here we also have 22 million African-Americans, black, brown, red, and yellow people, in this country who are also seething with bitterness and impatience and hostility and animosity over the racial intolerance not only of the white West but of white America in particular."

Hostility. Hatred. Animosity. 

All of these things are what Kovu experienced on a day to day basis. Heavily internalized until just the thoughts made his anger flare up again. He hated the stares of the white man, as all he did was walk down the hall to get his education. He hated the quickness employment managers expressed to get rid of him when all he wanted to do was work. But what he hated most from the white man was his sympathy. He didn't want it. They only spoke those nice words to him in his face. They claimed they don't agree with such injustice. The prissy white girls would walk up and down preaching their liberalism, saying that they support him and the causes of "his people." They think they know the struggle, think they understand it. And only seconds after he turns away do they sing a different tune. They talk, and he knows that. That's how the system works, he was quick to learn.

"We can see that it is nothing but a governmental conspiracy to continue to deprive the black people in this country of their rights. And the only way we will get those rights restored is by taking it out of Uncle Sam’s hands. Take him to court and charge him with genocide, the mass murder of millions of black people in this country—political murder, economic murder, social murder, mental murder. This is the crime that this government has committed, and if you yourself don’t do something about it in time, you are going to open the doors for something to be done about it from outside forces."

Malcom X said they need to revolt. They need to rise up against Uncle Tom and not in the peaceful ways of Martin Luther King. Kovu thought him to be a fool. Peace didn't get results, but action did. X urged the young blacks to join him in what he called the Black Revolution, because the war for freedom, justice, and equality, has not been won yet. Kovu was a fighter, everyone knew, and so this was a fight he'd claim as his own.

He didn't get to see much of Malcom X in the church by the time the clock hit minutes to six. The streetlights would be on within and hour's time and he'd make no money. The boy needed to go. His family was working class, his mother and father working insane amounts of hours to keep food coming in and clothes on their backs. As the eldest, Kovu knew it was his job to assist his parents as much as they can, and so he had an after school gig to bring in extra bits of cash. 

Stopping his steps and kneeling down once he reached the corner of 5th Avenue, Kovu set up his post. Pulling a box from his backpack he pulled out black shoe polish, a shoe brush and threw a small towel over his shoulder, before closing the box and waiting. Yes, the boy shined shoes for a living. He was strategic though, knowing only pointy nosed white people liked their shoes like their diamonds, and so he spent his time in richer neighborhoods to make profit. 

Kovu was busy fiddling with his copy of Great Expectations when a foot landed atop the box where he kept his supplies, waiting for him to start his work. Looking up, his green eyes widened to saucers, as shock flooded his body at the man who stood above him

"Malcom X..." The name left the his lips in a whisper, an awed expression covering his boyish features.

"Passed quite a few shiner boys on my way." The older man mused aloud as he took a seat on the bench in front of Kovu. "But I pride myself in knowing I can assist the black youth. That is why I came to you."

"Thank you, sir." The boy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he poured shoe polish along the bristles of the brush and got to work. "I was at the Church today, you know. Your speech was inspiring." He praised coolly not wanting to sound too much like the fan he knew he was. 

"Well thank you. Its life, life inspires me. Kids like you, inspire me."

"And you inspire us. What you said about them oppressing us in more ways than one. Economically, politically...it was brilliant. It's further than segregation and a lot fail to see that. We're being robbed of our humanity and the rights we should have because of that. I just…fear their eyes won't ever be wide enough to see that…"

"You have a lot of insight, son." The man said, his smile knowing. "What is your name?"

"Kovu." He replied simply. 

"Do you go to school, Kovu?"

He nods. "But what they teach isn't nearly as interesting as to me than what you speak about. They teach us their laws and their history. But nothing of ours. They're scared, to talk about whats happening now--I know they are--so they hide with the past. We can't even utter your name without consequence. Probably thinking if they don't allow us to talk about you, we won't unionize."

"It is what they do. Like I had said earlier. What they do, and say, it is catered to them, and their people. How can a black speak of the Declaration of Independence while still singing "We Shall Overcome?" It's a taboo, son. Which is why revolution is the answer. The system, it's corrupt, it's criminal, it needs overturning, and it's the youth who will get it done. You youth are fearless, determined, headstrong, you will not bend or compromise with them."

"But what are we to do? They won't change." Kovu asked, removing the towel from his shoulder to shine the tips of Malcom's shoes before looking back at him. 

"Rise up. There is no explosion without the fuse. It is small but it has the power to ignite the powder keg. We may be seen as minority, as inferior or insignificant. But as I see it, we have the power to ignite the black community as well. So don't doubt your abilities or your numbers." 

Kovu let his idol's words settle into his mind as he thought. His mouth was quiet but his thoughts were loud. He did have a voice, he did have the power to rally up his peers if he chose to. He didn't have to stand for what he knew as wrong. He doesn't have to live with the oppression every day and neither does anyone else like him.

They just had to do something about it.

A hand on his shoulder broke him from his swimming mind. "Don't let them put our your fire. You hear me, son?"

"I hear you."