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mayhemories · 2 years

Note

reader x Neteyam not established (or Lo’ak) where reader jokes about finding Jake hot and Neteyam changes his hair to look more like his father 🤪 they goofy enough to take it too literally for REAL

Like Father, Like Son

Ok so, I know this was probs supposed to be goofy, funny, ha-ha (would've been goofy, funny ha-ha if it was Lo'ak vers.) but I can't write Neteyam without it being sweet bc he's just a sweet boy!! Hope this is still okay for you Nonnie <3 Also! I wrote this in the airport waiting for my flight jet lagged af with 2 hours of sleep

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none, just fluff. Kinda cringe and spicy if you squint

Words: 2.2k

Author’s Notes:

Neteyam is 21, reader is 21. Lo’ak and Kiri are roughly 20ish. I’m gonna estimate Tuk is 7 or 8?

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read Below the Cut:

“Hi kids!” Dr Max greeted you all, reaching for a fist pump with Lo’ak and Neteyam. Kiri made her ‘hello’s’ rather quick, as she rushed to Dr Augastine’s canister. Kiri found the time with her mother sacred, which you could understand. You often wished you had something physical of your own mother left, rather than just the Tree of Voices, but you knew Eywa had blessed the Na’vi in giving them that. And, you were happy for your best friend that she could watch her mother’s video logs. Although, sometimes you worried that Kiri would talk back to them, that she pretended to have a conversation with Grace with the same recordings.

“Lo’ak, Neteyam, check it out, kids!” Norm said as he walked over to the three of you, a screen in his hand. “I’ve dug up some of Jake’s old footage and memories we extracted during the avatar program.” Lo’ak snatched the screen from Norm’s tiny human hands. Flicking through the photos and videos of Toruk Macto, Olo’eyktan Jake Sully. Some of him in his old Sky Person skin, others in his avatar. Which you supposed is his body now. But he looked so very different, so young and carefree and if you were honest with yourself, pretty. Especially with his hair loose, small braids framing his face, and baby hairs resting around his forehead.

“Oh, Dad was so sweet looking!” Kiri joked from behind the three of you, the new photos piqued her interest. Norm and Max shared a laugh.

“Yep! Quite a looker! Had many a lady chasing after him.” Max joked with the kids, small chuckles rippled out of all of Jake’s kids.

Lo’ak flipped the screen around, facing you, with a smirk he asked: “What do you think (y/n)? Think my dad is super hot?” You knew Lo’ak was only teasing you, only joking. But you could not help the violent, deep blush from rising to your face. Lo’ak laughed right in your face upon noticing it, making the whole thing so much worse for you. “Oh my god! You do!” He exclaimed.

You shook your head trying to divert attention, but the lack of your voice confirmed everyone’s suspicions. Kiri began poking you in the shoulder, “(y/n)! You can’t think of my dad like that!”

“No, I don’t” You began the fruitless battle of denial.

“Admit it! Admit it you find this photo of my dad hot!” Lo’ak nearly screamed, thrusting the screen closer to your face. All it did was make you blush more.

It wasn’t that you found the photos of young Jake hot, per se. Obviously, he was, and still is an attractive male. There was no doubt about that. What had made you so obviously hot and bothered was the resemblance you saw in Neteyam. You always thought of Neteyam taking Neytiri’s features, and Lo’ak being more like Jake. But in this light, with this photo, Neteyam was as ripped, as sweet, and as attractive as this young photo of his father. More so.

Thoughts of Neteyam made you hot and bothered on the regular, and this connection you had made in your head made it so much worse.

“Well go on, (y/n), do you think my father was an attractive young man?” Neteyam asked, a slight smile but his teasing was not as cruel as his siblings. With a sigh of defeat and your head hung down, you would do anything Neteyam would tell you to.

“Obviously I do.” You mumbled, covering your face in your slender hands in embarrassment, wishing you had not accompanied the Sully’s just this once.

The door to the lab flung open, little Tuk ran in, her braids bouncing as she did so, with a big smile the young girl cleaved the tension in the room in half.

“Kiri! Kiri, Kiri, Kiri and (y/n)! Grandmother is looking for you two!” Tuk grabbed your’s and Kiri’s wrists, pulling you forward, “C’mon, hurry up! She said you guys are late for lessons.” You let Tuk drag you away from the conversation you wanted to wilt from, silently praising Eywa for her interruption. Kiri complained as usual.

“Ugh, Tuk! Leave us alone!”

Tuktirey did not leave either of you alone, instead marching you both to the T’sahik, like her little life depended on it.

“Hey Norm,” Neteyam started as the two boys got up to leave the lab. “Can I take that tablet, with the photos of dad?”

“Of course kiddo!” Norm said, handing the tablet to Neteyam, smiling as he did so. Norm often felt so lucky to have Jake, like a brother. And in turn, be an uncle to his beautiful kids.

“C’mon bro, you’re so slow!” Lo’ak nagged on the walk back to the Sully residence. Neteyam walked slowly, which was unlike him. As he flicked through the young photos of his father. He would’ve been not all that much older than Neteyam in these photos. Neteyam felt himself get all hot and cold on the inside, like the acid in his stomach began to burn him. Neteyam was always jealous of Lo’ak for inheriting more of their father’s features. Neteyam knew he looked more like his mother. He also knew that Neytiri was extremely beautiful, as well as strong. And, he certainly did not think he was ugly. But he couldn’t help but wish he looked more like Jake.

Especially now, knowing that you found these photos of his father…hot. Neteyam wanted to pluck his own eyes out and force them into his ears. He was already insecure when it came to you. He wanted nothing more than to be your lover, your mate, and the father of your children. He just never had the courage to really broach the topic with you.

“Neteyam, what is wrong my beautiful baby boy?” Neytiri asked, running a hand over his head to cup his cheek. Since returning home from the lab this afternoon, Neteyam’s air was wrong, he was hurting.

“Mother, can you do my hair?” Neteyam asked, looking up at her through his eyelashes. He always did that, Neytiri mused. Since he was a baby, he would only ever ask for things looking up through his lashes. And how could she ever say no?

“My Neteyam, your hair is already braided, it is already done.” Neytiri decided to push the topic further, there was no way Neteyam was this distressed over such a trivial thing. He has never cared what his hair looked like before.

“No, not like this mother.” Neteyam reached out for a tablet laying beside him on the floor, firing it up he swiped until he found the young photo of Jake. “Like this.”

Neytiri smiled, softly. She remembered taking that photo all those years ago. Jake had just taught her how to use the camera. She hated it, she hated most things the Sky People bought here. But she liked the camera, it allowed her to capture all of her loved ones forever.

“Okay.”

Neytiri set to work unbraiding her eldest son’s hair.

“Anyway, so I definitely saw him talk to her, but I don’t think it was like that. He’s just not game enough.” Kiri was ranting about Neteyam, as the two of you worked grinding herbs into paste, and packing that paste into leaves to save them from spoiling. More specifically, Kiri ranted about how you and Neteyam haven’t gotten together yet, which you constantly had to remind her, will never happen.

“Kiri, he is allowed to talk to whoever he pleases, whenever he pleases, however he pleases.” You said with a huff.

“I’m just saying that if the two of you stopped pussyfooting around-”

“Enough,” Mo’at said, entering the tent. Your stomach dropped as the T’sahik walked past, watching over the work you and Kiri had done. Kiri did not have the same fear of Mo’at as you did, you supposed that was granddaughter privilege. “And, I agree with my granddaughter, (y/n). You would make the perfect T’sahik to Neteyam’s Olo’eyktan.” Mo’at’s words made you blush. But also sweat. Sweat to the point you wanted to vomit to feel some kind of relief.

This family, you swear to Eywa, will be the death of you.

“Grandmother, I have a question regarding the ceremony-” Neteyam walked in, bow across his shoulders, full warrior dress had been donned. You think Neteyam smiled at you, though you’re not sure, you think he said hello to Kiri and Tuk and the other healers in the tent but you did not hear him.

You could not.

Not when he looked like that.

Neteyam’s hair had been redone, mirroring the photo of Jake you saw a few hours prior. Albeit a little longer than Jake’s had been, but the same style nonetheless. He looked beautiful, he looked just like Jake, but with the finesse of Neytiri’s finer features.

You were speechless.

That was not your Neteyam. What had he done with all of his gorgeous braids? One of your favourite things about Neteyam was how his braids swayed when he was angry, or how the beads clinked together when he was laughing. And, that they were Neteyam’s.

“Your hair…” You stuttered, embarrassed that anything had come out of your mouth at all. Especially in front of Mo’at.

Neteyam bit his lip nervously, one of his hands finding the back of his neck in anticipation.

“Do you like it?” Neteyam knew the blood was pooling in his cheeks, causing a lilac tint to run across his nose and ears.

“Oh, yes. Yes! I do like it, of course!” You said, falling all over your words. His evident blush making your blush more prominent. With all the people in the room, Neteyam had to fucking ask you with all these people in the room! What was he, insane? “But..but do you like it, Neteyam?” Now that you started, you could not stop, all the people in the room faded out of your mind. It was only you and Neteyam.

“I, uh think it is different and makes me look more like my father,” Neteyam replied, sheepishly. He did not like the hairstyle all that much, but Neteyam knew his fatal flaw was wanting to be as close to Jake as he could. You hummed in agreement, it did make him look like his father.

“I like it better when you look like you, Neteyam.” Your pale eyes caught his bold ones, and you hoped and prayed that he could understand everything you did not say. You broke the eye contact, feeling as if he would undress you with his stare. But with confidence, you pushed through and said:

“You are much more handsome than your father, Neteyam.”

The smile that threatened to split Neteyam’s face in half was worth the anxious butterflies that had erupted in your stomach. You came crashing back down from your adrenaline high, and you noticed Mo’at had cleared the room out. It was just the two of you.

“Thank you, my (y/n). That means a lot considering your flustered state earlier.” He teased you, and you let him. Poking your tongue out as Tuk taught you, as Neteyam made his way over to where you were sitting. He sat closer than what was friendly, but left a whisper of a space between you. Thighs almost touching. Your tail betrayed you, swaying back and forth anxiously.

“Can I tell you a secret, Neteyam?” You whispered as you tried to busy your hands with the mortar and pestle.

“I would want nothing more.” Neteyam whispered back, trying to catch your eye.

“I was so embarrassed earlier because I realised how much Jake looks like you. Or, I guess, how much you look like Jake.” You had the tendency to edit your stream of consciousness thoughts when you were nervous. Neteyam chuckled lightly, if it was not for his proximity you would have missed it. And, you decided in that moment, you never wanted to miss it. “I was embarrassed to finally be caught having those thoughts about you, Neteyam.”

Neteyam felt as if he had been stuck by lightning, all of his blood fried by it, and confidence laid in his veins, instead. “Ugh, fuck it.” Neteyam cursed. He turned quickly, picking you up with ease and setting you down on his lap, your thighs straddling him. Naturally your hands found the hair at the nape of his neck, your thumbs moving to rub circles, massaging his tense jaw. Neteyam rested his forehead on yours, eye to eye, nose to nose. You giggled and the sound inflated Neteyam like no other.

“Be my T’sahik. My grandmother is right.” Neteyam spoke softly, but it was deep, serious. No joke or trick to even be considered in the spaces between his words.

“I would want nothing more, my Olo’eyktan.” You sealed your promise with a searing kiss, you felt Neteyam’s whole body tense underneath you, as he tried to deepen it. You pulled away, desperate for air.

“Will you fix my hair?” He asked softly. Despite what the two of you had just done, the position you were in, he felt bashful. No one except his mother has ever touched his hair.

“Of course, my Neteyam.”

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bipedalembarrassment · 1 month

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This entire Mays mum forcing inspections of the Turners etc plotline is so fucking stupid and annoying

A) We've been through it before, its boring twice, get a new plotline. I know period dramas love to put the Good and Perfect (TM) family through various trials of victimhood (see The Bates in Downton Abbey lol) but at least keep it interesting and don't recycle plotlines over and over (see The Bates in Downton Abbey)

B) It doesn't even make sense like sorry historically even white children were adopted out and handed around to whoever would take them with barely a check in from any governing body (quite famously the WW2 evacuations which saw children STILL displaced as late as 1948).

Brittain and other Western countries are infamous for their horrendous treatment and handling of BIPOC children, including rampant child theft through "adoption" and white supremacist assimilation programs (Eg. Canadian residential schools, Australian stolen generation) where western churches & organisations (most often the Catholic ones) had SO MUCH agency and power over these children that they could literally kill, abuse, torture and mistreat THOUSANDS of them without an eye being batted. This included also essentially being able to SELL and give them away to white families, who often exploited and abused them because assimilation with a white family was seen as a bettering of their situation for them. MANY of these issues and their legacies are still impacting BIPOC folks in these countries to this day.

My point being in this overwhelming historical context of BIPOC children being mistreated horribly by western entities I'm supposed to suspend disbelief enough so as to imagine that a single* Chinese woman who was (or is, its unspecified) a heroin user would have this much agency over an adoption/fostering arrangement of her child and that all these white child welfare workers would side with her over a white, upper middle class nuclear family of a Dr (extremely respected profession in those days, even more so than today) and his nurse/ex nun wife who both have close ties to local religious organisations.

Like sorry its just completely and utterly ahistorical . Even if the storyline weren't boring and over done it's just annoying to watch as someone whose always appreciated CTMs historical accuracy, particularly regarding bigotry and inequalities of the time.

* Its also made even worse to me by the fact that as far as I'm aware (haven't watched the show for some time and only just picked back up on S13) Mays mother is single. Which like, the show has spent thirteen seasons at this point repeatedly and accurately showing us how little agency single mothers of the time had. Including how callous and violent child "protection" and adoption systems were (& still are in many places) at the time towards them.

Like sorry you're showing me single white women having their babies forcibly taken from them by governing agencies with no recourse (& often punitive consequences) if they attempt to even contact them, let alone get them back, purely because they are unmarried , in one episode and in the next episode you're trying to convince me that these same systems and agencies give a single shred of a fuck about how Mays unmarried, heroin using, mother feels about her life with the respected white upper middle class family that adopted her.

Also I'm confused about the entire "adoption" process of May. I had thought that she couldn't be in "foster" long term and that all the original fuss with her foot and that had meant she'd finally been officially adopted by the Turners but it seems not?

Which adds just another layer of disbelief for me because the likelihood that the adoption wouldn't be completed by now is so slim and like even if it were still a fostering situation in that era you would fully expect that Mays mother would have been forced or coerced into signing a document she likely couldn't even read (if they'd even bothered with the facade of legal consent), May would have been taken by the religious order and her mother would have never seen or been allowed to hear about her again.

Idk if its a later seasons thing or if I just didn't notice it my first watch of the show but I'm definitely noticing a running theme in the show of like "bad" or "unkind" characters often being people who in reality would be extremely disenfranchised. Like obvs Mays mother is a glaring example but I've mostly noticed this regarding class, like the lower class women/men are often the antagonists.

I was rewatching an earlier season the other day too and there was literally a storyline where an upper middle class woman left the clinic before her appointment because some lower class scum woman bullied her and then she died of eclampsia later on.

Ridiculous.

Anyway sorry to the CTM fandom, thats my angry "A period drama is being ahistorical" rant for the day.

#call the midwife #call the midwife season 13 #S13E08 #patrick turner #shelagh turner #downton abbey #using Call The Midwife to give Downton Abbey and The Bates' a driveby is my proudest contribution to the world #Fuck you Mr Bates #fuck you julian

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puckpocketed · 19 days

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ok the stick story is this

according to The Hockey Media, who as we know do not actually follow any teams closely so know NOTHING, ovechkin was finally hit by father time. he's finally slowing down. he's a shell of his old self. he has old man syndrome. blah blah blah

as a caps fan, i know that this is false, because our russian machine never break. he's a freak. who btw had like 13 goals disallowed or something crazy like that in the first half of last season but i digress

gee i wonder why ovechkin's goals went down? is it because his longtime center and future hall of famer nicklas backstrom retired in all but name? is it because our other top 6 center in evgeny kuznetsov had by far the worst season of his career (from point a game to not even half a point a game) and then went into the player's assistance program before being traded to the canes and then bolting for the KHL?

actually, as it turns out: no.

i mean probably those were factors, but there was another factor. a factor that many caps fans are very aware of but almost no one reported on for some reason (probably because they were too busy writing about how SiDneY CrOsBy was having SuCh an AmaZiNg season for a 36 year old despite ovechkin literally having just as a good a season the year prior at the *checks notes* age of 36. also this is a reminder that one of those two actually led their team to a playoff berth and it wasn't crosby)

ovechkin is, among other things, an elite shooter. like many elite shooters, he is EXTREMELY picky about his sticks. he has been using the same CCM model for the last 7 seasons...and prior to this season they discontinued it.

the first half of the season (roughly), ovi was constantly trying out new sticks from CCM, from Bauer, whoever. he tried quite a few different sticks. results: 8 goals in 43 games.

then, ovechkin found an independent supplier. apparently (i can't remember where this info came out, maybe 32 thoughts?), these guys have an "ovi pro curve" model based on his old stick with CCM and he bought it and tried it out. curve was identical, and it felt right to him. started using those. results: 23 goals in 36 games.

am i saying that he is going to continue on that pace this coming season? probably not. do i think that the rumors of his demise as a goal scorer are greatly exaggerated and almost surely mistaken? yes. am i optimistic that with some stability in our center depth and stability in stick choice, ovechkin will have a 40 goal season again and possibly break wayne gretzky's all time goals record? YES.

what this means for PLD our beloved failhorse wife: he's not getting some washed up old man former great on his wing. he's getting the greatest fucking goal scorer in the history of the sport. and i, for one, am excited to see what they can do together.

link i thought about this all morning during baking and while i was out!! thank you for the stick explanation and all the sources i LOVE citations i am eating them up like theyre cakes at teatime....! more under the cut but heres what i was thinking about when i read this:

thinking about how,, particular some players get about their equipment, how superstitious, it's crazy to me that a manufacturer can just do all that. if it were me and MYE special stick got discontinued id be suing for damages

i was super interested in what actually changed in the second half of the season because i saw ovechkin was back to scoring basically at-will again, so really thank you for explaining.. the bond between a hockey and their stick is so beaugtiful <3

cr-sby is my babygirl-in-law and i fear i will always be fond of him because of this, so i shall tread carefully here (pens friends look away) it DOES suck that they're not recognising your old man for his achievements while that old man gets hyped. is it like, weird anti-russian sentiment? or a more general anti-caps bias? every team fan space i dip into feels unfairly maligned one way or another - which, yeah! clenching my fist of rage.......

you spin such a tale and im VERY excited to see how next szn shakes out in light of all this and also . grabbing dubois by the scruff of his neck like i will stan either way but PLEASE dont embarrass me in front of my cool new friends kjlasdklasdkl....

thank you so much for stopping by and for the warmest welcome ever <3

#capsblr vibes go so hard?? literally i love interacting with you guys. i love essays in my asks! please dont stop this is so fun <3 #off-season aint even that bad!!! ive met so many cool new people :>#washington capitals #alexander ovechkin #pierre luc dubois #<- am i like.. his entire tag at this point? failhorse connoisseur !#long post #user lonewolflink #asks

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tchallasbabymama · 3 months

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Ménage à Trois Part Deux: Chapter Two

I'm still here (Tisha Campbell voice.)

Y'all... I've been working on this chapter for over a year. I literally JUST finished it and can't even wait for beta readers; I gotta post this now!

Life's lifing, but I haven't forgotten about my stories 💕

As usual, check out my masterlist for more of my work, let me know if you want to be tagged in anything, and make sure you reblog and/or leave a comment if you like it!

Without further ado, here's chapter 2!

Word count: 6,043

CW: smut

Among the many visitors who made their way to Wakanda to experience the kick-off of Queen Zora’s student exchange program was Amanda Livingston, a reporter for the New York Times. She had been assigned the potentially life-changing gig by her editor, and although she wasn’t looking forward to visiting the continent due to all the horrible propaganda she’d heard about it over the years, Amanda eventually came around when she saw the technologically advanced country with her own eyes. Wakanda outdid her wildest expectations, but she wasn’t content with simply enjoying her time in the foreign land. She needed to dig deeper to find dirt on the country that welcomed her into their borders.

When Amanda arrived at the gala, she instantly became uneasy. Looking around at the other, much more stylish guests, she felt underdressed. Their ornate cultural attire, vibrant jewels, and intricate hairstyles made her feel dull and unimpressive for the first time in her privileged life. Her basic navy blue shift dress was a business casual bore against her pale, freckled skin. Despite the thick layer of greasy sunblock clogging her pores, she could already feel her skin turning red after just a few minutes of exposure to the setting sun. Amanda grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest server and downed it to calm her nerves before scanning the courtyard for shade, observing every person and their interactions. Unfortunately for her byline, both the Wakandans and visitors alike seemed to be enjoying themselves. No salacious stories had revealed themselves to Amanda yet, but she perked up upon noticing that a spot had opened up in the gazebo.

The journalist awkwardly squeezed her way into the ornate shelter, sandwiching herself between a prominent Congolese activist and a gaggle of excited Wakandan teens whose endless supply of questions grew louder and more animated as they listened to the visitor’s stories of grassroots organizing in his home country. Amanda listened along with the Wakandans while her eyes wandered around the rest of the gala, admiring the architecture and landscaping of the palace courtyard. It was so different from what she was used to in the States. Beautiful, sprawling, centuries-old fruit trees surrounded the space in lieu of carefully carved topiaries, and a large golden statue of a panther gleamed brightly as the centerpiece of a magnificent fountain. Amanda’s eyes fell to the water pooling beneath the towering feline’s paws, and she noticed unusual petals floating delicately on the surface.

Amanda whipped out her phone to snap a picture of the beautiful sight, but she noticed a familiar face just beyond the curve of the statue’s tail. Sure enough, there stood an old fuck buddy she hadn’t seen since her Ivy League years. In college, Mitchell Van Buren was a well-connected frat boy with a heart that appeared to be of gold, and fifteen years later, he was riding that squeaky-clean reputation all the way to the presidential campaign trail. Amanda had always thought that he favored the Ken doll she had as a young girl. As if he felt her gaze, Mitchell’s piercing blue eyes found hers, and he smiled as he recognized an old fling.

Amanda found herself standing next to Mitchell in no time flat, and the two of them lost track of time as they caught up on their lives. The friendly chat became more suggestive as time went on. They flirted back and forth until the queen’s speech, where Mitchell allowed his roaming hands to do the talking under Amanda’s dress. By the time Queen Zora returned to her seat, they were already sneaking off into the gardens to escape the crowd.

The politician and the journalist reconnected in a deep, dark corner of the gardens far away from the event. Their reunion was brisk, and as they straightened themselves back out, the sound of footsteps heading in their direction made them fear they had been caught. They stayed ducked behind the bushes as the queen swished her hips into view, followed by a very large man who stared at her with stars in his eyes. The two accidental voyeurs watched as he kissed her hand tenderly, and their eyes bulged in their sockets. Neither could believe what they were seeing. The queen of Wakanda cheating on the king…

The shock of it all made Mitchell freeze on the spot, but Amanda nearly salivated as she pictured the headlines. This was just the story she’d been looking for! Acting quickly and without remembering to turn the sound off her phone, Amanda snapped a picture of the couple. At that moment, the shutter seemed to be the loudest sound she or Mitchell had ever heard.

The queen and her lover pulled apart, and the mystery man barrelled towards them. Amanda and Mitchell ran in the opposite direction, but Mitchell tripped, nearly busting his chiseled chin on the ground. Amanda ran as fast as she could towards the gala until she rounded the last corner and noticed the Dora Milaje blocking the entrance to the garden. The much taller man shouted after her, and the guards turned around with their spears at the ready. Amanda froze and let go of her phone, but not before pressing send on a message that would surely cause a headache for the royals before the device could even crash to the ground.

“Th-the queen is a cheater! I saw it! We saw it!” Amanda yelled, purposely causing a bigger scene than necessary while squeezing out crocodile tears to gain sympathy points. Unfortunately, it worked, and the crowd turned around to gawk at the spectacle.

--------

Zora woke up to the sound of light snores to her left and warm breaths against her right ear. As usual, two heavy arms were slung across her body, but instead of starting her day filled with the joy of being in her lovers’ arms again, flashbacks of the night before played on a loop behind Zora’s eyes. She absentmindedly watched the ceiling fan rotate slowly and sighed as she cursed herself for slipping up, prompting T’Challa to tighten his grip on her waist.

“Stop thinking about last night,” he grumbled in her ear.

Zora turned to look at him questioningly, and he smirked without opening his eyes. She didn’t even bother asking how he knew what was on her mind, choosing instead to focus on the upward curl of his thick lashes. As if he felt her gaze, those lashes fluttered open, allowing the king’s precious gemstones to sparkle in the early morning sunlight.

“It was a disaster,” Zora whispered, trying not to wake her other husband from his deep slumber.

“Try not to focus on the ending.”

“I shouldn’t have gone into the gardens,” Zora whined. “I just-”

T’Challa cut her off with a kiss.

“You blame yourself too easily.”

He was right, but nonetheless, she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“How are you so chill about this?”

T’Challa brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

“I have watched you live a lie to the rest of the world since the moment you stepped into this role, Babygirl. And I have watched that lie eat away at you every time you have to uphold it. As a man, and a Wakandan one at that, I will never fully understand the pressures of living in a world that dictates you move in such a way. From my point of view, it seems exhausting.”

“It is,” Zora croaked around the lump forming in her throat and turned to look at M’Baku, still splayed out on his stomach and snoring away. “I can’t help but think I’m hurting him. He says he’s fine, but I wouldn’t be if I were in his shoes.”

T’Challa decided it would be better to let M’Baku express his own feelings later, so he held his tongue instead of confirming Zora’s speculation. M’Baku had recently confided in him that he wasn’t as fine with their public arrangement as he let on, but since he didn’t want his feelings to stand in the way of Zora’s success, he was wary of telling her.

“You should talk to him about it,” the king advised.

“I will, but I’m pretty sure the whole world knows by now,” Zora huffed as last night’s events played in her mind again. She relived everything from the shutter click in the gardens to the crowd’s murmurs at seeing the Dora Milaje with their spears trained on two guests. Nearly every phone was up recording the catastrophe as it unfolded, several of which were streaming live, and they all captured the moment Zora’s carefully crafted image shattered into millions of pieces thanks to colonizers sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

“No, they know what those people think they saw. The world has yet to hear your truth.”

“I don’t think the world’s ready for the truth.”

“Not everyone will be, but imagine what you will be doing for those that are.”

“You always know what to say,” Zora complimented him with a warm smile.

“Is that not why you married me?”

Before Zora could respond, he kissed her deeply, and she moaned into his parted lips. The sound coursed through T’Challa’s veins and woke up the rest of his body until his every cell ached for his wife. He hadn’t touched her body in two weeks, and the time apart was starting to catch up to him the longer he kissed her. With M’Baku being around and a very willing submissive for them both, the king wasn’t in need of release, but he missed the smell of Zora’s skin and the taste of her juices seeping out for him. He longed to feel her contract around him when she climaxed, and the memory of her screaming his name had him prying her legs open and sliding his fingers into her depths.

“Mmmm-”

“Quiet, or your husband will catch us,” he ordered softly in Zora’s ear, turning her on even more. It wasn’t often that they engaged in cheating roleplay, but when they did, it turned Zora into a sopping wet mess. “You don’t want him to know how filthy you are, do you?”

Zora shook her head and trapped her plump bottom lip between her pearly whites in a feeble attempt to quiet her moans. Her big doe eyes dared not look away from T’Challa’s piercing gaze when he found a spot inside her that made her release a noise much too undignified for a woman of her royal ranking.

“I said be quiet, Zora,” T’Challa sneered, his breath hot against her ear as his teeth dragged along the lobe.

“Uxolo baby, I-I-”

Zora’s desperate whispers tickled T’Challa’s skin, and his ears grew hot the way they always did when she spoke his native tongue to him.

“Thula!” he growled, pulling his fingers out and slapping her sensitive vulva. The small whimper that she managed to squeak out upon impact made him smile. She was trying to be good for him, so he let his wet fingers trail up her pussy lips to the bundle of nerves that poked out like a beacon of pleasure, calling out to be touched and handled with care.

Zora’s body felt electric everywhere T’Challa touched her skin. Her fingertips longed to feel him, too, so they found their way to the coils of his beard and pressed his face closer to hers. Time seemed to move slower with every stroke of his fingers around her clit and every filthy and loving word he uttered. His words came out in husky whispers at first before transforming into guttural growls the more his erection pressed into her thigh. Zora was careful not to wind her hips too much to keep from waking M’Baku, but the way T’Challa zeroed in on her pleasure zones and overstimulated her body made it near impossible to lay still.

Kisses to Zora’s collarbone made her heart beat out of her chest. Her head jerked to the left, and she locked eyes with M’Baku as she heaved through T’Challa’s tortures, making the king chuckle darkly.

“Look what you did,” T’Challa teased as he angled his hips so that he could slide into her wetness, his hand placed firmly around her neck. “You woke him up, and now he knows you're my little cumslut. How do you think it makes him feel to see you like this?”

Zora’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as T’Challa bottomed out inside her, but no matter how good it felt, she knew one thing: she better not let go of her legs, or there would be delicious hell to pay. Since most mornings consisted of the throuple making vigorous love to start their day, they often started in this very position when the queen was the center of attention. T’Challa would find a way to slide in either from the back or the side, depending on how Zora was lying. Every time, without fail, he would assign her the task of holding her legs back for him, and every time, without fail, he’d beat the breaks off her pussy so good that she’d lose her grip, making him fuck her harder for insubordination.

Today, he could tell by the strained look on her face that she was determined to be good. He hadn’t forgotten about her eight infractions over their time apart, but Zora wasn’t in the right headspace for punishments. Naturally, she was stressed and scared about how the previous night could affect her career, but most of all, her guilt over hiding M’Baku from the world, combined with missing them both, had made her soft, and she’d need a thick skin for what T’Challa had planned for her.

So, the king fucked her slow and deep and watched with an amused smirk as she struggled to grip her legs. As if he read both of their minds, M’Baku’s large hand covered Zora’s, and he easily held her thick bronze legs in place the way he knew the king liked. Zora’s eyes met his again, and she pulled him into a kiss, their tongues colliding before their lips ever touched. They got lost in a cycle of licking and sucking and biting at each other until Zora’s hand wandered down to M’Baku’s naked dick, hard as Jabari wood and throbbing with the desperate heat of a man that missed the feeling of his wife’s inner workings. He moaned into her mouth as she worked her hand up and down his thickening shaft, and Zora answered with deep moans of her own that were prompted by T’Challa’s even deeper strokes. His grunts of pleasure in her ear just turned her on even more, and the three of them soon became composers in a beautiful symphony of swirling notes belted into the air while the percussion of their bodies kept rhythm.

Beep, beep-beep, beep, beep-beep.

Zora went rigid with an influx of anxious energy that filled her body from head to toe, swiftly replacing the waves of pleasure that she had been immersed in before T’Challa’s kimoyo beads began ringing.

“Ignore it,” T’Challa ordered through gritted teeth. “They will call back.”

“It could be important.”

“It is too early. Leave it be for now,” M’Baku nearly begged as he thrust into Zora’s hand.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Zora’s beads began vibrating from the nightstand, and she released M’Baku, placing her palm on T’Challa’s chest. A growl escaped his lips as he pulled out.

“Zora, it can wait-” T’Challa cut himself off and turned towards the door with a curious look on his face just before someone’s knuckles banged against the vibranium.

“This can’t be good,” Zora murmured, untangling herself from M’Baku, reaching for her kimoyo beads, and sliding them onto her wrist.

T’Challa begrudgingly agreed with a nod of his head as he grabbed his black silk robe from the back of his chair. The knocks came again, this time sounding even more urgent than the first set, so when the king swung the door open, he was unsurprised to see Kidada, Bahati, and Dembe flanked by Okoye and Ayo. They exchanged the proper greetings and salutes, and upon hearing all the voices of those present, Zora’s heart sank to her stomach.

“Ugh, all hands on deck?” Zora groaned, burying her head into the pillow and covering it with the flimsy white sheet they slept under. M’Baku rubbed her back in comforting circles, but his eyes stayed glued to the doorway.

“We really hate to wake you up like this, but it seems we could not stop the footage of last night’s incident from leaking to the global press,” Bahati explained calmly.

Kidada held out a holopad for the king to scroll through news articles and social media posts. A thick silence filled the air as he read page after page of people’s disdain for Zora and her perceived infidelity.

“How bad is it?” Zora’s voice wavered, her mind already expecting the worst. She had been trying to gauge the degree of disaster from T’Challa’s responses, but his features were frozen in a carefully crafted poker face. He could hear her heart thumping wildly in her chest and smell the panic seeping from her pores.

“It, uh…” T’Challa trailed off as his eyes focused on a headline from a popular gossip column. The writer speculated how quickly the king should divorce his supposedly adulterous wife. “It could be worse.”

---------

Over the years, Zora had exposed M’Baku to her people's art, culture, and history. From the triumphant to the traumatic, he learned more about the Lost Tribe than he ever anticipated. He respected their tenacity and ingenuity in surviving their colonizer’s oppressive regime. Seeing her world through his eyes made Zora appreciate it more, but sometimes his inquiries forced her to interrogate the parts of her society that even she didn’t understand.

For example, Zora could never properly explain assimilation to M’Baku in a way that made sense to him. Probably because, at her core, she didn’t understand it either. Every answer she gave the man confused him more than the last, and after all this time, he still didn’t get it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around people who chose to side with their oppressors, specifically the Black folks who adopted conservative sensibilities.

In the wake of the gala incident, M’Baku’s confusion grew tenfold as those same conservative Black folks got wind of what was happening in Wakanda, and their collective reaction was even stronger than the KKK whites over at Fox. His eyes glazed over every time Bahati and Kidada updated the royals on the situation. News briefings and viral videos lambasting Zora’s behavior seemed to be coming out every second, and the global scale of it all made M’Baku feel small.

Handsy megachurch preachers with a penchant for inflicting the fiery numbness of the male gaze onto the young women in their congregation spouted whole sermons to their flocks about the importance of wives remaining submissive and faithful to their husbands. Longstanding problematic radio personalities lamented the fact that the women they deemed golddiggers didn’t seem to know their place anymore. Most perplexing of them all, podcast niggas laughed at T’Challa and called him weak from behind their shitty microphones set up in their mother’s moldy basement. What was left of Black Twitter was in disarray. The royal Wakandan wedding had broken the internet the year before, and the news of Zora’s philandering sent waves through the app again. In just twenty-four hours, Zora had been called everything but a child of god, and T’Challa’s masculinity was questioned by those who clung to the patriarchal idea that his woman’s behavior determined his manhood. Meanwhile, the whole world speculated on the identity of the mystery man caught canoodling with the queen.

Under normal circumstances, the royals could have easily avoided the ruckus of the outside world when safe inside Wakanda, but the scandal’s timing couldn’t have been worse. For the first time in its long and storied history, Wakanda was hosting hundreds of outsiders from all over the globe. Zora’s unprecedented position within the royal house had truly brought forth a new age of diasporic collaboration, but the second the scandal broke, so did the facade. Of course, her people and most of the visiting children were unbothered. After their second full day, the exchange students had taken to calling Wakanda their ekhaya, their home. It warmed Zora’s heart every time she heard their foreign accents dance around the Xhosa words with varying levels of ease. Even more surprising was the Wakandan children blending their own words and mannerisms so seamlessly with their guests. Seeing their exchange in such a short amount of time was the only thing that fueled Zora as her public life crumbled around her.

Even though the exchange was for the benefit of the children, and therefore, it was shaping up to be a success, the adults weren’t shy about making their displeasure known. Many of them showed their nasty true colors the moment Zora’s supposed indiscretions went public. Some went as far as returning home and dagging their helpless children with them. Those who remained were either chaperones forced to stay with the few children whose parents hadn’t withdrawn from the program, or just looking for more dirt to take back home with the hopes of collecting a check. Unsurprisingly, the journalists and politicians were especially heinous in their approach, and T’Challa was steadily growing tired of walking the paper-thin line between needing to maintain diplomatic relations and swiftly dropping them all over the border in Niganda.

In just two days, the program had already lost nine students, and three schools in two separate countries had pulled out of the partnership. In that same amount of time, M’Baku spoke maybe ten words, and Zora weathered four panic attacks. The first of which came shortly after Bahati, Kidada, and Dembe interrupted the royal throuple’s morning lovemaking to break the news of the international scandal. The second two were due to her fear of failure being triggered by the waning participation in her exchange program, but the last one caught her off guard.

It struck while she was visiting her mother. Shortly after Zora’s weddings, Cheryl retired from teaching AP English Literature, packed up her Atlanta home, and moved into the house that T’Challa had given Zora when she accepted the liaison position. She just couldn’t bear being so far apart from her one and only child, and the time change was too much for her to keep track of. Truly, the first time Cheryl visited, she knew she’d be moving soon. For Operation Stepdaddy, if nothing else, which commenced as soon as she set down her suitcase.

Cheryl was backstroking through the Wakandan dating pool. According to the exploits she would dish to Zora and Ramonda about, the quantity was low, but the quality was high. Most of the men in her age range were already partnered, and she wasn’t one for polyamory like her daughter. However, the generous handfuls of men she’d interacted with restored her faith in their genderfolk.

In short, Cheryl was living her best life.

Between her newfound social life and lending her expertise as an educator to help shape Zora’s exchange program, she felt more fulfilled than ever. Zora had noticed the change in her mother. It was a change she had dreamed of seeing all her life. Cheryl seemed happy. She smiled all the time now, her shoulders didn’t carry tension, and the only thing stressing her out was the heat. She seemed free.

Cheryl was so used to seeing that same look on Zora’s face that she immediately knew something was wrong when she opened her front door to greet her daughter. Her energy was just off.

“You ruin your fancy shoes stepping in rhino shit again?” she quipped with a raised brow.

Zora couldn’t help but crack a small smile as she stepped over the threshold and into Cheryl’s outstretched arms.

“That was one time, momma.”

“And I still don’t know how you missed that big-ass pile.”

Ayo stifled a laugh as she entered the familiar space and allowed Cheryl to embrace her as well. They all knew that nobody was exempt from her hugs.

Zora was quieter than usual as she made her way through her former home. Cheryl had already made it her own, filling it with plants that Zora would’ve killed within a week. The walls were a deep maroon and covered in locally woven tapestries and baskets, and the entire home smelled like warming spices. The abundance of natural light peeking through the windows kept the place bright despite the darker color palate. It felt like Cheryl’s Atlanta home, but bigger and with a higher budget.

As soon as Zora sat down at the kitchen table, Cheryl handed her a mango juice mimosa–their favorite. The second their glasses clinked, the queen downed her cocktail in one gulp.

“Oh, it’s that kind of day?” Cheryl asked, sipping her glass once before setting it on the kitchen table between them.

Zora nodded, but before she could open her mouth to explain further, a calendar reminder popped up on her beads that made her head spin. She had forgotten about her doctor’s appointment—the one where she was set to have the birth control removed from her arm.

The thought of juggling the complete dumpster fire her life had become seemingly overnight with the possibility of bringing life into the world overwhelmed Zora. She could feel her heart thumping in her eardrums, and her jaw tightened as she tried to breathe through the anxiety crashing into her.

“It’s too much some days.”

The queen’s voice sounded small, so her mother laid a soft hand on her shaking knee.

“What is, honeybun?”

Zora’s mind raced. Where to begin?

“Now I see why Wakanda stayed isolated for so long,” Zora sighed before walking her mom through the events of the last few days. As she laid down her burdens, heavy iron gears turned in Cheryl’s mind. She couldn’t help but try to figure out a way to fix her one and only child’s problem, but the politics of it all stumped her.

“I don't even know what to say, baby.”

They sat in a thick silence for several moments until Cheryl broke it by refilling Zora’s glass. This time, the royal sipped it slowly before parting her lips once more with a question that had been weighing her down since her calendar dinged.

“When did you know you were ready to be a mom?”

Cheryl’s heart nearly beat out of her chest, but she played it cool. She had never been one to push Zora to have kids, but it was one of her deepest wishes to grow old and experience being a grandmother.

“Not until I gave you your first bath,” Cheryl chuckled. “I was scared to death to hold you– you were so tiny. I just knew I’d break you.”

Zora remembered the many stories she’d heard over the years about Cheryl’s tumultuous pregnancy. How ashamed she was for ending up in that situation, and how alone she felt. That man really put her momma through it…

“Why do you ask?” Cheryl cut her eyes at Zora’s mimosa glass, “I know you ain’t pregnant drinking all that champagne.”

Zora shook her head.

“Not yet. I was thinking about having my implant removed, but now,” the queen shook her head and took another sip of mango mimosa. “My timing couldn’t be worse.”

“There’s no such thing as the perfect time, honeybun.”

“Yeah, but in the middle of a media shitstorm?”

Cheryl chuckled before turning up her drink and finishing the last drop. By the time she placed the glass down on the table, an idea had churned up between her ears.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Zora looked at her like she had two heads, but Cheryl continued, “They’d eat up a royal baby! Plus, you’d have an excuse to step out of the spotlight for a little while, and by the time you come back, they’d be too enamored with my grandbaby to give a damn about your sex life.”

“Momma, I’m not having a baby as a PR move.”

“Let me ask you something, Zora. Do you want to be a mother?”

Zora’s eyes softened as she pictured her future, and a saccharine smile hung on her lips as she nodded softly.

“And do your husbands want to be fathers?”

Zora couldn’t contain her giggle.

“You already know they’re just waiting on me.”

“Then you have that baby whenever you damn well please, and the rest of the world will just have to keep up. You’re a queen, Zora. You have so much more than I had, or my momma, or her momma. We had to deal with all kinds of stigmas and oppression that you’re free from. So, do what the fuck you want.”

---------

Those words danced around Zora’s head all that night, but she still chose to postpone her appointment. Not by long, just a few more weeks. However, Cheryl’s passionate refrain inspired a different course of action regarding the gala incident. Instead of praying that the ordeal would blow over, Zora and Bahati spent the next two days crafting a statement to take control of the narrative. After Cheryl lent her wordsmith expertise to the speech, Zora felt that it was finally ready for public consumption. But she needed to ensure it landed with her target audience before anyone else.

Excitement made Zora giddy, and she was barely able to sit still while Bahati quickly ran through her end-of-day update on the student exchange program. The remaining students and their chaperones had spent the day in the Border province, sharpening their language skills while learning about Wakandan agriculture and traditional cuisine. She had been missing out on so much…

When she and Bahati parted ways for the night, Zora checked her kimoyo beads to see where her husbands were. M’Baku’s avatar stood in the kitchen housed in their royal suite, which made Zora’s stomach growl in anticipation of whatever he had whipped up. Her eyes drifted to T’Challa’s avatar darting around the training room, and she wondered who his sparring partner was today. What lucky foe got to witness the Black Panther in all his sweaty, aggressive glory?

She licked her lips as she called him.

The communication bead buzzed in her palm, and seconds later, T’Challa’s glistening form came into view. His locs were loose, so he tossed them back out of his eyes as he caught his breath.

“Good evening, my queen.”

“Hello, husband.” Zora couldn’t help her lusting, “You look delicious.”

“Eish!” Okoye cursed off-camera, making Zora giggle.

“Uxolo, general,” she apologized with a smirk. “I thought you were done for the day.”

“She was, but I convinced her to stick around and lose a few rounds.” T’Challa dismissed Okoye and waited until she left the training room before turning back to Zora. “I still have a few more rounds in me, Babygirl.”

Zora stepped onto the elevator and let the doors swish closed behind her.

“Tempting, but business first,” she teased.

“What business?”

“Come home and find out.”

Zora ended the call before he could respond, smirking to herself. He hated it when she did that, but she loved pushing his buttons. Especially when he was already sweaty, shirtless, and revved up.

The elevator doors slid open, and she was welcomed home by the aroma of M’Baku’s home cooking. She tried to guess what it was, but it eluded her. It was definitely something she’d tasted before, but not often. The spices that swirled in the air hinted at local cuisine, nothing from the international cookbooks he had come to collect over the last few years. Something rare, as if for a special occasion–

Zora stopped in her tracks before she entered the suite.

The date.

She had forgotten its significance to her husband, and her stomach churned with guilt. She had been so busy dealing with her own mess that she forgot it was the worst day of his life.

Shortly after M’Baku won the Jabari chiefdom, his mother fell ill. Her lungs were weak, too weak to make it through the changing of seasons. His father wasted away slowly over the next year and finally wandered into the snow on the anniversary of her death.

M’Baku had spent the last decade without his parents, and it had been nearly as long since he’d last spoken to his siblings. Growing up, he was the eldest of four, and all Zora knew was that only three of them remained on this plane. M’Baku refused to speak about them, so she didn’t push him on it.

But Zora knew this day always came with heartache, so she slid out of her shoes and padded across the sunken living room to the open kitchen. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around M’Baku’s trunklike waist and buried her head in the soft fabric covering his back. She felt some of the tension release from his body at her touch, but plenty remained.

“How was your day, my sweet?” he asked softly, and she hugged him tighter.

“I should be asking you that.”

“No need; my answer would be bleak.”

Zora released him just enough to circle around and squeeze between his body and the stovetop, forcing his sad eyes to peer into her soul. Her hands on either side of his face brought him to the verge of tears.

“I don’t care how bleak it is. I want to know everything you’re going through, baby.”

M’Baku nodded and surrendered to her delicate kisses.

“I-” he began but stopped himself from voicing the words that brought him so much guilt.

“I just miss them,” he sighed. “Every day, my home reminds me of them. Every mountaintop, every fish in the river… I am tired of the memories.”

Zora let his tears fall from his tired eyes but wiped them away with her thumbs before they could reach his beard. She walked him over to the kitchen table and sat him down as T’Challa entered the suite. He took in the scene and understood immediately.

“I’ll finish dinner, baby.” Zora kissed M’Baku’s forehead and let T’Challa take over while she kept their yearly repast from burning. She kept an eye on them from the other side of the room, watching as they mumbled to each other. M’Baku let out his tears on T’Challa’s shoulder as the king comforted him. Every now and then, Zora and T’Challa would lock eyes, and their silent conversation spoke volumes. In all their time together, they had never seen this day hit him so hard.

M’Baku barely spoke through dinner, a haunted look in his distant gaze that unnerved Zora while they ate. It wasn’t until T’Challa cleared the table that a sigh escaped M’Baku’s lips.

“I want this more,” he stated, confusing the other two.

“This?” Zora asked, and the chief nodded.

“This. Normal life.”

T’Challa had been feeling inklings of M’Baku’s ambivalence towards his chiefdom for quite a while now. With the Jabari throne not being a blood right but a title only won through battle, M’Baku didn’t have the same sentimental connection to ruling his people. T’Challa often wondered if he would feel the same under different circumstances.

“What does normal mean to you?” T’Challa invited him to say the words that would free him.

M’Baku considered his words carefully. Over the years, he had grown to love living in the capital, far away from the ghosts that haunted the snow. The more time he spent away, the more he realized just how miserable he was at home. Since getting married, he’d spend four or five nights a week in Birnin Zana with his bride and her other husband. The Jabari elders hated him for his constant absence, but even they could see how much lighter he seemed every time he returned. The chief was unhappy being chief. It seemed that everyone knew it, and none of them could blame him, given the circumstances.

“I no longer wish to be chief of the Jabari.”

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem , @theblulife , @motheroffae , @love-mesome-me , @toni9 , @brihann, @impremenior , @nahimjustfeelingit-writes , @brattyfics s, @cecereads209, @afriendlyblackhottie , @queengodiva619 , @musicisme333 , @dersha89 , @ljstraightnochaser , @bornamiracle , @xoxovivafics , @goddessofmischief0711 , @issahyland , @blkbutterfly816 , @judymfmoody, @novaniskye , @prettystringbean , @martakllv, @blackpinup22 , @mermaidchansons, @jadedjotun , @branium , @abeautifulmindexposed d, @prettyisasprettydoes1306 6, @reneinii

#cecewritessometimes #black!oc #black panther fanfiction #throuple #t'challa x oc x m'baku #polyamory #t'challa fanfiction #m'baku fanfiction #m'baku smut #m'baku fluff #Spotify

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ilikekidsshows · 8 months

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hey I figure that you’re probably tired of talking about the Sentimonster nonsense but I genuinely still can’t stand that it’s an actual thing. The wildest thing about it is that I JOINED the fandom because of the Sentimonster theory, actually got excited for it and looked forward to hints, not believing the skeptics or the salters bc it didn’t seem like such a big deal—that is until I saw with my own eyes how SO MANY FANS said with their whole chest that, in “Ephemeral” Adrien HAD to be a Sentimonster or there was no other “sympathetic explanation” for why he didn’t de-akumatize himself or fight off Gabriel.

Seeing the victim blaming in real time was such a punch in the gut—and then they just kept on coming!! It finally hit me how damaging the entire thing because for the show as a whole. If even regular fans that weren’t even known for salting could so willingly disregard and ignore genuine abuse coping mechanisms in favor of magical BS… it was such a dark time. Abuse Apologism and victim blaming in a whole package

Sometimes, when I write about Miraculous, I pretend I'm writing about a show that only had three seasons. That's what the "zagulous fandom" tag is for; it's for posts that are about the parts of Miraculous that had Zag's executive control keeping Astruc in check. I also kinda accepted long ago that my blog's kind of a support blog for people who are against the Sentihuman concept.

When I first heard of the expanded Sentimonster theory, the one that went "all the rich kids are Sentimonsters", I instantly went: "You do realize how making victims of child abuse nonhumans with questionable rights minimizes their victimhood and excuses their abusers, right?" people told me I was making stuff up and whoopsie doo, the writers did exactly that.

Neither Gabriel nor Tomoe faced any consequences for abusing Adrien and Kagami because, after all, since they're Sentimonsters, the real abuse was that they didn't have their Amoks so giving them their Amoks resolves all their problems. The only abusive parent who gets acknowledged as such is Félix's dad, who is dead by the time we hear about any of this, because we can't have abusive parents face consequences for their actions because that might upset people or whatever excuses Astruc's giving for Gabriel's vindication now.

This also minimises all the affects of the abuse on the kids, since they can be handwaved away with: "They were just programmed that way." Kagami's bad social skills aren't because her mother isolated her, it's because she forgot to program Kagami with those skills. Félix's villainous behavior isn't because his mother is overly permissive with him, he was just programmed that way (by the eeeeevil Colt). Adrien isn't a people pleaser because he's repeating his abuse coping mechanisms with his overly controlling girlfriend to keep her happy the same way he did to his overly controlling father, he was just programmed to be the perfect doting son and boyfriend.

You'll notice how neatly this ties into the crew denying that Chloé was abused in any way ever by her clearly abusive mother. Chloé wasn't made into a Sentimonster, so we can't have her bad coping with her abuse be excused by "Sentimonster programming", so now the writers are just gaslighting the audience and saying: "Chloé wasn't mistreated by her parents which caused her to act to out to get attention (which she literally stated to be her motive in season 3), in fact, she's the one who's been terrorizing her poor, innocent father and he needs to be protected from this naturally occuring evil hellspawn."

All child abuse in this show gets excused.

Of course, now the writers have an added reason to make sure Adrien's abuse gets excused in particular: because they made Marinette benefit from it. As I said, Adrien is repeating abuse coping mechanisms learned from dealing with his father to keep Marinette happy. He's always prioritizing her feelings and never brings up his own problems, and this is good for Marinette, because she can just enjoy having a perfect boyfriend who caters to her every need and doesn't have problems of his own or with the ways she treats him (for all she knows). She's even maintaining this status quo by lying about Gabriel to Adrien, so Adrien won't get upset (and have emotional needs that she would need to help him with). Either we have to excuse Adrien's abuse, or we have to admit Marinette is benefitting from the fact that Adrien was abused, and even taking advantage with the way she makes no effort to improve their communication on her end, preferring to spy on Adrien and lie to him instead of just talking to him like an equal.

The show writers are also allergic to following through on their creative decisions, is what I think. They put all these different victims of child abuse and neglect in the show, and then dehumanized these children in different ways so that they wouldn't actually need to say anything about that abuse they wrote in and they can instead pretend it was never there. This is why I also think that, no matter how much the show's defenders insist the story isn't over yet, we will never be getting a proper resolution to the Sentinonsense.

#ml critical #ml salt #sentimonster salt #ml writers critical

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carpedzem · 2 years

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I wanna know more about the Blanka fiasco

sure i'll be pleasant to give you more. get ready for a ride - everything i remember so far

excuse me that there's no source but i'm happy go give them if anyone is interested - of course they will be all in polish

blanka is a good friend of a jury's son - they were literally sitting next to each other during the event. the jury in question is also a polish singer. nowadays she's mostly known for being an antivaxxer LMAO

the other jury, a polish choreographer, is also blanka's friend, they worked together before, and during the eliminations, his dancers were supporting blanka's performance

there's literally a plagiarism accusations that not only polish, but also european jury is checking right now

till this year, a polish representation has been always chosen 50/50 by jury and an audience. this year they changed those rules last minute and then didn't even make voting open - we don't know which jury voted how. we are not even sure who got how many exact voted every artist got. I'm not sure if jann would win in the old system but blanka would for sure NOT, since she wasn't even in top 3 for audience

tvp (tv eurovision broadcaster) had news about blanka winning posted at 3:30pm, even when the event started at 5pm. the publication date has been already changed of course, and yes it could be a draft but LMAO

she is liking offensive comments about jann and ochman in the same time that tvp keeps pretending nothing happened and not reacting at people asking to see a real results for a week now

she literally called jann a friend before. they are clearly such besties, one of them borderline homophobic

there's a whole deal with her parents trying to make her famous before by sending her to usa and putting her into morning tv programs and failing miserably

she literally gave an interview in the radio today, saying its all a lie. like girl we have a proof of your every step

tvp has a history of being manipulative, queerphobic and straight up lying. it's just another step

janns song broke 1mln on yt and spotify, including recording of his live performance, hes preparing for a tour in europe and all his cds sold out ^_^

#eurovision #poland #eurovision 2023 #fuck it maintagging i want her gone from the contest

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scaryscarecrows · 6 months

Text

Komodo Protocol

“You seen what they got going on in Demolitions?” Frank asks around his bacon. “Somethin’ real nasty, looks like.”

“No, I’ve been stuck on ‘light duty’ all week.” Antoine rolls his eyes. “You get one bug and everyone’s on your ass.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have tried breaking out of Medical all those times.”

“Shouldn’t have passed out mid-meeting, either.” Jimmy cackles. “Dude, if you died, we’d be fucked. Riley’s an enabler.”

“Clyde would take over,” the Knight says dryly. Jimmy squeaks. “Meeting at nine hundred.”

Meeting, not assembly. Something’s come up, then, because they had their weekly briefing two days ago. There hadn’t been anything of note at the time; next shipment of drones to Gotham, more than anything. Antoine’s pretty sure it was largely an excuse to hide from Deathstroke, who had left that afternoon anyway.

“Yessir.”

Once he’s gone, Jimmy leans in.

“So? What do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s on schedule, and I haven’t seen anything weird come up.”

“Think something’s up in Gotham?”

“Maybe.” He finishes his coffee and tries–and fails miserably–at repressing a cough. “I’m fine, coughs linger, that’s not illegal!”

Mark frowns.

“That sounded ugly.”

“That’s what coughs do.” He’s not whining. He’s not. “Leave me alone, I’m better now.”

“I want you in my office after this meeting. Just for a quick check-up.”

“Oh, come on–”

“Forget, and I’ll come find you.”

Ugh. Fine. He’ll go. But he’s not going to like it.

* * *

“What is that?”

“Insurance.”

Okay. Insurance is always good. This, however, appears to be a bigass mine. Three feet in diameter, easy, and well-armored. Could probably withstand a Cobra drone rolling over it.

“Uh-huh,” Frank drawls. “For what.”

“It’s primarily to keep the military from getting involved.”

Antoine’s got news for him: the military, generally, considers Gotham as ‘fend for your fucking selves’ and probably would just pretend they didn’t see anything anyway. But sure. A little extra reassurance is nice.

“Also to keep anyone–or anything–else from stepping in.” Okay, that one’s fair. “It won’t hurt you if you walk on it; the sensors need more weight to activate the electricity.” Oh, it’s electric, too? Wonderful. “We’ll be deploying them pretty early in the night, once the drones have all been deployed.”

“They won’t fuck with the programming, will they?” Jimmy risks poking the thing. “It’s not like an EMP or whatever?”

“It shouldn’t, but I want you, when you map out the patrol route, to try not to run over them. I’ll give you a map of where I want them sometime next week.”

“How many are there?”

“Fourteen.”

Trent whistles.

“Jesus.”

“Gotham’s a big place.” The Knight shrugs. “We’re not shipping these over ahead of us; they go when we do. Clyde, I’m going to be making a special dummy; same sensors, I want to run some tests with the Cloudburst tank. If it comes to that, I’d really rather not blow this entire operation…literally.”

“Very funny, sir,” Frank says dryly. “I’ll make sure she’s ready to roll when you are.”

“Good. You five are dismissed. Drouot, you’re not.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

The others file out, though, leaving Antoine with the boss and a giant, scary-looking mine.

“These are also a contingency.”

And there it is. The boss has contingencies for his contingencies, which is, Antoine guesses, why they’re all still on this crazy crusade.

“Okay?” The Knight holds out a piece of paper with numbers on it. Antoine raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“The activation code to set these all off at once. In the event that I somehow end up incapacitated, unless I explicitly told you otherwise, I want you to initiate the Komodo Protocol: order a retreat and blow Gotham off the map.”

“Sounds like overkill.”

“When dealing with Batman, there is no such thing as overkill.”

“If you say so, sir.” Such an innocuous little paper. Ten digits. Ten digits and boom, one of the largest cities in the world turned into a charred crater. “Does Scarecrow know about this?”

“No, and we’re not mentioning it. If that code needs to be used, he doesn’t need to be informed.”

Well, in all honesty, Scarecrow is the one most likely to trigger this event. Antoine has never trusted the guy. He’s convinced that, Batman be damned, if he saw a chance to poison them all, he’d take it.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, sir.”

“Hopefully not.” The Knight looks at the mine. “But I’d rather be prepared.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?”

The boss just laughs.

“Probably not. Look, it’s like the bomb vests. I highly, highly doubt we’ll need it.”

Yeah…the bomb vests have not been mentioned to the troops at large. Voluntary or not, most people are not going to like the idea of a suicide vest being anywhere near them. If it comes down to that, then they’ll worry about it.

“If you say so, sir.” He looks from the paper to the mine again. “Did you need anything else?”

“No. You can go; I think Jones wanted to see you.”

Dammit.

* * *

“I’m sure that by now most of you have become aware of the events at Arkham Asylum.”

Antoine’s voice is hoarse, going in and out a little. He hasn’t slept, not really. Sure, Mark got a power nap out of him, but that’s about it and it wasn’t enough. He looks like shit, too, all washed out and with eye bags big enough to take on a cruise. That’ll happen, when you spend too much time in a chair.

“Batman do that, sir?”

“Yes and no. Before I continue, I want it clear: Batman is now considered a level five threat.”

“We can take him. Right, boys?” A cheer goes up. “Just tell us where he is, we’ll bring his head back in two hours.”

Ha. Trent disagrees. Bastard’s got clown morals with Bat-bullshit, if he’s still alive–and he probably is–‘taking him’ is going to be a real bitch. It’s doable, probably, it’s just going to be difficult, especially with their best resource on both Batman and Joker being at death’s door.

Antoine’s smile is wintery and the cheer dies down, gives way to an uneasy silence. Trent can’t blame them for that. He’s usually the nice one. Nice is relative, but still.

“What you’ll be up against isn’t Batman anymore,” he says. “Now, I’m sure you all attended the briefing regarding the Joker’s death of TITAN poisoning.” Pfft. Trent knows damn well they didn’t, but that’ll keep them from jabbering. “Before that incident, the Joker supplied hospitals with tainted blood, and apparently gave Batman a transfusion as well. The cure didn’t take.”

He turns to his laptop and taps a few keys. On screen, the footage Jimmy managed to get from the boss’s helmet earlier on Halloween looms large. Trent shudders. He’s seen some shit in his day, but that–a laughing, maniacal Batman attacking with full intent to kill–is in the running for his personal Top Five WTF. Thankfully, Antoine only lets it play for a few seconds, but those few seconds are enough to quiet the skeptical mutterings.

“That’s what you’re up against now. He will kill you, without a second thought. He has already killed Scarecrow–”

“Shit, we work for Richardson now?”

“No. The Arkham Knight dispatched her before the asylum blew up.”

At least that one stuck. Last thing they need is that vindictive little monster blaming them for what happened to Scarecrow.

“For the moment, we are going to continue as we were. I want drones sweeping the city, checkpoints manned, and watchtowers fully operational. If anybody sees anything, you call in immediately and you wait for backup. Don’t be a hero, your insurance does not cover facial removal.” There’s a smattering of nervous chuckles that Antoine does not join in. “Patrols: minimum of four, do not let each other out of your sight. Someone has to piss, you all go. Someone falls in one of those damn potholes and breaks an ankle, you all come back to base as a group. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Any questions?” If they have any, they don’t ask them. Antoine closes his laptop, disconnects it, and turns on his heel. “Dismissed.”

Trent steps in fully as they file out. A few of them flinch, but most of them just keep moving.

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly. “Mark’s right, you need sleep.”

“I’m fine. Anything?”

“Couple of false alarms.”

“So no.”

“No.”

“Damn.” Antoine runs a hand through his hair. “Any change with the boss?”

“Still out. Look…what are we going to do, if he…doesn’t…wake up? Batman’s Gotham’s problem, right?”

Antoine just laughs, a little bitter, and starts towards the door.

“He only got maybe a quarter of the mines. We pull our men out and blow this city to Kingdom Come, see him walk that off.”

“What?”

“Komodo Protocol.”

Trent’s heard of it. Well, seen it, in packets, but there’s never been any information about it. It’s just come up as, like, the last resort, no specifications.

“That’s what that is?” he demands. “Detonate the mines?”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

“Jesus Christ, man–”

“My orders are to put the bastard down, whatever it takes.” Antoine turns towards the back hallway. “Check in with the Arkham troops again, make sure they don’t need any further supplies. Did you send them a Cobra?”

“Yeah, earlier.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“Antoine.”

“What.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Antoine stops and turns around, swaying a little at the sudden change of direction.

“Yeah. If he dies, or doesn’t start waking up in another day or two, I’m calling it. We’ll finish the job one way or the other.” Jesus. “This stays between us for now. It may not come to that and there’s no reason to unsettle everyone.”

Trent nods.

“All right. You sure you’re not gonna grab a nap?”

“I’m fine.”

Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Look, Frank or Mark will probably bring the hammer down soon and when they do, Trent will be right there to enforce Bedtime.

“I’m gonna take a squadron out there,” he says. “Me and Riley: we’re taking some of his guys to investigate the little Batcave thing that turned up this morning.”

“Good. Stay in touch; that lecture goes for everyone.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find the bastard.”

“Hope so.” Antoine turns back around and starts walking again. “Good luck.”

THE END

#jason todd #arkhamverse #scaryverse #god so many mines in the road jason what the fuck #that was unnecessary #you know it was

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mdhwrites · 21 days

Note

Im sorry if im annoying, is just I really love Tmnt, specially Rise, and I also enjoy reading your analysis and stuff.

So, if is bothering you, you can delete this ask, is cool 👍

Now, my question is, character wise, like in a quick grande, idk if makes sense- IMPRESSIONS.

What would it be your first impression of the characters?

*bops you on the head* Stop apologizing. I've said before that if I had nothing to say, I'd just answer it privately. However, I LOVE discussions and I always appreciate asks so you're never annoying me with these. Please, don't worry about it so much.

As for the characters for Rise of the TMNT, I can't comment on everyone as I've only watched so much, like I have no real grasp on April yet besides liking her, but I actually want to start on the major thing that I think both allowed Rise to stand out and what made it so divisive at its inception, especially since talking about stuff like that is kind of going to bleed into what I think of the brothers. After all, I think whether you love the show or hate it, we all recognize that the brothers are very markedly different in this incarnation than literally any other, even if you can point to ones in the past for inspiration.

Most TMNT shows are MNT. Mutant. Ninja. Turtle. Those are the elements that they care about. Rise cares about TMT and goes about SHREDDING the fantasy that is the turtles as ninja. Not that they aren't ninja but like... What do ninja who TEENAGE MUTANT TURTLES like?

This actually even goes to Shredder's change which I'd never heard about before now: He's kind of a washed up loser. Again, I don't know everything but he's just as playful as the boys, he watches television, he goes on joyrides, he loses his mind when he's sick. He's not some grand wise mentor... And I get it. This is a man, going off normal canons, who lost his master, got thrown away, ended up halfway across the fucking globe and lives in a GOD DAMN SEWER. Not some pristine dojo. Not some high tech. Not even a cozy lair repurposed out of a sewer because none of that shit was around. All he had was a dank ass sewer. To say he hit rock bottom would be an understatement.

And mind you, it's not that her turned cruel because of this. He still passed on what culture he could but without stealing really expensive imports, what of his culture does he even have? He can't go to the library to check out books for the new family he wants to make. He can't buy home school programs to help him teach them. He has nothing. And he's old. He was already a man when shit went wrong for him in most canons so by the time the turtles are teenagers, he's at least fifty. Usually he's depicted as WAY older than that, like 70 or 80. Instead of that meaning he's some mystical figure, he's instead the cooky old dude who's maybe not all there all the time. That's a really neat reinterpretation of the character that's genuinely more realistic while befitting the tone of the TMNT franchise where yeah, it's still kind of cranked to eleven.

This is also your warning that I fucking love these characters.

So what about the brothers? If they aren't privileged but underground but instead genuinely stuck slumming it, what happened to them? Well, a core change seems to be not so much a want to belong, they actually don't seem that interested in being accepted by society, but a desire to covet society. To be able to watch and be a part of the concept of society. That's why they're totally at home watching a wrestling match. They aren't wishing they could be in the ring, they're just happy to be part of the crowd with the best seats in the house. They don't have to mind that they have to fight in costume, they're gonna rock it because they're in fucking costume and someone challenged you to a dance battle? You respond with a dance battle. They are MORE content with being outcasts than the turtles normally are because they live vicariously through media like many people do. This is with ONE exception that I'll get to.

I also like, just as a side note, that just because they are normal amongst mutants biologically, they still have no fucking clue what they're doing. They're genuinely caught between two worlds with double the naivety because of it and get screwed over by both halves because of it. Just a fun touch.

OKAY. Enough preamble. Let's actually go from the least to most bold changes of the brothers, at least from my perspective. I've never been huge into TMNT, just never really found a show I managed to watch consistently but I've liked most of what I've seen including the first Michael Bay Turtles movie, so I may not know how radical these alterations are or how safe they are except in a few small cases. For this though, the first one to talk about is pretty easy:

Michelangelo: *stares at how spellcheck just wrote that name* No wonder people fuck up mine. ANYWAYS, the reason I say he's the least bold is because adding artistic to your quirky, comedic heart of the group is not really so much a change as just a small pivot in trope. He's still more inclined towards recklessness, he's still the one who can broach the gaps between his brothers and he is the... Well, he is the one who is telling the most genuine jokes. Again, we'll get to him. But yeah, I like him but he's not actually that interesting to discuss, yet, for me because he is the one who is the most what you would expect.

Donatello: I bet some of you expected him to take the top slot but hear me out: I actually recently did a blog contrasting Big Bang and The Owl House for their depictions of nerds. The point of it was really to say that TOH tried to claim their nerds were some groundbreaking, brave representation but that they were 'good' nerds besides the one uncomfortable nerd who got in the way and that no one liked. The difference between a nerd who never brings up their interests at dinner unless prompted versus one who MIGHT ask "Hey, am I bothering you with this," thirty minutes into a rant about a niche issue with their favorite media that they brought up because you mentioned the wrong time. Say yes and you are going to be there the rest of the fucking night. THIS is what I see with Donatello. Donnie is usually just the tech dude and by that we mean he's conveniently the one who can spit technobabble out and fix things. He is nerdy but he'd never be someone you really question spending time with. This Donnie refuses to spend time with YOU and he will let you know it. He is the brutal honesty, amongst other things, of being autistic, alongside the fact that when they say he "Does machines" in the intro, I wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't foreshadowing him making himself a girlfriend out of his one true love. Now, that is going a little far. Donnie does love his brothers but of the three, he struggles the most to know how to deal with them in a human way, to the point where this is addressed very early on with him trying to fix what he finds most annoying about them and how that's wrong. This is not literally the opposite of normal, Mikey is usually the heart of the brothers after all, but Donnie usually gets along because he doesn't really have enough personality to clash. This Donnie has enough personality to perform a heel turn for someone taking shit from him. It's great. However, he is still the tech dude and still somewhat removed from his siblings, both of which are pretty normal even if the execution is different, so it's not as radical a change as the next two.

Now for the two that actually play into why I did all my preamble.

Raphael: I haven't gotten backstories yet but if it turns out Raph looked around himself as he was growing up and realized NO ONE was the adult, I wouldn't be surprised. He doesn't seem traumatized by this fact by any means but he does give the impression of having grown up faster than the rest. He's not just physically more than them, he's mentally more. He's taken a step they all will eventually need to follow him... But he's not going to drag them kicking and screaming with him unless they're being genuine dumbasses. I actually love EVERY part of how this comes to play out. Raph doesn't have his hotheadedness, he has something much closer to cold fury which implies he knows that he can't lose it the way old Raphs did but that anger is still there. He is the one who actually has plans and most often presents worry over how something might go wrong, or sees through the rouses set by his brothers, meaning that he's taken the role of guardian over them (which makes his power being a form of shields technically chef's kiss). HOWEVER, by contrast, he has what feels a bigger blindspot to people outside of his family when it comes to tricks, likely because he's been focused on his brothers for long enough that he has become more naive than even many of the others of the world outside their home. This is probably why he has some of the bigger hero worship amongst them, especially since he's trying to live up to nobler ideas, or at least more adult ideals. That's ironic due to-

Leonardo: The choice to give him the voice Randy Cunningham is pitch perfect casting. This is EASILY the biggest and most jarring change but for the me the most welcome. Leo was never really a straight man from what I could tell comedically, Raph or Donnie usually did more of that, but instead was meant to be the rock of the group. Instead, he just came off as many bad adventure leaders: No personality. He's a nice enough guy and he's good at what he does but that's what you say about your mailman, not the leader of your ensemble cast.

This Leo is anything but this. He does not covet society, he wishes for society to covet him. He has taken celebrity worship to its natural conclusion of wanting to be a celebrity at all costs. He sees himself as the hottest shit out there and you bet your buns he's going to let you know it. He will do anything for recognition which is hardly surprising for a kid who grew up in the sewers watching stuff like Kung Fu movies. He wants to be that level of awesome and you better believe he knows the phrase "Fake it till you make it." Of course, he doesn't think he's faking it which makes when he gets punched in the face all the more satisfying. But... This does come with some wrinkles. He does not look upon the world favorably. If Raph is too innocent, he's cynical. Everything is quid pro quo. If you show him why you're giving him praise, even if it's shallow or a lie, he'll believe you because he is easily manipulated but you show him nothing? You say you JUST want to help without even being family? Yeah that doesn't fly because it's not what he would do, often times even with his own family. It makes for an interesting version of awareness. All of this does beg a simple question though: Is there any connective tissue between old Leo and new one? Is this like Teen Titans Go where they entirely scrapped the old character just to make him some shit eating idiot?

Confidence, wit, and spirit. Raph's greatest problems as a leader is that he isn't quick on his feet, he can't get people to listen to him and when he does have a plan, he doesn't have as much confidence as he needs to make sure everyone follows it. Leo genuinely has everything and than what Raph has a leader. He is smart, that's why he's a snarky bastard. He's confident to an extreme fault but that means when he pitches you an idea, it sounds legit just because of how much he seems to believe in it. And hey, even after he gets punched, he gets back up. He will make you say he is the best or die trying (which from my understanding is essentially the fuck up he makes at the beginning of the movie but with nobler intentions). He is missing two key components from being a genuinely great leader and ninja. The ability to see outside of himself and maturity. He needs to grow up and remember there's no I in team. That it doesn't matter who got the final hit, what matters is that the job was accomplished at all. He needs to stop wanting to be a celebrity, an icon to worship and trudge behind, and instead be a leader who is shoulder to shoulder to you. Who says that anything he'd ask of you, he'd ask of himself.

That is a fucking INCREDIBLE pitch for your main character as a starting point. All the things he needs but a radical wake up call that will force some HARD change if he wants to realize his real potential. Even better, his real potential is what he wants to be seen as, just that so long as the image is what he cares about, he'll never be what he wants to be. It's pitch god damn perfect and the fact that he is a delightful asshole who gets everything he deserves coming to him, constantly, from all angles, while he works on himself makes for a very entertaining character even as you wait for this arc to potentially happen. He is a good cartoon character either way and not everyone call pull that off.

In fact, even the most shallow of them makes for someone who you know will at least make you smirk if you give them eleven minutes. To me, that's a pretty good sign for a good character if one of your main goals is to entertain. And man... These turtles are entertaining. See you next tale.

======++++++======

Also, small note: I finally hit 200 followers! And I'm announcing this on a blog most of them probably aren't going to read. XD

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rotmnt #Positive #Character analysis

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