This is the blackest picture I’ve ever seen lmaooo
Seriously tho; a big bucket of fried chicken, 3 watermelons, a spades and/or domino table with Frankie Beverly playing in the background STILL could not make this picture any blacker.
Word Count: 8.6K (I feel like it goes quick though)
Warnings: S’mut
Synopsis: A few bad dates have you in the blues, but a stranger comes to you at night when you are most vulnerable, giving you everything you desire in the real world. But at what cost is his affection?
A/N: This is one fanfic of a few I plan to put out in theme with the spooky holiday coming up. I love Halloween and everything tied to it, so I figure writing my Black Panther characters as different horror movie tropes would be fun to do!
“So, then I told the guy, ‘Hey, if you wanted to find holes in the merger, we should swing a few on the green at my local country club.’ I mean, get real, right?”
You smiled modestly as you drank your fourth cocktail for dinner. You’ve been on the app life of dating for a couple months now, and getting matched wasn’t the issue, but the quality of the product once received was highly lacking. Your girlfriends had finally convinced you to expand your horizons to the dairy aisle, and as you knew good and gatdamn well, you were left feeling cold.
This guy, Brody, was one of the few white guys that didn’t have a hunting photo as their primary avi, or a group photo with sorority girls at a kegger. He did have the obligatory activity photos: walking on hikes, climbing a mock rock wall at a gym, sitting contemplatively on a cliff staring at the sunset. You usually swipe left on those because that just wasn’t your life, but he was cute, had a funny A Different World quote in his bio, and didn’t come off referring you to a dessert that he would love to ruin with his white cock.
So, you gave him a shot, talking to him about his job, social life, hobbies. But you just couldn’t click with him on a molecular level. He didn’t ask anything about you, first of all, a sure sign that this was as tedious an ordeal for him as it was for you; or he just was that narcissistic not to notice. He was a suburban White statistic walking and breathing. The polo shirt and khakis with Sperrys just made you want to throw your wine at him for indecent basicness.
Your eyes start to cross from his marathon mouth as your vision veers off to the restaurant space behind him. If he was really paying attention he would notice, but nope, it worked in your favor.
You stare at a TV playing in the bar section, some sports team playing in some final round. You could care less but it cleansed your metal palette to think of a way to get outta there. Your instincts send your eyes down to meet the gaze of a rather juicy looking barfly. His look locked your gaze in place as you admired him from afar. His expression was ferocious, like killer level ferocious. But you couldn’t look away, and you didn’t feel scared at all. His fresh cut, frames his face while giving him a devilish vibe. And although the bar area was low lit, his skin had a glow that made him appear ethereal. All the light caught the angles of his face and you would risk life and limb to touch on.
“And then, I did a kind of work study in Tibet…”
As he is describing a moment he had with a monk on a mission trip, you pull your phone out discreetly to open an app to call you. The call came 30 seconds later.
You get your phone looking at it curiously. “I’m so sorry, I have to take this.” You hold a finger up as you listen closely to the automated voice on the other side.
“Ohh, really? When did this happen? I told Mark to honor the deadline, what was he thinking??” You get up with the phone still in your ear. “I’m sorry Brody, work stuff. I’ll have to take this, maybe I’ll call you to pick up where we left off?”
Before he could confirm or deny the invitation you left urgently for your ‘work stuff’. The exit was near the bar, and as you walked into the area, your eyes caught the mysterious patron again. You wink at him, smiling to yourself as you continue to leave out of the restaurant.
I just finished babysitting my friend’s children, and she has most definitely mastered the no spanking/alternative discipline route. I always talk about taking it because I don’t believe in abusing children, but I’ve never personally seen it in action by a Black parent. Her children are 2 and 5 and they are the kindest, nicest toddlers I’ve ever met. They listen to her because she’s their mom and they automatically recognize she’s important and she gives them what they want (love and affection and rewards). In return they like to clean for her and give her artwork and cuddles all of the time.
To get them to listen to her, she makes sure to listen to them and what they’ve got to say instead of telling them to shut up all the time. The 5 year old asked her a few months ago why you can’t eat food that was on the floor after picking up food on the floor, and she explained it calmly and clearly. He asked 4 other questions after that and she answered all of them. He was satisfied and happy with the answers, and ever since he hasn’t done those things. She lets them gush and gush about Hot Wheels or Team Umizoomi and engages with them and counts with them and everything, so they never feel alone or neglected enough to not want to obey.
My friend lets them make mistakes by themselves on the rare chance they don’t listen so they can learn from them and let that be punishment enough. For example, the younger one we’ve been telling not to go near the dog cage because he doesn’t like dogs. He went near it a while ago, got his hand licked, freaked out, and hasn’t been anywhere near it since. The board on the wall that she uses has a column for each boy horizontally, and vertically are all the traits she wants them to have, like being nice, listening to her and their teachers, eating their food, cleaning up, having manners, etc. They get a sticker whenever they do it for the day, and they lose all their stickers when they break a habit. That’s enough punishment for them, so they don’t break it.
When they wake up, it’s cleanup time, or bedtime, she plays what she calls “musical habits”. She puts on a playlist of their favorite songs (it’s like 20-25 minutes) that make them feel motivated, and they should be finished getting ready or cleaning by the time the last song is over. If they’re not, they get a toy from their toy bin taken away or an Oreo from their snack bag taken out (aka eaten by her). But she hasn’t ever gotten to that because they always finish. They don’t even like hearing the consequences lol. And I just wanted to say I really enjoyed seeing good parenting by a Black woman that wasn’t abusive or harmful to the child’s development, it gave me inspiration and hope. Just had to talk about it somewhere.
THIS IS GOOD WHOLESOME PARENTING
This gives me hope. I’m gonna try to emulate this if I have kids
I aspire to be a mommy like this one day 🙌🏽💞
I need her to open a YouTube channel or write a book.
@yungthotsica I know I’m not the only hoe awake. You seen Winston’s IG this morning?
Good God almighty. @jackburtonsays please witness this. I want him to throw me like that on the bed and hulk smash this ass. Or wait some witty M’baku equivalent to that lmao. I’m not as clever as I used yo be.
Now you know I lost my shit the first time I saw this on Instagram right? He needs to smash me like an Idaho potato
Shout out to all the little black girls that were getting perms before they learned how to read because of ingrained social stigmas.
Shout out to all the little black girls that never learned how to properly swim because mama didn’t wanna fuck up that goddamn perm.
Shout out to all the little black girls that were never allowed to play TOO hard if at all because you just got your hair did and it had to last.
Shout out to all the little black girls that ended up in tears because you lost a barrette or two at the end of your plait so your hair unraveled and mama got upset because you messed it up.
Shout out to all the little black girls that had to be so hyper-aware of their hair as children because of beauty standards and respectability politics that they’re still neurotically attentive to it this day.
Shout out to all the grown black women who have to deal with the internalized “good hair vs. bad hair” mentality.
Shout out to all the grown black women who damn near have fits if that hair isn’t laid for the gods or was but got messed up and you don’t have the tools to fix it right then and there.
Shout out to all the grown black women who refuse to work out because it’ll mess up their hair because that’s what they’ve been taught since they were damn near babies.
Shout out to all the grown black women who were able to buck the mentality, who are working really hard to buck the mentality, or who have yet to try or can’t buck the mentality yet.
Shout out to all the black women who get treated like a petting zoo or who get told their hair looks prettier this way as if it’s not your choice but their choice.
Shout out to all the black women who get clowned for being natural, relaxed, bald, wig wearing, weaved up, because we can’t win no matter what we do.
With our gelled back baby hairs and nappy kitchens.
With our box perms and our hot combs.
With our satin night scarves/caps and silk pillowcases.
With our spending all that money on a do only for it to sometimes get ruined by humidity or rain the moment we walk out the salon.
With our chemicals that can eat through coke cans if given enough time but you have to leave it on the scalp even if it burns because it has to take before you can wash it out.
With the braids and weaves that are too tight but you can’t scratch so you gotta pat or pull your face into weird expressions to alleviate the ache.
With having to go to hairdressers you KNOW can do your hair because not all are taught how to do black women’s hair.
With struggling to do your own hair your damn self to the point of tears sometimes.
Shout out to black women for not ever being allowed to have it be “just hair”.
sewing is one of those skills everyone with the ability should know IMO. i’ve known too many people who just throw out perfectly servicable clothing and bedding because of tears or buttons that have fallen off and these can be fixed at home. sewing’s not hard either.
sewing, like baking bread, is one of those basic skills that corporations have convinced people is just impossible or too expensive for the average person to do in order to manipulate people into buying things.
i’m not saying sewing is possible for everyone, but if you have motor skills fine enough to, say, replace lead in a mechanical pencil, you can learn to sew, and you can help people who can’t sew. here’s a good guide with gifs.
this is what we mean when we say civilization de-skills us to make us dependent
JackburtonSays 