mamajankyy

[mamajankyy]

Happy 1 Year anniversary to these 2 dorks🥰🥳

🗣️🗣️ATTOYE FOREVERR

[mamajankyy]

Its attoye anniversary and I have no fic to show for it

[mamajankyy]

No thoughts, just them ❤️

[mamajankyy]

✨ 🐝 Commissions | Instagram | Buy Prints 🐝 ✨

[mamajankyy]

For @lamorenareina

I wanna take a moment to 🗣️SHOUT FROM THE ROOFTOPS about a fanfic author! I wrote this as a DM to her, but I’m posting it here in the spirit of paying forward these truly fuckin amazing stories to anyone who may be unaware and also in an attempt to reach out to anyone who’s read them and wants to discuss. (Also for anyone who, like me, could read about Rick/Michonne all day.) This post is part love letter to @lamorenareina slight character analysis.

Link to the main story I’m discussing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39203118/chapters/98085738

Link to Author page: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMorenaReina/pseuds/LaMorenaReina

I want to preface this ridiculous amount of words by warning you that this is bout to be a ridiculous amount of words. Please don’t feel compelled to respond to or even read everything that follows. For a while I had no idea how to even begin to express my gratitude for your (FREE?!?!?) work, the weight of its resonance, the interest and awe that it generated for me. But I’ve landed on the realization that the least I can do as the receiver of a gift is say thank you. So, first, Thank you! And also, in thanks, I’d like to give some of my thoughts on the what you’ve so generously shared.

Personally, I find character study to be the most interesting exploration in any form of storytelling — becoming deeply familiar with identity and motivation, evolution versus stasis. I’ve read a lot of the comments under your work and so many of them have already captured what makes your stories feel special— but lemme reiterate. These works are so satisfyingly grounded, inextricably connected to the characters and circumstances we hold dear, and yet uniquely captivating through your ability to illuminate and develop different facets of personality and perspective. You speak so solidly in their voices and deeds that these could easily be official companion pieces for the show. Original characters you’ve written fit so snugly within the framework of who we know our characters to be, retroactively creating a foundation for traits that we’re already so familiar with.  

I’m obsessed with one of these instances you’ve introduced in A Rare Sameness: this apparent precognitive ability that flows through Michonne and other women in her family.

“Her dreams weren’t precognition. They were recognition” 

It’s such an intriguing seed to explore from the flagship. This notion of “knowing” what you don’t know you know. And we see it in Jim and in Rick, but the most potent concentration of this gift, within the world you’re shaping, seems to reside in the women of Michonne’s family. And this is one of those inextricably connected yet uniquely captivating explorations within your work; because the Michonne we know has impeccable, damn near unshakable, instincts. Her decisions prove sound and fruitful for herself and the group time and time again despite, oftentimes, the absence of an obvious, logical foundation for their impetus. Yes she’s an intelligent character, remarkably astute; but the near infallibility of her intuition could easily suggest something more. These are some of my absolute favorite devices within the show: these unexplained kismet, cosmic, astoundingly serendipitous occurrences; and I looooooovvvee watching you craft a framework for this one.

I’m such a fan of the way you’re teasing out this notion, and I find it specifically interesting because I’m prone to similar phenomenon, sometimes benign, sometimes feeling more substantial. And I recently found out that my grandmother claimed some peripheral, enigmatic ‘psychic' ability despite devout christian beliefs. And here, we have this inner dialogue in which Michonne denies any sort of otherworldly gift but obviously exhibits a heightened understanding, an instinctual “knowing”. It’s beautifully evocative for so many Black women. That almost funny, somewhat devastatingly common refrain about Black women having to do everything, know everything, save everyone. The same way that generational trauma can be passed down, perhaps, so too can a heightened perception, a well-tuned discernment born of hundreds of years living primarily in a survival state. Hundreds of years having to navigate a world that would see an end to you as anything other than caretaker, punching bag, pack mule for the larger burdens of society. And I don’t know if this reads like a tangent or a ramble (because these are still fledgling elements within the story and my predictions and observations might have nothing to do with where we end up), but I say all of this to say that I find your writing deliciously meditative. The most satisfying read, for me, is one that allows me to turn the ideas it presents around my mind for hours after I’ve finished reading it.

Alongside all of this, you’re building these incredibly electrifying dynamics between Rick and Michonne (I legitimately have to throw my phone and scream out loud every so often while I’m reading). His growing reliance on her is so gratifying in every iteration. We’ve only just scratched the surface of their relationship in A Rare Sameness, and already, it’s so curious, connected, inviting. The playfulness at the end of chapter 5 sent me to. heaven. 

I see you developing all of these pieces so beautifully, and it makes me so excited for what’s to come that I could cry. I could say so much more. Seriously. So much more. But I’m gon wrap it up and say thank you again. I’m so grateful for your generosity of spirit. I completely understand why it takes time to develop these narratives, and I will be sittin in the nursing home at the ripe old age of 200 waiting for these stories to update if that’s how long it takes. 🙇🏾‍♀️💕🥹

[mamajankyy]

"just write the story you want to read!" they said. well, guess what, now i have 14 unfinished drafts because apparently, i want to read 14 different stories at once.

[mamajankyy]

1) JDBFHFJDKDNDN

2) Cowboy!Tuma yeth pleathe!

3) I missed your pen so much.

4) thank yew 🫶🏾

Won’t You Bring Me Whiskey? || Attoye Drabble || Western AU

Warnings: Hats off to Cowboy Attuma 🤠

Tags: @mamajankyy @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @ariyannah @iccedays @blissdoutbyattuma @umber-cinders @mickimomo @dontruinmymorning @princess-of-gondor

“And here I was, thinking you’d forgotten me.”

Okoye acknowledged his presence without ever looking up from the papers strewn across her desk, right where Shuri had said she’d be.

Attuma smiled at her from the post he’d taken up against her office doorframe.

“Darling, I think I could take a hoof to the head and still remember every damn detail about you,” he replied with a soft laugh.

Her writing paused, and she spared him the briefest glance before returning to her work, amusement dancing on her lips. “Flatterer.”

“Maybe so,” Attuma conceded, standing to his full height and flashing her a charming smirk. He strode over to the large oak desk and leaned close enough to smell the lingering scent of orchids and amber on her skin and see the bright glint in her dark eyes, “but never a liar.”

She hummed in response, lips quirking up, and continued her writing. “Staying long?”

The question was a familiar one, and he thought he heard something like hope in her tone. But he ignored it just the same as the pang of disappointment that flashed through him, knowing the answer.

“Just until morning. We leave at first light,” he said quietly, rounding the desk and leaning against it as he admired her. Even after almost a year of this— whatever this was —he still found himself awestruck by her. From the sharp arch of her brow to the wide set of her nose, the deep bow of her full lips and elegant column of her neck, the sleek lines of her collar bones and supple curves of her breasts and hips, Attuma could spend hours cataloging her beauty.

He had.

“Tell me something,” Okoye started as she finished scrawling a few numbers in a ledger and interrupted his musing. “What does it say that your dog found her way here before you did?”

She chuckled at his questioning hum and closed her ledger, storing her pen. Then, she pushed her chair back, nodding to the black-and-white animal napping under her desk.

Attuma glanced down and snorted as Yawri sleepily blinked one eye open. “Comfortable down there?”

She sniffed at him, then crawled from under the desk, yawning and stretching as she went and placed her head in Okoye’s lap, preening as the woman began to scratch her behind the ears.

“You’re an awfully spoiled thing, aren’t you?” Attuma admonished playfully, shaking his head as her tail began wagging from Okoye’s continued attentions. He was suffering from a unique sort of madness where he found himself jealous of his own dog. “but I suppose you’ve got your priorities in order.”

Okoye shot him a dazzling smile lined with mischief. “Why Mr. Almehen, are you implying I’m a priority to you?”

Attuma froze for a moment, biting his tongue to stop the answer from spilling out. She always left him floundering, on the edge of laying out every secret his soul held. Gunfights held less danger, and yet—

His mouth curled into a dimpled grin as he replied, “No need for implication, Ms. Khubana. You occupy every spare thought I have.”

The admission earned him a playful arch of her brow, and she stood after stroking her hand through Yawri’s fur once more. Her eyes remained locked on him, and her skirts swished softly as she danced around the dog to close the short distance between them. His hands moved of their own accord, winding around her waist the moment she was within arm’s reach and pulling her into his chest. Okoye didn’t object; she simply traced her hands up his arms and settled them on his shoulders.

“Every spare thought?”

Her eyes studied him carefully, compelling the answer before there was thought to refuse.

“Mm-hmm.”

She pushed up on her toes, nudging his nose with her own, and something sweet on her breath danced across his lips.

“What about the occupied ones?”

Nimble fingers mapped the veins of his neck before burying themselves in his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut as she began massaging the base of his skull.

“Hm?”

His errant hands tightened around her waist and drifted down to the warm skin of her exposed back.

“Do I occupy your other thoughts? Even the busy ones?”

His eyes shot open, finding hers immediately. Dark eyes entranced and entrapped him, and Attuma drowned in twin pools of brown richer than the ripest cacao.

“Yes.”

His confession was rewarded with a kiss this time, and Attuma found himself uncaring for self-preservation.

Slow and searing, Okoye kissed him until he was drunk with desire and the whiskey that lingered on her lips. He kissed her back fervently, moving his mouth over hers until his mind spun from the lack of oxygen. The hand in his hair tightened as he pulled back, and he cupped her cheek with one hand, resting his forehead on hers as they breathed in tandem.

Orchids. Amber. Whiskey.

Okoye.

He never wanted to leave.

~plus venire~

A/N: I got bored and drunk and I’ve been watching a lot of Yellowstone and this has been in my drafts for… a while. Just a lil bit though I might circle back later... excuse my rambling in the tags

[mamajankyy]

i saw this and wanted to join!

post your picrew + the last song you listened to

(np tags 🏷️🤎: @amiableness @mischievousmoony @msmk11 @lupinsweater @stevie-petey @kaylasficrecs @aastonishment @pretty-little-mind33 @saturnitystar) + anyone else wanting to join

[mamajankyy]

I want everyone to know that this is me every time someone drops a comment on something I've written:

[mamajankyy]

AHHH!!

I literally squealed!

Stars Aglow Ch. 4 || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3

Ch. 1 • Ch. 2 • Ch. 3

Warnings: An Excessive Amount of Fluff, Talk of Marriage

Tags: @mamajankyy @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @ariyannah @iccedays @blissdoutbyattuma @karimk2 @umber-cinders @mickimomo @dontruinmymorning @princess-of-gondor

Okoye smothered a laugh with her hand, studiously avoiding Nakia’s eyes as they watched Toussaint peer cautiously over the oversized crib the triplets slept in. T’Challa’s son stood on his toes, glancing back and forth between Okoye and her children skeptically. His face was twisted into the most adorable of frowns, and she nearly lost the fight to keep her composure when the boy turned to them with an aggrieved sigh.

“They’re very small, umakazi. And they’re sleeping again,” T’Challa whispered— or at least, attempted to as he stepped into the space between her legs. 

Okoye hugged her precious nephew, trying to quell the laughter bubbling in her chest at his decidedly underwhelmed expression. Junior had waited an eternity (nearly three weeks) to meet the triplets, and Okoye feared the three small infants (who did very little but sleep and eat) hadn’t quite lived up to his expectations. 

“I know they are, sweet boy. But they will grow; you have to give them time,” she consoled with a chuckle. “They’ve only just arrived, you know.”

He returned her embrace, sinking into her arms and sighing again. “Can I still teach them Go Fish?”

“Probably not anytime soon, ingwe enci. But when they are old enough, I’m sure they would love to learn.” Okoye lifted T’Challa into her lap, relishing the ability to hold him close without the barrier of her belly. “You will be the first cousin they know, the one they love the most. You’ll be their best friend and greatest protector, and when the time comes, I’m sure you will be the best Go Fish teacher in all of Wakanda.”

Her nephew grinned at that, chest puffing out proudly. “I will teach them Go Fish when I am–,” he paused, counting quietly to himself, “ten!” he announced, holding out both hands, fingers splayed. “I’ll know other stuff then, too, so I can teach them lots.”

“Indeed you will, chan baláam.” Attuma’s voice sounded from the doorway of the nursery, drawing both of their attention. He and Namora stepped into the large room, both still damp from escorting Ixtli and the Talokanil nursing team to the eastern side of the Continent for the journey home. 

Toussaint wriggled from Okoye’s lap and greeted them with exclamations of joy, only looking a little abashed when Nakia reminded him to keep his voice down. Nonetheless, he took a running leap toward Attuma and giggled when he was caught and hoisted onto her beloved’s waist. Attuma received an affectionate forehead press and Namora, a series of salutes followed by an enthusiastic high-five. 

Her nephew touched Attuma’s hair, taking in his and Namora’s damp appearance, and scolded them in a loud whisper. “You’re still wet, Uncle Tuna! You and Nacomora need to use the dryer better.”

His face and countenance were so serious that Okoye lost the battle with her laughter at Nakia’s unrestrained snort, the mangled combination of Namora’s title and name sending them into a fit of hushed giggles. It didn’t help that Namora refused to correct him. She claimed it was a blessing from her chan aj baláam and even prohibited them from correcting him. 

Indulging T’Challa was a crime they were all guilty of, and Okoye could already tell it would be the same, if not worse, with her children. 

Her giggles tapered off, and she shook her head at her sister as Attuma set Toussaint down, crouching before the boy and solemnly promising to use the dryers better next time. Her nephew beamed at him, offering his littlest finger and extracting a pinky promise from his uncle before darting across the room to his mother, pestering her for the cashews she was snacking on. 

Attuma rose with a quiet chuckle and crossed the room, stopping at her side and dropping a kiss on her head. Reaching up, Okoye pushed his hair out of his face and pressed their foreheads together. He’d been gone for less than an hour, but she’d missed him like it’d been days. They hadn’t been apart since the triplets were born, and if this was how she felt now, Okoye dreaded to think of what she would feel when he went back to work. 

That wouldn’t be anytime soon, of course, so she put the thought out of her mind and tilted her chin up, kissing the corner of his mouth. Attuma turned his head and caught her lips in a brief kiss, and she gave a quiet hum.

“Ts'o'ok u taktal in wilech xan, in yakunaj [I missed you too, my love],” he whispered against her lips, kissing her quickly again. 

Okoye offered him a soft smile as he drew back and settled into the reclining rocking chair beside her, then turned to Namora. “Did Ixtli and the team get out okay?” 

“Chaac has blessed the winds and the waters are calm; their journey home should be swift,” The Talokanil general replied, softening her voice as she neared the crib. She reached a careful hand in and traced the pattern on the edge of B’atz’s blanket, smiling down at her godson. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Okoye said sincerely. “We’ll miss them— Ixtli especially. Please thank her again for me, for us.” She would always be grateful to the iyom k’exelom for helping her bring three children safely into the world. She and the Talokanil nurses had made a world of difference in the delivery room and helped immensely in the week of bed rest she’d been mandated to afterward. 

Namora gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, eyes fixed on B’atz, gazing down at the sleeping infant with pure adoration. The Talokanil general loved all the triplets, but Okoye knew her secondborn already held a special place in her heart. Shuri and Ayo were the same with T’Khwezi and Ixazaluoh, and between their grandparents and godparents, Okoye could proudly say her children were well loved. 

“I don’t think she heard you, diosa. Her ears have gone, along with her head,” Attuma quietly teased his fellow general. He leaned close with a smirk and interwove their fingers. “You could not have known, of course, but babies are one of Namora’s greatest weaknesses.” Okoye snickered at his antics as her beloved gave a heavy sigh and a solemn shake of his head. “I fear our formidable Yeh Kaaye’ Nacom has gone k’iinich [sun-eyed].” 

The Lionfish turned to Attuma with a glare as venomous as her way and arched a sharp brow at him. “You have little depth to tread, Uncle Tuna,” Namora spat back playfully. She leaned back on the railing of the crib and crossed her arms.“You’ve been k’iinich since a K’iino [your Sun] buried her foot in your chest.” 

Attuma let out a garbled sound of protest, trying to deny it, but Namora pressed on, shooting Okoye a conspiratorial glance. “His head has been full of ja'páak'alo' [seaweed] since he hit the water. I fear our mighty Xook Nacom hasn’t been the same since,” she finished, flashing her beloved a triumphant smile. 

The petulant look Attuma sent in Namora’s direction caused Okoye to snort gracelessly, drawing chuckles from Nakia and Namora. Their amusement was only intensified by her mother entering the nursery with a bewildered reprimand clear on her face for their somewhat raucous behavior. Her stern expression nearly caused Nakia to choke on the cashews she’d been snacking on, and Okoye’s attempts to explain sent them back into fits of uncontrollable laughter, their mouths covered in failing attempts to keep quiet. 

Okoye blew out a shaky breath as their laughs faded, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Bast as her witness, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever been this happy. Here, in this blissful bubble where smiles didn’t cease and laughter came easier than breathing, there was only joy. She was surrounded by more love now than she’d ever known, and her heart sang.  

“I leave for 10 minutes and come back to a pack of cackling hyenas,” her mother scolded, hands on her hips.

Okoye smiled at the newly minted grandmother’s unimpressed glare. “Jokes are meant to be laughed at, mama,” she replied.

“Keep it up, and you’ll have more than just me to contend with,” the matriarch said, shaking her head, but the mirth in her eyes gave her away.

Okoye pressed her lips together to smother the last bout of giggles that threatened to escape, and she looked over to the crib where her babies slept, blissfully unaware of the lively chaos surrounding them. Namora’s attention had returned to the trio as well, and she reached her hand in again, thumbing the edge of Ixazaluoh’s blanket this time as Okoye’s youngest grizzled in her sleep. 

The Lionfish hummed, smile dimming slightly, and she cleared her throat, glancing back at Okoye. “K’uk’ulkan has also sent word— he plans to be here by the afternoon.”

Okoye couldn’t hide her wince at the words, feeling the giddy atmosphere dissipate abruptly at the mention of the Talokanil king. She cast a fretful glance toward her mother, and the matriarch scoffed as if on cue.

“He plans?” came the scathing question, her voice pitching along with her brow. “Did he ask?” 

“Mama, nceda,” she pled, seeing Namora stiffen and hearing Nakia sigh. “Ndiqinisekile ukuba unqwenela ukudibana nabantwana. [I’m sure he just wishes to meet the children.]” 

“Iminqweno yakhe ichitha iimbeko ezilula ngoku, hm? [His wishes overrule simple courtesies now, hm?]” Her mother retorted with a disbelieving huff, drawing a pointed hum from Nakia.

Okoye shot her sister a chiding look, and the woman shrugged, popping another cashew into her mouth. Nakia wasn’t an avid fan of K’uk’ulkan either, but they both knew her mother needed no aid in expressing her discontent. She turned to her mother, silently imploring her to choose peace. The woman kissed her teeth in response and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, agreeing to be civil for the time being. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she shook her head and muttered a quick prayer, asking Bast for patience.

“Did he send word on how long he plans to stay?” she asked, turning back to Namora, who’d tuned them out, murmuring quiet words over the triplets instead. A dazed, questioning hum came in response, and Okoye elaborated. “I know M’Baku won’t mind, but Ayo certainly will.” 

The Talokanil woman blinked as she considered the question, and then her eyes widened almost comically. 

Okoye bit back a snort at her friend’s distressed expression. “I’m sure it’s fine. The guest chambers likely won’t need much preparation, and Nakia can go with you so she can assist the General with security protocols.” Her sister stopped mid-cashew, gaze narrowing at her, and Okoye smiled blithely.

“Well, I suppose I’ve been given my marching orders,” Nakia huffed with a roll of her eyes. She unfolded her legs and stood, passing the rest of her snack to Toussaint. “Come, Nacom. Let’s pray to Bast and Chaac that the General is in a gracious mood this morning.”

Okoye chuckled at the pained expression that crossed Namora’s face as they left the room. “You can always bribe her with baby cuddles,” she called after them, snickering when Nakia kissed her teeth in response. 

Hearing Ixazaluoh grunt softly, she glanced at the clock. If the pattern established in these first two weeks held true, they would all wake soon, and her youngest would wake first— loudly. She turned her head and found Attuma already standing and smiled as he leaned close, bracing his hands on the armrests of her chair.

“Any requests for your midday snack, na' in paalal? Fruit? Yogurt? One of your snack bowls, perhaps?”

“Can you check and see if we have more of those protein balls your mother made?” She cupped his cheeks and made her requests known through a series of chaste kisses against his lips. “The peanut butter and date ones?” A few more kisses because she couldn’t resist the smile in his eyes. “Maybe a cup of yogurt, too?”

“Bix in yaakunaj ku k'áatik,” he whispered in reply, kissing her soundly before beckoning Junior to come with him as they went to raid the kitchen for more snacks. 

Okoye rose from her seat, briefly meeting her mother’s knowing stare before rolling her eyes. “Don’t start…”

“Eh? Start what, intomba?” 

Her mother’s attempt at innocence was laughable, and Okoye snickered accordingly as she crossed behind the elder woman. 

“He’s a good man, Okoye,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing her mother with the same earnest expression she’d been hit with far too often in the past few months, “He’s already an excellent father. Why not make him your husband?” 

Her mother harrumphed at the imitation and mirrored Okoye’s stance. “And why should you not?” she whispered exasperatedly. “Aside from the fact you’re both singularly devoted to one another and have three reasons to remain so, that man worships the very ground you walk on. Every day I become more convinced he believes the Sun rises and sets at your behest. And no matter what you are determined to call it, the two of you are certainly not ‘co-parenting’.”

She spat the word with such derision that Okoye couldn’t help but shake her head. Sighing, she scooped her own daughter from between her brothers, hushing her gently with sweet kisses to round cheeks. They’d had this conversation no less than ten times and would likely have it ten more until Okoye acquiesced— out loud. 

She already knew she was going to marry Attuma. She’d known even while she was pregnant. There’d been no moment of grand revelation or wonder, just a deep ease— something quiet and sure that settled over her while she’d lain in the cradle of his arms after one of their countless hammock naps. There, in the afternoon sun, the pieces of it, of them, fell together seamlessly. 

They’d be married next spring, just after the children’s first birthday. She’d wear blue, but not the blue of the Border. His blue. Attuma would wear white, as was Talokanil custom, and the children would wear a mix of both. Tradition also required they wed where land and sea met, and for that, Okoye could see no better place than Warrior Falls. It was fitting, and in some roundabout way, it would heal something in her she hadn’t quite found solace for yet. They’d create a new memory there, a better one. Yoltzin and her mother would watch the triplets, Nakia and Ayo would be her matrons of honor, and the Muscle Brain would escort her bridal procession. And she’d have henna this time. Maybe Mayan glyphs instead of the traditional patterns.

But the details weren’t so important as the man, and the man was perfect. 

Her mother’s insistent murmurings broke her from her idyllic reverie as she bustled around the room, grabbing Okoye’s support pillow and a few burping cloths while she pressed forward on her mission to secure herself a son-in-law. “I’m simply saying–”

“–as you’ve been saying–” Okoye mused, settling back into the rocking recliner and unfastening Ixazaluoh’s swaddling blanket with deft fingers. 

“–as I’ve been saying…” the matriarch looked ready to swat her with one of the burping cloths. “He would be an excellent husband. He will be an excellent husband. And you wouldn’t even be doing it just for you! Wouldn’t you like to give your mother a son-in-law? A good son-in-law?”

“Have I not just given you grandchildren?” Okoye asked in false exasperation. “Three grandchildren?” she added before her mother could protest. “Let’s adjust to them first, eh? Then, we can talk son-in-laws.”

Her mother huffed in acceptance as she stepped closer and helped Okoye arrange the baby and the support pillow for both their comfort. Ixazaluoh’s eyes blinked open slowly as she settled into Okoye’s arms. The depth of their color hadn’t fully settled yet, but they were dark and hooded, just like her brothers— just like Attuma’s. Her daughter huffed, face almost immediately scrunching into a frown, and her mother chuckled above them. 

She lifted her youngest from her swaddle and kissed her a few more times. “Good afternoon, intombi yam,” she whispered soft words against soft skin, “Your brothers are sleeping. Let’s not wake them just yet, hm?”

Ixazaluoh paid her no mind, nuzzling into Okoye’s shoulder with soft grunts. Patient was not an apt descriptor for their youngest; cuddles would come after food. 

Okoye balanced her daughter in one arm while undoing her dress with the other. Her mother kissed the side of her head, then Ixazaluoh’s, before excusing herself to go find Attuma and Toussaint. She nodded absently, repositioning Ixazaluoh, cradling her against her left breast and helping her latch before her sweet girl kicked up too much of a fuss. Okoye traced the ridge of her brow, lowly humming that same lullaby from her pregnancy. The soft woosh of the door sliding open alerted her to Attuma’s return, and she glanced up, smiling at the overflowing tray of snacks he carried. 

“I see she wasted no time,” her beloved said with a chuckle, setting down the tray on the small table between their chairs. 

“Does she ever?” Okoye replied, echoing his amusement. 

Attuma retook his seat and held out the cup of the peanut butter and date balls she’d asked for. She popped one into her mouth and smiled, humming in pure contentment. The man she loved smiled back, wide and warm, and Okoye never wanted to be anywhere else but here. 

With him and their children. 

In this space. 

In this time.

She couldn’t have prayed for anything better.  

~plus venire~

A/N: There's a long ass author's note on Ao3 if anyone cares to read that. It details my upcoming writing plans in a little more depth. I won't bore you with the specifics here 😂 Instead, I'll say thank you forever and always to the Attoye Fandom for their continual love and support. Sharing my writing has been a privilege, and I hope to continue as the years go on. Thank you to every reader and for every reblog, reply, comment, and kudos. You all make my heart ridiculously happy 💕

[mamajankyy]

No plan (fic outline) ever survives contact with the enemy (the word doc page).

[mamajankyy]

If I pretend I didn’t see this the shame doesn’t exist

Saw this one in the thread😭😭🏃🏾‍♀️‍➡️

Feel free to use, or message me for more banners

yes, I'm self-aware thank you

[mamajankyy]

Me if you asked Stevie Wonder to describe me:

Pic Crew Fun😘 @moni-logues thank you for tagging me, love a dress up romp.

Link Here

I’ll tag @katieraven @lilsunflower95 @lovemepie67 @kiestrokes bc I think I recall you guys doing these at least a few times…and obviously anyone who wants to do it 💜

[mamajankyy]

Period Drama Appreciation Week 2024 || Day 3 - Favorite Costumes in The Woman King

[mamajankyy]

a sketch of Sister Sage!

[mamajankyy]

she just kept nodding 😭

[mamajankyy]

Yeaaaahh- no😂

I took this twice and got the same answer💀

Consider yourself tagged if you are reading this:

Make this picrew of yourself

Take this uquiz (How Fandom Would See You If You Were A Fictional Character)

Thank you for the tag @machiavellli !