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itbe-jess · 4 years

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TEC: New Light (Promo)

Easy Reader: Hi. Easy Reader; That's my name. Readin' readin', that's my game. Remember me, from your childhood? The Electric Company! Ya know, that show which aired on PBS a while back?

[*Cue to the 2009 version*]

I said The Electric Company! Not Ghostwriters: The Reboot! If you do happen to remember me, then damn, you old! Sorry. Humor is my copin' mechanism. *AHEM* Y'all remember Sesame Street, right? Well, who DOESN'T? It was an educational preschool program, funded by The Children's Television Workshop, or CTW for short (and nowadays, we call it Sesame Workshop), that taught underprivileged kids the necessities of counting, the alphabet, and other cultural studies. All with a cast consisting of these puppet-like species called "Muppets."

They're not the same as real puppets. A puppet is a freaky doll that is piloted by human, with a hand shoved up its ass. Muppets are living, breathing creatures. Wait, am I technically oppressing against Muppets?

Anyways, here's the skinny: Sesame Street was a success, to both children and adults alike. Learning numbers and the ABCs were as simple as learning to ride a bike, but these kids were still limited to other skills such as reading and math. So, with the success of Sesame Street, I made a proposal with the chairman of CTW that I could teach kids with television the way they had. That was back around my hippie days. They said they'd provide me a contract if I could prove my statement. So, me and my friends got together on this project. We didn't need to rely on Muppets, since we were already as quirky and wacky as can be. Then, the first pilot was produced. It was about reading.

We never did a show about math. Nobody likes math. It's too confusing.

Long story short, it was a success, and we got our own show! Thus, The Electric Company was born! That's where we played an important part in history. We taught little children how to read, and at the same time, made it a party. Rumor has it that The Electric Company's format inspired other variety shows such as Saturday Night Live. We spoke to a large range of multicultural kids. Elementary schools began tuning our show in classrooms. Thanks to us, the 70s' became the Right to Read era. Oh, I forgot to mention our fanbase! With a hit show, it's bound to have fans! We had young, old, and creepy ones. Our program had that certain aesthetic appeal to grownups. Heh, I remember having adults pay me a visit on set.

And yes, I said "adults." They weren't just women. UwO.

We lived in a time where educational kids' programs had real personalities, rather than projectin’ a sugar coated world where you not allowed to express any emotions but to be happy all the time. Does anyone find that a bit... ...unnervin’?

But whatever, our show was all about the reading, grammar, and where the hell a punctuation should be placed. The thing about reading is... ...it serves many SOUL purposes. They help us from stepping into danger (well, unless you stubborn as a mule), they make comics more enjoyable, and they help you understand what that Spanish speaking guy is trying to tell you at the bottom of your TV screen. Can't get a job if you can't read that application. The fascination behind reading is a little arduous to lay bare. Know what I mean? Reading just has some wonderful harmony and adventure in it, at least through my perspective. There's somethin' about reading that's effective towards me. Whenever I'm scanning my eyes across a sentence, ooooohh, it just tickles my innards. MMM, Easy likes that! Yeah! Sock it too me!

See Jane run. See Spot run.

Sorry. Got a little off topic there. Now where was I? Oh, riiiiiiiight! After six seasons, including 780 episodes, our show gets canceled, and blah blah blah, Sesame Street continues to thrive strong with all their Muppets, and added a little red annoying gremlin, blah blah blah blah blah. Now, all is history. Well, none of us even cried about it. I mean, we had a good run. Even succeeded helping the little youth read, which just was my goal to begin with. Yes sir, those were handy good times. Of course, fans of our beloved show couldn't help but crave for more. They felt there were still a few gaps to fill. 33 years, we did come back, and at the same time, we didn't.

[*Cue back to "Ghostwriters: The Reboot"*]

*Shudders* I mean, it's not all that bad. It has good diversity, and it still coaches a well-performed reading function like our original. My only complaint isssssssssssssssssssss: Where the fuck am I in this series?! Where the fuck are the rest of the gang?! Oh sure, recruit the gorilla, but pretend as though WE never existed! No offense, Paul.

[*Offscreen grunting*]

And the layout of this show, it just isn't The Electric Company! Just because you throw in a couple of animated sketches and those silhouette face things, doesn't mean you get to slap our title on! And who the fuck are these teenaged, "oh we're so edgy," scrapped X-Men concepts?!

As the old slogan rides, "If you want somethin' done, you gotta do it yourself." Now, y'all wanted to hear from the REAL Electric Company, and that's exactly what you gonna get. But, we ain't gonna be teachin' little kids to read this time. Nuh uh. Since y'all already know how to read, we taking a deep dive into our adult lives!

No, I ain't talkin' 'bout THOSE adult lives. Alcohol, drugs, sex, offending minorities. Naw, man. We don’t revolve around that. Bein’ a bigot shouldn't even be excused when you're an adult. Well, I have sex occasionally. Don't you go slut-shaming me! Sluts are actually good people! (Unless it happens to be a straight white dude, or a Muppet, that's when I start judgin') As I was sayin', by "adult lives" I mean "our lives," by what we do as adults. Meet The Electric Company! Allow me to introduce them in a nutshell.

Fargo. A quirky detective/decoder who's a little hard to figure out. Matter of fact, he can't even figure out himself.

Jennifer. A happy, energetic, jungle girl who loves animals. Has a pet gorilla.

Paul. Pet gorilla of said jungle lesbian who loves to wreck havoc among our show. By "wreck havoc,” I mean screw with us. (Jennifer needs to keep that thing on a leash)

J. Author. There he is. Nuff said.

Vi. A carefree diva who owns a diner, and takes pride in her work. (We slept together once)

Valerie. The one who played as my girlfriend on the show, when behind the scenes we're really good friends. She's also a librarian.

Otto. A movie art perfectionist who directs pictures. Her actors can't read their lines for some shit.

Pedro. He loves plants, and talkin’ to them. He owns the most weirdest, yet extraordinary ones.

Spider-Man. You probably know him by now. Except... ...he doesn't talk. ...at least not with a voice.

Then there's me. The first class, genuine, readin' freak!

Get to know all of us better on

The Electric Company: New Light!

We turnin' it on again! Dig it?

#The Electric Company #The adult version #TEC: New Light #fanfic #Coming Soon #NSFW-ish

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ororowrites · 5 years

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A T’Challa Fic: Keisha’s Way (ch. 4)

It’s been a minute, but I’m finally updating. I hope I can be more consistent. I’m prepping for a doctoral program and it’s kicking my ass.

Catch up on previous chapters: Keisha’s Way Series

When Kevin Lane popped up in any situation, time stood still. His presence alone was toxic. He never smiled and his serious demeanor was quite intimidating. Especially to his children and wife who had to deal with him on a day to day basis.

Mr. Lane didn’t even take the time to meet T’Challa before asking him to leave. Confused and embarrassed, Keisha opened her apartment door to find Naomi napping on her couch.

“Naomi, get up,” he yelled, shaking the young woman awake. “She comes down here to visit you and you’re out with some boy?”

Keisha was fuming. Hate was a strong word but it fit the way she felt about her father. For as long as she could remember, he was an evil man. Well-respected by many, but cruel to the people he was supposed to love and protect.

“Naomi, pack your shit and let’s go,” Kevin repeated, grabbing his youngest daughter’s arm and pulling her up from the couch.

“Hey, you don’t need to touch her like that,” Keisha stepped in between the two, taking a protective stance in front of her sister. “She’s fine where she is, no need to leave until she’s ready.”

“I’m the parent, move Keisha,” the father said through clenched teeth. He and Keisha were alike in many ways. They were both stubborn and probably brave in moments when they should back down. “This is my child. She’s coming home, period.”

“No, she’s staying here as long as she pleases. You can’t pop up in my place with orders,” Keisha replied, not budging. “What are you doing here anyway? You didn’t call and mama didn’t say anything about you stopping by.”

“Keisha it’s okay, I’ll go,” Naomi stated, hanging her head. Seeing how much her father despised her sister hurt. It was one thing she didn’t understand. In order to keep slight peace, Naomi agreed to return to California with her father. “Let me go pack my things.”

Naomi disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her father and sister alone. Kevin Lane turned his attention back to Keisha, “I’m the parent. Remember that,” he spat.

Within five minutes, Naomi was packed and walking out the door.

Since her father’s surprise visit, Keisha hadn’t talked to T’Challa. For one, she was embarrassed about how her father treated him. Plus, she didn’t want to open up about their toxic relationship and how home didn’t feel like home. She closed herself off and focused on school and her new job at the bookstore near campus.

Days went by before Damita showed up outside Keisha’s apartment, demanding answers about why she was being anti-social. Damita knew Keisha wasn’t particularly close with her parents, but she didn’t know the extent of their damaged relationships.

“So you just gone be a ghost now? Where have you been,” Damita questioned, barging into the apartment. “T’Challa said he hasn’t talked to you since the other night? He spook you or something?” The woman could talk a mile a minute and questions were flying out of her mouth like a used car salesman.

“I’ve been busy,” Keisha sighed, closing the door behind Damita. “Trying to stay on top this work and I started a new job.” One thing about Damita was her ability to see through bullshit and Keisha knew that.

“Is it a coincidence that your daddy was here and now you’re acting funny,” Damita pressed, tilting her head. “Because when that nigga pops up, you start trippin out.”

It was true. Kevin had that much of an effect on his daughter. Keisha closed herself off from the rest of the world to soak in her sorrows and pain alone. She hated when people felt sorry for her which is why Damita only knew vague details about Keisha’s life at home.

“I’m good, D,” Keisha replied, returning to the kitchen to grab her cup of Ramen from the microwave. “He was stopping by to get Naomi and tripped out about me going out while she was here. No big deal.”

“If it was no big deal, why you closing yourself up in this small ass apartment,” the friend pressed. “Nobody has heard from you in days but it’s no big deal. I’m not trying to get up in your business but what’s going on? For real, for real?”

Clearly, Damita wasn’t giving up and Keisha was running out of excuses. Feeling defeated, Keisha plopped down on the sofa with her noodles. Her appetite had vanished within a matter of three minutes.

“My daddy isn’t dad of the year and he came here trippin’ like he normally does when it comes to me. It’s a lot to explain and I honestly don’t have the energy to get into it right now. It’s draining,” Keisha admitted. “That man hates my guts because I’m an ‘embarrassment’ to the family.”

“Is there anything I need to do? He isn’t putting his hands on you is he? Is your sister okay,” Damita questioned, ready to defend her best friend if she was called upon.

Keisha shook her head, “No. I’d rather he hit my ass. At least then I’d know how much he hates my existence. Naomi is in a better position than I ever was, but if she becomes someone other than what they want, she’s dead to them too.”

The entire situation with her parents had shaped Keisha into who she was currently. What they called tough love was emotional abuse. Abuse that Keisha had soaked up and carried into her adult life.When it came to the men she chose to welcome into her life or what she allowed, it all went back to how she was treated by her father.

The Lanes’ were the black, wealthy family that lived in predominately white neighborhoods. They played golf with the Teds and Johns of the Country Club, while sending their children to top ranked high schools, and joined every prestigious club around the city. Everything appeared perfect, but to the people living within the Lane household. Kevin was unfaithful, Gina was a perfectionist who never accepted anything outside perfection and their two daughters were scarred by their parents.

When Keisha was 15-years-old, she got pregnant by one of the boys outside of their cookie cutter neighborhood. Her parents immediately forced her to get an abortion to avoid the embarrassment of having a teenage mom. Dr. Kevin Lane had too much to lose as far as his reputation. Since then, Keisha’s parents had been distant and often negligent of their eldest daughter.

“Girl, I’m sorry,” Damita shook her head, sadness etched on her features. “That’s fucked up.” The two fell silent for a few seconds before Damita added, “You know I’m here for you whenever you need me. And I mean that.”

“Thanks D, glad I have someone in my corner,” Keisha said, resting her head on Damita’s shoulder.

Like many times before, Keisha had a weak moment and used the wrong people to cure it. Calling her ex-boyfriend Rashad was never a good idea but she resorted to it anyway.

Rashad wasted no time being the cocky brotha he was from day one. Donning a Pan-African flag t-shirt, jeans and gold-rimmed glasses, he looked like he was about to stomp the yard at any second.

“Wassup baby,” he crooned, biting his lip as he entered the apartment. Keisha’s gaze followed his to her breasts before she closed the door behind them.

“Hey Shad,” she smiled meekly. He knew what she had called him for and somehow he didn’t mind being a booty call.

“I’m shocked you called me, ma. Been acting like you too good for a dude,” Rashad replied, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. “Good to see you though.”

“Dude, shut up. Nobody is acting too good for your ass,” Keisha answered, rolling her eyes at the statement. “Maybe I didn’t want your behind in my space at the moment.”

“Oh, really,” Rashad quizzed, his gold tooth gleaming against his white teeth. “What changed your mind?”

“Needed company.” And dick. “You want a soda or anything,” Keisha offered, not wanting to seem too obvious with her need for a little TLC.

“Yeah, I’ll take one,” he answered, making himself comfortable on the couch. He sat with his legs wide, watching Keisha move around the kitchen. “That ass is looking real fat, ma.”

“Is that the first thing you see when you come around me?” Knowing the answer to this question, Keisha didn’t even give Rashad time to answer. “Anything else you want while I’m in here? Honey bun, chips?”

“Nah, the soda is good.”

A few minutes later, Keisha joined Rashad on the couch where they watched the new episode of Martin. Just a couple of minutes into the episode, Rashad was already resting his hand on her upper thigh. His fingers massaged the soft flesh, sending tiny shocks to Keisha’s center. She glanced over at her ex-lover. He wasn’t too bad on the eyes, she supposed. Those thick lips and deep dimples were her weakness. Sensing he was being watched, Rashad licked his lips while keeping his eyes on the TV. His hand moved to the inside of Keisha’s thigh, the heat from her pussy gracing his fingers. He spent a few seconds massaging the skin there before finally moved between her thighs.

The thin fabric of her boy shorts soaked immediately and it was no secret Rashad’s simple touch was the cause. Rashad turned his attention to his hand, then to Keisha’s face as she closed her eyes in anticipation. “So this is what you called me over for, huh,” he teased, his index finger pushing the thin fabric to the side. Moisture hit his fingers, an indication that he was doing his job simply by just being there.

Dipping his fingers inside her thick folds, Rashad watched Keisha’s expression go from solemn to one of pleasure. Her lips parted as he parted her lower ones, dipping his fingers in and out of the heated flesh. Sounds of her arousal became background noise, Martin’s boisterous laughter echoing against the walls of the living room.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Keisha leaned over, her lips meeting Rashad’s in a desperate lip-lock. They were never the romantic couple, so kisses always felt like they would lead to fucking. And that’s all they ever were. Fuck buddies with a loose title of boyfriend/girlfriend.

Rashad pulled Keisha onto his lap as she went straight for his belt buckle. “Shit, baby,” Rashad grunted, pushing Keisha’s shorts to the side. “You wet as fuck, girl.”

“Mmmmhhhm,” she hummed, freeing Rashad’s length from the baggy denim. Lining it up with her dripping entrance, Keisha slowly sunk down. It had clearly been awhile, causing Keisha to pause a second to adjust to Rashad’s girth. “Fuck,” she moaned when Rashad pushed his hips up, forcing Keisha to take all of him.

“Yeah, you ain’t used to this anymore,” Rashad bragged, roughly gripping Keisha’s hips when she began to grind. “Still ride like a pro.”

She wasn’t even bothered by the random slaps to her ass and Rashad trying to make conversation. He was a big talker during sex and it used to annoy Keisha to no end. “And you still talk too much,” she added, rolling her hips in a circle like Rashad liked.

“Shiiit,” he cussed, guiding her movements with his hands. When she added a slight bounced to her ride, he grunted again. “I can’t help it when I’m messing with a woman like you.”

“Is that right,” Keisha hummed, her voice quivering. Keisha’s cockiness was quickly put to rest when Rashad reached between her legs and found her clit with his index and middle fingers. That earned him a moan from Keisha who was was trying to keep her thighs from burning. “Fuck, Shad,” she moaned, letting her head fall back and expose her neck to Rashad’s lips. He sucked at the sensitive skin, marking what he thought was his territory.

Pulling away, Rashad bit down on his bottom lip as he sat back and let Keisha give him a show. Her eyes were still shut, while her mouth fell open in satisfaction and her chest rose and fell with each harsh breath. “Come on, girl. I know that ass is about to cum,” he teased, rubbing her clit even faster, the friction causing her to double over.

The thumping between her legs seemed to linger when she climbed off Rashad’s lap and slid to her knees. Taking him in her mouth, she finished him off for the night.

No longer needing his company, Keisha hinted at the fact she had work early in the morning. Rashad took the clue and grabbed his keys before heading towards the door.

“Page me,” he questioned, stopping the door from shutting with his foot.

“Yeah, I’ll page- T’Challa,” Keisha’s eyes widened when she saw the Prince round the corner to her apartment.

“What,” Rashad raised a brow, until his eyes fell on the man who held such a royal name.

Standing there with flowers and a bag of food in his hand, T’Challa gazed back and forth between the two. “Oh, looks like I’m interrupting something,” he stated, his expression one of disappointment and confusion. “Um, I’ll go.”

“T’Challa,” Keisha groaned, watching her friend turn his back and retreat down the hall.

“Who the fuck is that,” Rashad spat.

“Shut up, nigga,” she replied, slamming the door in his face. Hurting T’Challa was never her intention. But, once again her selfishness and terrible way of coping, got in the way.

“Dammit,” she cussed, slapping the door.

Taglist: @heyauntieeee @theunsweetenedtruth @sisterwifeudaku @90sinspiredgirl @airis-paris14 @iliketowrite1996 @mufasathatniggatho @bidibidibombaclaat

If you want to be added, let me know.

#black panther #bp fanfics #black panther fanfiction #fanfiction #t'challa #t'challa fanfiction #t'challa fanfics #t'challa x oc #t'challa x black oc

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