Seeing people I know and like using AI is making me understand the protagonists of those old time sci fi dystopia's.
"Oh I don't normally use AI, I just wanted it to plan my trip"
You lived on this planet for decades, you know what you like, there are hundreds of websites where you can type into any search engine " things to do in [area]" and have at least a hundred different options.
"Oh I only use it so I can figure out what to make during the week with what I have"
The most popular website as you type in "recipes" into google have sections where you click dinner- quick and easy and those usually rely on staples + 1 or 2 items. I found 30 recipes on chicken alone.
"I had a writing idea, so I typed a few sentences into Chat GPT and I was able to write 20 pages with it."
There are SIX questions total in reblogs, the end will be marked by large green text. If you donât see all six, check reblogs and grab the version with the ending note.
1/6 - Do you identify as some flavor of white?
White
Non-white
Only considered white outside of imperial core
Insecure Mixed Person externalizing my family racial issues here
Remaining time: 3 days 21 hours
Answers amended from the 2025 census based on feedback. If youâre mixed, choose what feels right to you Iâm not here to do phrenology or paper bag test you but donât make it my problem either. When in doubt, ask yourself: would the whites kill you too in the race war?
This census is US-centric because so is tumblr, unfortunately. This poll is also starting with a heavy Black/racialized bias due to my personal followers. The main point of this census is to see how white-dominant the site is currently compared to prior years, as well
For the purpose of this census, Imperial Core will be defined as the following: United States, Canada, Australia, Aotearoa, basically all of Western Europe, Japan, and Israel. If you want to argue about any of these designations, too bad maybe they should stop colonizing.
Otherwise cultural gender (please share I wanna know!!)
Other not listed
Cisgender
Remaining time: 3 days 21 hours
Note for clarification:
*For those who donât know, TMA means transmisogyny affected (such as trans women, some non-binary people, etc.) whereas TME means transmisogyny exempt (Cis men, cis women, transmasculine individuals, etc). If you want to ask for clarification for which applies to you for the purposes of this poll, feel free to ask and Iâll try to reply, but if you try to argue or quibble about the terms themselves, Iâll block you.
6/6! How many TMA* (Transfemme, some non-binary, etc.) people would *actually* call YOU their friend?
Iâm TME, 0
Iâm TME, 1-2
Iâm TME, 1-2 but I have <8 friends
Iâm TME, 3-6
Iâm TME, 7+
Iâm TMA, 0
Iâm TMA, 1-2
Iâm TMA, 1-2 but I have <8 friends
Iâm TMA, 3-6
Iâm TMA, 7+
I have less than 3 friends total
Remaining time: 3 days 22 hours
*For those who donât know, TMA means transmisogyny affected (such as trans women, some non-binary people, etc.) whereas TME means transmisogyny exempt (Cis men, cis women, transmasculine individuals, etc). If you want to ask for clarification for which applies to you for the purposes of this poll, feel free to ask and Iâll try to reply, but if you try to argue or quibble about the terms themselves, Iâll block you.
THIS IS THE END! Please reblog for bigger sample pool đđđ˝
ăťâĽăť ch. synopsis: in which plans unfold and lies are exposed.
warnings: 18+ content, (MNI or be blocked indefinitely) cussing/swearing, stalking, obsession, flashback chapter, car accident/crash with purposeful intent, cheating, mentions of blood, death/m*rder.
a.n: had this one in the vault, I hope this answers any questions of the past⌠Iâve got more coming of course đ Iâll talk to yall later đ
on the jukebox: âEyes Without a Faceâ by Billy Idol đŠ°
flashback â then
âHowâs life been treating you, Scotty?â
The dirty blonde wasnât sure how to respond to his best friend. Sitting outside at Genniâs Creamery with their own cold bowls, the boys conversed.
Though the best friends lived in the same city, life made it difficult for them to pull away and catch up.
âFinallyâ Ledger thought as he smiled at the dirty blonde, heâd missed him. Scotty thought likewise.
Scottyâs sigh was deep, he smiled back. âLivinâ the dream, man.. trying not to complain. How are you? Howâs the bar?â
âItâs easily one of the best decisions I think Iâve made with my life so far. I just love people, I love seeing people have a great time, especially if I can help itâ
Scottyâs smile deepened, exposing a dimple in his cheek. âAny drunks youâve had to sit on their faces lately?â
Ledger Ward hoped Scotty didnât notice the soft flush in his cheeks.
His mind sifted through things but it wasnât hard. If it wasnât the bar or his family, you always occupied Ledgerâs mind.
You werenât drunk at all when he reminisced on meeting you the first time. Not drunk, just sad. He memorized your smile and your laugh.
He didnât allow your decision to be distant to make his mind forget about you, even if he wanted to, he wouldnât be able to. You were far too memorable.
Still he answered: âNot in a while, thankfully.. everythingâs been really goodâ
Scotty nodded, taking a scoop of his ice cream from the plastic spoon. âIâm happy for you, Ledger, I really amâ
Except Ledger Ward knew his best friend. He could feel how somber the man was despite trying to be supportive. Ledger frowned softly.
âIs everything okay with you? You seem down, âs not like you, Scottâ
Scotty shrugged his shoulders, letting off another sigh, âI donât knowâŚâ
âSure you do, itâs just a matter of wanting to talk about it.. Do you wanna talk about it? You donât have to if you donât want toâ
Scotty stared down at his cold bowl, twirling and swirling the plastic spoon through the thick, softly melting custard.
âHave you ever felt unhappy with yourself at different points of your life? Iâm not talking a fleeting feeling or thought but genuinely unhappy?â
Maybe it was a white lie to get Scotty to keep talking but Ledger nodded. Truthfully, life had been pretty good for him so farâ even being retired from the league, he still found himself out of a small hole of depression. But life felt livable. He never felt unhappy. Ever.
âFor sure I haveâ Ledger feigned, âI take it youâre feeling the same way.. now?â
Scotty nodded, he finally sat the ice cream bowl down on the table. He gave Ledger a somber once over.
âYouâre my best friend, Ledge, so I trust you wonât repeat this until Iâm ready to do it butâŚâ Ledgerâs heart raced in anticipation, ââm gonna be a Dadâ
Ledgerâs eyes almost bugged out of his head, his body leaned forward in surprise.
âScotty, I didnât even know you were datingâ congratâ dude, this is fucking huge, holy shit!â
Except Scottyâs body language didnât look the same as Ledgerâs at all. He swallowed.
âWhy arenât you excited? This is good, right?â
âWhat do you define as good?â Rhetorical. âI just⌠Iâm not in a good place at all with herâ with my g-girlfriendâ
âIn what way?â Ledger pressed.
âThe baby is mine but itâs not⌠from herâ Scotty peered into his best friendâs eyes, Ledger didnât need much to get caught on.
âYou cheated on her, Scott?â The dirty blonde nodded shamefully, his head dipping into his hands, fingers threading through his hair.
Ledger made out the sounds of soft sobs coming from his best friend.
âI just⌠Iâm such a fuckin idiot, man. Weâd just been fighting so much, arguing over small shit.. most of it my fault.. a-and I slipped up. I slipped up and cheatedâ
Ledger nodded but it wasnât to understand Scotty. Truthfully, he was disappointed. He always bragged on Scotty being a great man. Great, trustworthy, honest, respectful.
Right now, Ledger wasnât seeing any of those traits. But he tried his best not to judge him.
âDoes she know?â
Scotty again nodded. âShe cursed me out like I deserved but⌠after that she went radio silent on me and not in the way I was expecting. Sheâs so calm as if it didnât happen and itâs scaryâ
Ledger frowned softly, wiping a hand down the side of his face and letting out a breath.
âI want to make it up to her but I also have to think about my kid and being there for them. I havenât been a good man, Ledger, I might as well start nowâ
âIâm saying this as your best friend of many years but how confident are you that this is your kid? Let alone this person is telling the truth?â
Though somber, Scotty sobered up a little. âBecause it wasnât like a one night stand, weâve been seeing each other for a little bit. It was the reason my girlfriend and I started fighting in the first place. I know Iâm the fatherâ
The air went quiet between the friends. Both on two different pages but trying to keep love at the center. Ledger Ward didnât know how to feel.
âIf you had to choose, sticky situation aside, who would you choose?â
Taking a deep breath that reverberated throughout his body, Scotty squared his shoulders.
âMy girlfriendâ Scotty murmured, âI wish I knew why I am the way I am but sheâs been with me through it all. It would be herâ
And with the many things Ledger Ward heard at Genniâs Creamery, that was the one thing that made the most sense.
âCan you just tell me where youâre going, Chiara? This isnât making any senseâ
Michelle Cassidy watched her best friend from her cross legged position on the bed. She held a stuffed animal in her lap and caressed it nervously.
Chiara Elaine Batiste sat at Michelleâs vanity, straightening the freshly blown out mane. Sheâd just ran the straighteners through one final time before declaring herself finished.
After that, she put the respective tools away and began getting dressed. All black as the evening as showing its face. Slim fitting dark jeans, a regular black tank top, a black throw on jacket, and the kicker? Black combat boots.
Seeing you getting ready wasnât necessarily the issue, it was the fact that this added to your odd behavior since Michelle Cassidy was informed of the worst.
Your boyfriend had a baby on the way by another woman.
If Michelle had it her way, sheâd snap her fingers and your boyfriend would have his dick ripped off of his body.
It was the way Michelle wouldâve been the one to walk you through said emotional storm and reassure you⌠except, youâd been doing that already.
Self regulation?
You continued getting ready, âI just have to go run an errand⌠take care of something, it wonât take longâ
Even your tone was soft but stoic. Warm but stone cold. You said it so Michelle wouldnât question you further.
But you clearly didnât know your best friend that well.
âW-what errand? Take care of what? Can I come with you at leastââ
âNoâ you immediately shut down. Michelle sighed.
âChiara⌠is this about Scotty?â
You wouldnât let it show but your body froze for a moment, almost like a bucket of ice was just tossed down your back. Still you readied yourself, applying lip liner and clear gloss.
âI just wanna talk to him, Michelle. Is that a crime?â
Michelle took a quiet breath, gripping her stuffed animal.
âIs talking all you plan to do?â
You giggled, âif youâre worried about me falling back into his advances, then donât be. This is the most clearheaded Iâve ever been about Scotty and I want nothing to do with him. I just want to give him one last time to explain himself⌠for my comfort..â
Michelle swallowed, âitâs not that Iâm worried about, Chiaraâ
Both women went quiet. For the first time, Chiara peered at Michelle through the mirror, her gaze softly darkened. For the first time in the friendship, Michelle could see the look in your eyes and it was one she didnât recognize.
Call it a gut feeling.
âWhat is it that youâre worried about, Michelle?â You tilted your head, âyou think Iâm gonna kill him?â
Michelle Cassidy really didnât want to say it. Because saying it would confirm that she didnât know her best friend like she thought.
Suddenly you let out a loud laugh. It was your typical belly laugh in the tone that Michelle had always heard except she wasnât comforted by it.
âCome on, Michelle, when have you known me to be homicidal?â
âIâm telling you, man, thereâs no way LeBronâs record is getting broken. I donât care what superhuman they put up against him, itâs not happening!â
Ledger spoke through his laugh, softly tossing his head back against the cushion of Scottyâs passenger seat.
âDo you seriously think so? You donât think thereâs someone out there that the NBA is cooking up to beat this man?â
The car made a soft hum against the asphalt of the highway. The trees were thick and placed beautifully, decorated with the greenest of leaves. The sky was turning softly into the evening.
âHell no, Ledger, hell no. They might get close but itâll never be enough, I just know itâ
âYou think your kid will love basketball as much as you?â
Since the news had been disclosed and his somewhat ill feelings, Scotty finally smiled at the thought. He shrugged.
âHopefully, I donât know who else Iâd talk to about thisâ
Ledger also shrugged, âwhat about your girlfriend? Sheâs not into sports?â
Scotty shook his head vigorously making Ledger chuckle. âShe wouldnât be caught deadâ
Ledger only shook his head, inside the car went silent. Soft, comfortable, but prying. Still looking out the windows, Ledger did just that.
âSo tell me about this girlfriend. How come Iâve never heard about her, known her, met her, everything. Whatâs the deal?â
Scotty kept his sigh quiet, the smile that was on his face just gently faltering. He shrugged.
âWellâ he began, âIâve known her for a while now and we kind of clicked right away. Sheâs um.. sheâs a really private person so.. I just wanted to be respectful of her preferences when it came to her meeting the special people in my life. She hasnât even met my parents yet. I think itâs a matter of making sure sheâs comfortable, yâknow?â
Ledger nodded, âdâyou think sheâll want to after all of this? I mean, it sounds like you still care about her and you want to be with her but how does she feel?â
Scotty bit the inside of his cheek, changing hands on the steering wheel to nervously run a hand down the side of his face.
âI tried to talk to her after she found outâ after I told her. She was too busy on a night out on the town, she didnât want to hear a word I had to say. I donât blame her. She blocked me and ghosted me for almost three weeks. Iâd go through her friend to check on her.. told me she was seeing some guy at the time⌠my karma, I guessâ
Something in Ledger Ward perked up a little but he hid it well. His face rested against the cool window, taking in the view. But his mind raced.
Why was this sounding so familiar?
âShe was seeing a guy?â Ledger echoed, a soft frown to his brows.
âThatâs what her friend told me.. also told me to kick rocks and leave her be, said I should be with my real family instead of her. But then she unblocks me after those 3 weeks and we try to work it out⌠thatâs when she goes radio silentâ
Though Ledger was a busy man through and through, he never forgot about you. Youâ Chiara Elaine Batiste.
Ledger hadnât had a real girlfriend in a while but the time he spent with you couldâve qualified enough for him to ask you out.
3 weeks.
Youâd never told him in real detail why you were putting space between you two. It just happened, you just had to let him down gently.
3 weeks you spent together. 3 weeks full of his greatest moments with a woman. 3 weeks he listened to you talk about a guy you never named once. 3 weeks he heard your cries and complaints, he was always there to wipe your tears and kiss your head.
3 weeksâŚ
No, this couldnât beâ
âW-whatâs her name, Scott?â Ledger inquired, his frown now deepening.
Just as Scotty opened his mouth and ready to lie to his best friend, a background music on the carâs stereo aux suddenly ceased. A sign that someone was calling.
âChiaraâ is callingââŚ.
Scotty immediately pressed at the screen, ending the call. But Ledger saw it already, his heart sank.
He opened his mouth but the air was cut through again by a call.
âChiaraâ is callingââŚ.
The dirty blonde once again ended the call.
âYouâre youâ Ledger breathed out, now sitting up straighter in his seat and turning towards Scotty.
Scotty frowned, âwhat do you mean?â
âChiaraâ is callingââŚ.
âYou.. I-I know her⌠and she told me all about youâ
Scotty looked taken aback, âChiara? My Chiara? How the hell do you know my girlfriend?â
But before Ledger could respond, the weight of the car was suddenly jerked and harshly hit from behind, sending it a bit haphazardly on the road. Both men fell forward in their seats, Scotty quickly gained control.
âWhat the fuck?!â Scotty coughed out. Both men looking through the respective mirrors. Scotty glanced through his rear view mirror, Ledger looked behind through the window, a car closely trailed Scottyâs truck.
They gulped, going pale. Though Scotty looked paler. Panic set within the energy of the vehicle, Scotty pressing on the gas pedal harder to try to create space.
âChiaraâ they said in sync.
âHow do you know itâs her?â Ledger asked.
âI know her car. How do you know itâs her?â Scotty pressed.
âIâve been in her carâ
Scotty once again opted to press his best friend but you rammed him once again, a lot harder this time. The men once again jerked forward.
âFuck!â Ledger winced, ât-try to get away from her or something! Do something!â
âYou donât think Iâm trying?!â Scotty yelled back, his foot pressing even harder on the gas. âThis road only goes straight, I canât fucking turn anywhere unless of the roadââ
âThen go off the roadââ
Another hard hit into Scottyâs car had the worst happening. Scottyâs face hit the steering wheel, nose first. His foot slipped off and onto the brakes, except the car wasnât stopping at all.
Blood pooled from his nostrils as he glanced over at Ledger, foot desperately hitting the brake pedal.
Another hit officially ran Scotty off of the road and down, deep into the bank of the wooded area. A crash was imminent, the front ramming into a tree.
Everything went black for both Scotty and Ledger.
.
Somehow through hazy vision, a smoking car, and injuries, both men crawled out of the destroyed car through their respective doors.
Ledger Ward dragged himself three feet from the car and stationed himself upright against a thick oak tree.
The smell of gas and burning rubber, the sound of Scottyâs car alarm going off, and even with his eyes closed, Ledger could see the flickering of his headlights.
Glancing around himself, Ledger noticed blood coming from his side, a cut deep in his stomach, staining his Henley.
Not to mention the thick glass shard jabbed in his femur and the pain from his left arm. He couldnât see the blood on his face but he felt itâ cuts on his head, to his lips, and from under his nostrils.
âS-Scottââ Ledger coughed, âS-Scotty?â
His head was stiff, still turning to locate Scotty. Scotty found himself a patch of land collapsed on his back.
From where he was lying, Ledger made out blood coming from Scottyâs mouth, staining his teeth as he winced.
ââM h- ov-over here. L-Ledger.. w-where are y-you bu-buddy..â
The sound of leaves crunching and heavy duty boots sounded from Ledgerâs left.
He was too badly hurt to try and spare a look, all he prayed is this was someone that heard the crash and was coming to help them.
The footsteps only got closer. Closer to him. Vision going in and out, spotty. Ledger felt a hand caress the side of his face in a manner meant to be comforting.
The heavy boots walked away from him and instead, towards Scotty. A soft voice tskâd, approaching him closer. Ledgerâs head tilted against the oak tree, fully watching the scene before him through faltering vision.
A figured draped in black squatted down in front of Scotty. Long dark hair cascading down their back.
âOh, what things couldâve been, Scottyâ the voice muttered. âYouâre already dying, Iâve pictured this more times than you knowâ
Thankfully, Ledgerâs vision was clear enough to see a shiny thick blade emerge from air almost. Neither injured man reacted as fast as they wished.
âIâm notâ
With an arm held out, gripping the knife.
âH-Hey, w-whatâre you doiââ
âNo!â Ledger painfully called out but it was too late.
The knife plunged deep in Scottyâs chest. The blonde gurgled more blood from the mouth, pooling at the sides. The blade was suddenly snatched out but that wasnât what killed Scotty. The punctured repeatedly â over and over and over and over again.
His front a mess, body went as limp as it could, eyes cold and lifeless.
Using Scottyâs tee, the blade was wiped clean and placed back where it came. This time Ledgerâs eyes were blurry with tears.
He watched the assailant stand up, roll their shoulders, and turn on their heels.
Soon, said heavy footsteps were making ways over to Ledger. Despite what he couldnât see, he still made out a face.
He frowned, watching officially as the clearest, most gorgeous face crouched down in front of him. Except it was the last face Ledger expected⌠or wanted to see.
âChiara?â He murmured, tears streaking down his beautifully bruised face. You reached out and cupped his face, a frown of mock sympathy wearing you.
Scottyâs blood on your hands stained Ledgerâs face.
âOh baby⌠whatâre you doing here?â You sickly leaned in and gently pecked Ledgerâs lips, âthis wasnât meant for you, you werenât supposed to be here.. or see thatâ
You pecked his lips again, moving to kiss his cheek and wipe his tears. Your hand on his face slid back to his neck and up into his hair.
âW-why did you d-do this, C-Chiara?â Ledger cried.
You frowned, looking down at the man before you so horribly injured and bloodied all over. You ignored his question.
âLook at you, my baby⌠Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorryâ you kissed on his face. âIâll take care of you, okay? Donât worry, I promise Iâll make it up to youâ
You gripped his hair tightly.
âJust forgive me when we see each other again, okay?â
With an arm yanked back, you brought Ledgerâs head into the tree, hard. His body fully slumped over against the tree, eyes closed, and out cold.
He was as tall as he was tall, and his eyes were the color they were. To describe his hair one would say that he had some. His face had all the features you'd expect, and none of the ones you wouldn't. "There he is," people would often say of him, but only when he was there. And they were right.
When the AI bubble pops, the demand for computing power will fall much more quickly than the supply. For a brief window, we will have an amazing digital surplus.
um so quick question you do know that the world isnât divided into People Blindly Accepting Of Gender Roles and Smart Trans Ppl. the world isnât divided into People In Romantic Relationships and Single Aros. the world isnât divided into People Who Socialize Easily and Oppressed Autistics. the world isnât divided into Enlightened Queer People and Stupid Misogynists. like you are aware of this ? i hope you are aware of this
genuinely the downfall of mjblr is that everyone has a think piece now. use your freedom of speech, but you can't complain about stuff while simultaneously saying you/others should focus on writing fics . . . well no ! because you're adding fuel to the fire by posting your nothing burger take, and that is only discouraging writers more because then there comes drama.
fanfiction has one of the most clearest non spoken rules : don't like it ? don't interact with it & don't go around bashing. because by you posting your opinion on stuff only gets in writers heads, and i'm saying this as a writer who already overthinks everything, but that shit doesn't make it any easier. and even if you're not trying to do that, you kind of are, there's peace in simply keeping your opinions to yourself ( redundant a little but i barely post shit like this - or even wording some people don't word what they're trying to come across right ).
like god forbid we are on tumblr.com, can't go around bashing the freaks and tropes that have ran this writing community ( in general ) for years.
and that's the problem. people don't start out on wattpad no more, and that's literally where you learn fandom etiquette, tropes, au's, and unspoken rules when it comes to reading/writing. i truly hate that fanfiction has become so mainstream because people are just skipping core development by skipping straight to tumblr or ao3 and then bashing it because they don't get that no one cares if you don't like a trope or kink, you literally are on two of the freakiest sites for fanfiction.
âWith story theft running rampant, people constantly misidentify what "inspiration" actually means. I'm going to explain the definitive line between building on an idea and stealing someoneâs work.
â1. The Difference
Inspiration: âYou read a story, and a specific concept, dynamic, or emotional description resonates with you, sparking an entirely new, original idea. You take that spark and write it using your own voice, your own structural layout, unique dialogue, and your own world-building.
âPlagiarism: âYou took the authorâs blueprint. Changing a few adjectives, swapping character names, or using a thesaurus to copy the same sentence structure is theft. It does not matter if you physically typed the words yourself; if you stole the exact paragraph flow, lines of dialogue, scene-by-scene progression, and specific narrative, it is plagiarism
â2. Textual Examples: Seeing the Difference
âExample A: The Physical Discomfort / Closet Setup
âThe Original Work by @2neaky:
âThe Plagiarized Version by @getmoneygirl:
Why this is theft: The author did zero original structural thinking. Even though they converted the perspective to second person ("you") and changed the underlying cause from a food allergy to ovulation, they stole the exact flow of the scene. They followed the identical sequence of physical moments: standing at the mirror, pulling up a top, analyzing a slight swell over the waistband of sweatpants, prodding the skin, experiencing an unexpected sharp ache low in the stomach, and combining a teeth-sucking sound with the exact dialogue "Are you fucking serious?" They even wrapped the sequence up with the exact same comfort elementâthe realization that they are wearing their boyfriend's oversized clothing. This is lifting a writer's unique pacing and creative choices, then just rephrasing the sentences to hide it.
âThe Inspired Version (genuine creative transition):
The mirror was a harsh critic, but the tight, heavy pressure building in her lower abdomen was worse. She adjusted the waistband of her track pants, sighing at how unforgiving the fabric felt against her bloated skin today. It was a dull, heavy ache that made even standing up straight feel like an effort. Sucking in a breath, she leaned against the cool porcelain of the sink and closed her eyes, waiting for the sudden cramp to subside. "Not today," she muttered into the empty space. She did a series of deep breaths before giving up on the reflection entirely, she grabbed the nearest oversized shirt from the laundry basketâhis, of course, smelling faintly of cinnamonâand drowned herself in the fabric, desperately seeking the extra room and comfort.
âAlternative Inspired Version (even more distinct):
The apartment was dark when he arrived, save for the faint glow of the television. You were curled on the sofa, staring blankly at a sitcom, completely drained. Hormonal shifts always hit you hard, turning minor inconveniences into insurmountable walls. He didn't ask questions. He ran a hot bath, dumping in the lavender salts you kept in the cabinet, and left a mug of chamomile tea on the counter. When you finally climbed into the tub, he sat on the bathmat beside you, quietly recounting a stupid story from his workday just to give you something to focus on.
Why this is inspiration: It takes a similar core conceptâa character dealing with sudden bloating/discomfort in front of a mirror and finding comfort in a partner's clothingâbut the execution is entirely unique. The physical reactions are different, the dialogue is completely distinct, and the atmospheric flow belongs entirely to a new writer rather than copying another author's story.
âExample B: The Studio / Creative Frustration Setup
âThe Original Work by @aizawash0e:
âThe Plagiarized Version (Structural Theft & Setting Copier):
The track had been looping in your headphones for hours. It was the usual routine, you trapped in the vocal booth, the headset pressed to your ears, standing right before the microphone. The music stand held your printed lyrics, though you didn't actually need them. You knew every word by heart, but the vibe wasn't hitting right. Maybe staring at the physical pages would help you see what the issue was. You couldn't figure out if it was your delivery, the track, or the words, but something waswrong. On the other side of the double-paned glass was the high-end control room, with its expensive leather chairs, state-of-the-art gear, and walls covered in your plaques and favorite singers' albums. Sitting across the glass were your manager, Maya, your assistant and best friend, Chloe, and right in the center, sitting directly at the mixing board was Jordan, your producer and boyfriend.
Why this is theft: Once again, this is a complete narration lift. The plagiarist changed a few vocabulary words and swapped the character names, but they stole the exact pacing, the specific internal conflict, and the layout of the room. They copied the exact progression: blocking out hours in the booth, staring at a lyric sheet the character already knows by heart to diagnose a vague creative block, describing the expensive control room through the glass, listing the plaques on the wall, and naming the exact same three-person lineup in the exact same seating order (Manager->Assistant/Friend ->Producer/Boyfriend at the center of the board).
The Inspired Version by @alaiasole: Studio Nights (lacks credit)
âThe Inspired Version:
The vocal booth always felt a little claustrophobic after midnight, the heavy foam walls swallowing up every breath. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the pop filter, letting the instrumental track bleed through her open-back headphones for the twentieth time. The song was technically perfect, but the emotional delivery was dead on arrival. Across the studio floor, the glass partition reflected the green and red glow of the soundboard. Her producerâwho also happened to be the guy she went home to every nightâwas slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes while their small puppy dozed off on his lap. She didn't need to look at a lyric sheet to know they were losing the magic; she just needed him to cut the playback so they could figure it out.
Why this is inspiration: It takes the exact same premiseâa singer experiencing a creative block inside a recording booth while her producer/boyfriend watches from the control roomâbut it builds an entirely fresh scene. The atmosphere is different, the character's physical reaction to the frustration is unique, the room layout isn't copied bead-for-bead, and it relies on completely original imagery instead of piggybacking off another writer's structural draft.
âExample C: The Direct Copy-Paste
The Original Work by @liliacsdelight:
The Plagerized Fic by @lovedcow:
Why this is theft: âThe wording is identical, copy-and-pasting has been done, and the entire story follows the original's structure, dialogue, and pacing.
The Inspired Version: You didn't know what to do after last night. The timeline in your head kept looping back to the exact moment the screen shifted on FaceTime. He had been screensharing something stupid, a corny video about JJK fans, when his thumb swiped too far left and cracked open his camera roll, and you saw it. The apology after had been clumsy, automated. "Oh, um... sorry. Just forget you saw that." âYou had forced your face to stay flat, keeping the conversation running on autopilot until the random facts about whales became too awkward breathe through. "Who are you even sending nudes to?" youâd asked, trying for a detached, casual tone. âHeâd shifted on his end of the screen, the sudden flare of embarrassment turning the tips of his ears dark. "Nobody," he muttered. âYou let out a dry, sarcastic hum. "Riiiight." âThen heâd leaned into the camera, a sudden, nervous joke cutting through the static. "Why? You want some?" âThe air had left your lungs instantly. Your throat felt coated in sand, a sudden, choking heat climbing up your neck. You mumbled some half-baked excuse about needing to throw laundry in or check the door, snapping the call shut before he could see the panic in your eyes. âAnd now, twenty-four hours later, your brain was stuck in a loop.
â3. Why Giving Credit Matters
âPeople love to argue, "No one owns a trope! Ideas aren't unique!"
âTrue, no one owns the producer trope or the comfort trope. But if you read a specific author's work, and their specific execution of a trope gave you the idea to write your own version, give them credit. A simple "Inspired by @[Author Name]'s incredible story" costs you nothing. It shows humility, respects the community, and acknowledges that another creator's brain sparked your own creativity.
âFeigning ignorance and pretending you came up with a hyper-specific concept entirely in a vacuum after just interacting with their post is transparent and disrespectful.
â4. The Parasitic Nature of Theft and AI
âWhen you copy an author's story, run someone's work through an AI generator, or use AI to write your fanfiction, you are announcing that you are lazy and talentless.
âWriting is a muscle. The more you struggle through the awkward drafts, look for the right words, and build your own worlds, the more your mind expands and your skills improve. If you slack off and steal, you will never grow. You will remain a scummy, fake-writer.
âIf you want to get better:
Read actual literature: Stop consuming exclusively internet erotica. Read published books, analyze their prose, and study how professional authors pace a scene.
Do your research: Learn about the subjects you write about.
Seek feedback: Reach out to authors you admire and ask for constructive criticism (I still do this even though my writing has improved drastically).
â5. How to Handle Story Theft
âTo the authors and readers who care about this community; telling thieves to stop won't magically fix their morals. We have to look out for one anotherâespecially keeping an eye on popular accounts or new creators who quietly lift concepts, plot structures, and entire stories from other writers.
âIf you find your work has been plagiarized:
Gather Proof: Take screenshots immediately. Document the timestamps, the exact paragraphs, lines, and the formatting matches.
Decide Your Approach: You can handle it privately if you think it's a new writer who genuinely doesn't understand anything. Or, if they are malicious and you just want to, you can put them on blast publicly. Expose them and spread awareness outside of your immediate circle.
âDo not let people tell you that you're overreacting/reaching. Your words and your creative work belong to you. Protect your work, credit your inspirations, and stop letting people treat your labor as a free resource.
Tw: time period drama, usuage of N word, mentions of lust, black love, mentions of violence, blood, interracial relations mentioned, reminiscing, mentions of racism, racial slurs, religious tones
*if you don't like it, don't read it*
Read Chapter One
Chapter Two: Not Decent!
Word count: 6,667
If I had half the nerveâŚ
âŚI wouldâve socked Elias in his eye.
But why?
For the audacity to be even more fine than the last time I lain eyes on him, and being just as slick tongued, too! Talkinâ to me like that⌠Like I ainât a promised woman.
But are you?
Now you just hushân on up! I donât need you gettinâ all worked up again over this fool! He talks a lot for a man who didnât even botherâYou know what, letâs not even go down that road. My heart cannot afford to even sort through that right now.
âAye Flo,â
Looking over my shoulder as I fumbled with the key to the screen door. Sammie had jumped back into the car. âIâll come by and get you for supper âround six!â Â Sammie honks as he drives towards the river, where his kinfolk were. Rolling my eyes, I flung the damn door open and threw my bags inside.
The creak of the screen door sounded like a sigh from the pastâtired, familiar, a little too knowing. I stomp inside, dropped my clutch with a grunt, then stood in the middle of the modest room, the scent of lemon polish and river air curling around me. Taking a deep, shutter-like breath, I allow my eyes to roam.
The single bed looked clean. Crisp white sheets tucked tight, one lumpy pillow, and a quilt folded at the foot like a promise of rest. A small table sat in the corner with a pitcher and bowl, and an old fan buzzed lazily from the ceiling like it had one job and no ambition.
I exhaled deep, once more.
It had been a long day thus far. Too damn long, and it was barely the afternoon.
âIfân I was a drunkard⌠My ass would get tipsy.â I mutter while peeling off my gloves. I flexed my fingers, then rubbed the heat out of my wrists. My shoulders ached, my feet throbbed, and yet, it wasnât the trip that had me pacing the edge of that iron bed.
It was him.
Elias.
And apparently, he goes by Stack now?
Just showing up like a scripture I thought Iâd forgotten.
All muscle, gold tooth glint, and that damn slow drawl that made everything he said sound like both a warning and a promise. Closing my eyes, I attempt to get the thoughts of him out of my headâŚ
I am not the eighteen-year-old girl anymore⌠I am grown ass woman that has been through enough to last several lifetimes.
Remember when he taught you to kiss?
How could I forget?
This warm sensation overtook me. Here I go âgain⌠reminiscing on this man.
âDonâ do this, Flo.â I mutter as I sit on the edge of the bed. Begginâ for my heart and mind not hold to hands and jog down memory lane, but low and behold, here I goâŚ
âŚWe were at Annie and Elijahâs house. Theyân just got married. Lived in this little two room shack not too far from the fields that I and she worked for this olâ white man named Mr. Petey.
He was blind and kind to us colored churren⌠sometimes paid us more ifân weâd sit and keep him company on his porch after work. Some days were hard because of the heat, but he was lonesome âcause his churren got grown and never came to see âbout him.
Elijah and Elias were carpenters by trade back then, when they came home from war, help building homes and such⌠but did petty crimes to keep a steady flow of money in their pockets, well mostly EliasâBrother would be there to clean up messes heâd leave behind.
Iâd messed around was at the wrong place at the wrong time, skippinâ Sunday school and using my litâ offerinâ monies to get me a pop from the candy lady, who lived cross the street from Annieâs⌠First time Iâd seen the twins. Elias was outside, shirtless, helping Brother Elijah fix the steps on their shackâs porch. All I remember was thinkinâ:
âDamn, thatâs a fine ass piece of man⌠and thereâs two of âem!â
Elias caught me lookinâ and I quickly straighten my dress then walked off like I wasnât out in the open lustinâ on Sunday morninâ, but to my luck Elias tossed down his hammer and jog in behind meâstealinâ my pop with the prettiest grin Iâd ever seen on a man.
âNameâs Elias⌠What yo mama call you, Thickems?â
Ugh, Thickems. Hated that name back then just like I do now.
But it was how he said it made me swoon, couldâve been because I was young girl gettinâ attention from this pretty man with big shoulders, arms, hands, and ridges on his stomachâSkin the prettiest shade of almond and his eyes matched. Lips juicy and the brightest white teeth Iân ever seen.
That man was just fine!
But to my horror, they were my auntieâs nephews by marriage, Uncle Jedâs troublesome nephews. I was warned to stay away from Elias because he âwildâ⌠But I didnât like rules very much back thenâŚ
Any who, look at me avoiding the story at handâŚ
Our first intimate kiss.
 Elias had kissed me many of times before then, a peck on the lips. Something quick to steal my breath⌠Make me swoon⌠But not this night. He wanted more. To shape and mold me.
Every eveninâ, after Uncle Jed would return from workinâ the train tracks, and Auntie Mae would get done with supperâIâd lie to go and see Annie. They werenât too keen about her because she practiced hoodoo. Nothing she pushed on me, but something I knew to respect nevertheless⌠But she was the only person I trusted when I came to Charleston from Greenville. Her and Elijahâs was whereâd I runaway to every eveninâ, started as a sanctuary not to be under Uncle Jedâs judginâ eyes and Auntie Maeâs sometimes hoverinâ ways. Then it turned to place where I could be alone with Elias. Â
Where I could be free and grownâor I tried to be⌠This lioness was a mere kitty cat in comparison to the king of the jungle I was dealing withâŚ
It was the Summer of 1923, June⌠Righâ âround the festival of Juneteen.
Iâd never been shy.
Not in church. Not in the kitchen. Not at home. Not nowhereâŚ
ButâŚ
âŚthat night, the way Elias was lookinâ at me right thenâwith that lazy grin and them slow-lidded eyes that said he already knew what I tasted likeâhad my insides doing somersaults. I was sittinâ on the edge of the worn wooden settee in Sister Annie and Brother Elijahâs home, knees together, hands fidgeting with the jagged hem of my dress like a nerved chile. And he was leaning back, legs spread wide, arms draped along the back of the couch like he owned the whole damn house and the street outside of it too.
âYou scared, baby?â he inquired, voice low and syrupy.
I swallowed hard, not yet making eye contact with him. âNah.â
Elias raised one thick brow, a sultry smile teasinâ at his lips. His eyes dropping to my lips then back to my eyes. âYou sho?â
That cool act did not last very long. âIâm justââ I breathed, biting my lips before tossing him a quick glance. âI donât wanna mess up.â
That got a chuckle outta him. Not loud. Not mocking. Just deep and low, like a rumble that started in his chest and made my thighs clench without permission.
âMess up?â He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, tongue grazing his bottom lip, the thin layer of sheen making my eyes buck out the sockets a litâ. Before he spoke again. âBaby, you think I brought you over here âcause I want perfect? I want you. Every soft, sweet, fidgetinâ piece of you.â
He reached out, fingers rough and warm against my jaw, tilting my face up like he was adjusting a delicate vase.
âIâma teach you, aight? The Elias way.â
I blinked, confusion rushing over me. âThe⌠Elias way?â
He gave a toothy grin, showing his pretty white teeth. âMhm.â
Before I could ask what that meant, he was in my space. Not rushed. Not forceful. Just thereâlike molasses rolling downhill, slow and steady but impossible to stop. His knee brushed mine. His hand stayed firm on my cheek. And his mouth was a whisper away from mine, breathing the same air, exchanging heat like a secret. My eyes flicked to his lips then to eyes.
Damn that man knew he had me.
âFirst thing you gotta know,â he whispered, voice delicate but low like a rumble, his lips brushing mine with the barest tease, âkissinâ ainât just about mouths, mama. Itâs âbout intention. Feel me?â
God, I felt drunk, my eyes stared dreamily at his mouth-- my head nodded, barely. While biting my bottom lip in anticipation. But his lips still did not touch mine.
Elias gives me another lazy smile the coaxed. âDonât nod, Thickems. Speak. Let me hear that sweet little voice.â
âI⌠I feel you,â That came out almost as a sigh, breath already hitchinâ.
âGood girl.â
And then he kissed meâŚ.
But not reallyâŚ.
He hovered, letting his bottom lip graze mine just enough to set fire to every nerve in my body. I gasped, but before I could chase the contact, his hand moved to the back of my neck, holding me thereâcaptive, trembling, aching.
âSlow,â he coached, voice soft⌠spellbinding. âFollow my lead, alright?.â
His lips touched mine again, firmer this time, luring. His top lip nudged mine up while his bottom one pulled gently down, like he was shapinâ me, moldinâ me to fit the rhythm he wanted. My eyes fluttered closed, body leaning in without conscious thought, mouth parting just a little like he wanted.
âThere you go,â he purred against my lips, voice barely audible but full of approval.
He kissed me againâdeeper now. Red-hot. One hand cradling my face while the other slid down to the small of my back, tugging me gently forward until I was in his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands clutching the softness of my sides while my dress bunched up around my hips, but I couldnât care less. Not with the way he was kissing me like he had all the time in the world and I was the only woman worth waiting for.
I whimpered when he bit my bottom lip.
Just a little nip.
A warning.
A promise.
âMmm, you taste like warm peaches⌠and danger, Pretty girl,â he growled, then dipped his head and kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, my neck. I shivered.
My hands found his chest, fingers curling in his shirt. I felt him smile against my throat.
âYou wanna kiss me back?â he queried his wet kisses not ceasing across my throat.
I nodded again, but he gave my neck a sharp nip, making me jerk from the sting.
âWhatâd I tell you?â
âIâŚâ I rasped. âI-I wanna kiss you back, Elias,â I pant, my hands unsure what to do with themselves, so I keep a tight hold on the collar of his shirt.
Elias leaned back, eyes blazing, licked his plump lips as if to dare me:
 âThen do it.â
I leaned in, kissed him the way he kissed meâslow, sure, intentional. It wasnât perfect, but it was hungry. Honest. I pulled his bottom lip between mine and sucked gently, mimicking the way he had done me.
He groaned. Deep. Raw.
His hands tightened on my waist, dragging me down harder against him. I felt himâall of himâand gasped again, but he caught the sound in his mouth, swallowing it like something sweet.
âElias,â I breathed, pulling back just enough to speak.
âWhat, baby?â
âDonât stop.â
He grinned before kissing me again, then murmured into my mouth, âDidnât plan on it, pretty girl. My lesson just gettingâ started.â
Shaking my head, the sweat beads formed on my brow, and hands clutch the hem of my dress as my breath tries to stabilize.
âDis has got to be what hell feels like.â I groan at the intrusive thought of my past as I flop back on to the bed. I didnât realize how long I had been sitting there, daydreaming and losing my damn mind.
Laying there for several minutes, I glance an old clock on the wall. I managed to convince myself to lay there for several more second before heading to the washbasin. Slipping my dress off, I stood there in my brassiere and silk slip, pouring the water into the bowl and cupped my hands, splashing my face and neck until the memory of his voice stopped crawling down my spine like warm syrup.
âYou rest really good, Flossie. I plan on seeinâ you again... soon.â
Mm.
I muttered a prayer, though the Lord knows my mind wasnât in it. I knew this was going to happen. That is why I have to keep that man away from me. It is not decentâ
Youâve said that a lot today, girlâ
Well, hell it ainât! I am not supposed to be thinking of Elias, I have ClarenceâŚ
âŚAnd that nigga couldnât get a creek wet.
I swear for Lord, I need a doctor⌠I have gon mad.
While I managed to internally argue with myself, I continued to wash the sweat and anxiety from my skin, humming lowly, trying to keep my mind together when the knock came.
Three taps. Cocky. Sure.
Like the man behind it didnât care if I answered angry or half-dressed.
I froze, towel in hand.
âWhat the devilâŚ?â
But my heart already knew.
Elias Hosea.
The devil donât knock gentle when he knows the door already got a crack.
I moved to the window, peered through the olâ curtainâand there he stood.
Leaninâ against the frame of the door like he owned it, hat tipped back, thumb hooked in his belt loop, grin sittinâ pretty on that smug mouth of his.
Standinâ there like you just wasnât reminiscing on his lips on yours.
âJesus, grant me the strength not toââ I just stop and glance upward at the ceiling. âLord, I just need you to help me!â
Taking two deep breaths, I open the door slowly, peaking out at the man that I thought I would have married.
âEveninâ, Thickems,â he drawled, eyes drinking me in slow like sweet tea.
My mouth twitched, a field of annoyance bloominâ. âNow, I told you not to call me that.â
He nods his head a tad. âYou did,â he answers, bold as daylight. âBut.. I ainât never been good at followinâ rules. âSpecially ones that donât suit me.â
Everything in me told me that I Â shouldâve closed the door. Slammed it in his troublesome face.
Instead, I stepped into the frame, arms crossed over my chest and one hip cocked, my thin slip barely hiding the fact that I was hotter than a Sunday fish fryâand not just from the weather.
âElias. What do you want, chile?â
He fully drinks me in, me nearly forgetting I was half-dressed. My heart shutters when I seen something shift in his eyes.
He lets out a chuckled, low and lazy. âMm.â Then he whistles, taking a calculated glance away from me, then back. âWantâs a dangerous word cominâ from your pretty lips, baby.â
I blinked, hard.
He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, close enough I caught the scent of tobacco and pine on his collar. âI just figured Iâd check in on the bride-to-be. Make sure that no-good preacher you shacked up with ainât got you locked up like fine china waitinâ on display.â
âYou donât know nothin' 'bout Clarence,â I snapped, perhaps too quick.
He smirked, eyes glitterinâ. âOh, I know of him. Yellow nigga. Cab Calloway lookinâ mothafucka.â He smirked knowingly, still resting ruggedly 'gainst the door frame. "Real high on the pulpit, low on the affection. Word travels.â
My lips parted to defend the man, but⌠the words? They didnât come. Not with Elias starinâ at me like he could see every dry night Clarence left me wantinâ.
âI forgot, but where that ring at 'gain?â he asked, too smooth. Like he had not just asked me that about an hour befoâ.
âWe been over this, EliasâŚâ
He nodded toward my bare hand. âYou his fiancĂŠe, right? Betrothed anâ all that.â His tone began to get firmer and more aggressive. âSo whereâs the fuckinâ ring, Flossie?â
I stiffened. âClarence⌠he said heâs waitinâ untilââ
âUntil what? The Rapture?â Elias scoffed, stepping past the screen and right into my space. âWoman like you⌠You in particular⌠oughta be claimed loudly. Not that  hidden quiet shit like a secret fuckinâ shame.â
My throat tightens as I tried to swallow. Tears brimming in my eyes.
âYou got somethinâ you wanna say?â I whispered, heat risinâ in my cheeks. âThen just say itâŚâ
His grin turned sharp; he places his hands up. âJust sayinââany man who got you, and donât put no shine on your finger, ainât got you. No stakes in you at all. Far as I see it, youâre still unclaimed.â
I felt the sting in my pride, but also the ache in my gut. Because somewhere inside me, I feared he might be right.
Hell, the truth is in your face.
âYou got yo nerve, Elias Moore,â I breathed, heart poundinâ, ready for him to take his leave.
âAnd you got lips that used to say my name sweeter than scripture,â he said, dropping his voice low enough to make my thighs press together. âI wonder Clarence knows who taught you how to hit them high notes?â
My knees got igânant this time, them bitches surely buckled.
âYou watch yo filthy mouth, Elias Hosea Moore! Iâm a woman of God now,â I declared. âHow dare yo black ass speak to me that way!â
Elias⌠No, this has to be Stack⌠Threw his head back and howled out a laugh that made me want to strangle him.
âThere she is!â He wipes a lone tear from his eye as he continues to laugh. âThere my smart mouth ass pretty girl. Woooo!â
The fact this nigga is laughing at my life has got me stewing like a pot of collard greens. Rude ass bastard.
âButâŚâ
Elias sniffed as he regained his composure, adjusting his hat.
â⌠like God made your mouth, baby. Donât go blaminâ Him for what it does when it remembers pleasure.â
I gasped, scandalized, half-tempted to slap him, half-tempted to grab him by the collar and show him that I hadnât forgotten a damn thing.
âOh, that does it,â I managed to gather myself before pointing at the door. âLeave. Now.â
He stared at me for a long secondâchewinâ on that toothpick like he had all night.
Then he stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the cross at my neck. Dancing across my collarbone, my neck⌠âI will. But you oughta know somethinâ, FloâŚâ
I dared to meet his gaze. His eyes smoldered, his gaze hardening with possession.
âI never did stop wantinâ you. Not once. And I sure as hell donât believe you ever stopped wantinâ me.â
Stack adjusts the straps of my brassiere, then hooks a stray curl behind my ear. His fingers dropped, arms retreating painfully slow back to his sides.
âBut Iâll leave you to pray about it, pretty girl.â
And with that, Elias tipped his hat, turned slow, and walked away like he ainât just unraveled me thread by thread.
I slammed the screen door shut, locked it, and stood there panting like Iâd just outrun the Devil.
My heart was screaminâ.
My body was humminâ.
And Clarence?
His name didnât even feel strong enough in my mouth to fight off what Elias made me feel with a single look.
Lord⌠you gonâ have to hold me tonight.
'Cause Elias Moore just reminded me what it felt like to be wanted.
Eveninâ had settled over Charleston like a hush after a church shoutâthick, warm, and humming with secrets. I was dressed in a soft cream blouse tucked into a pleated navy skirt, my pearl earrings catching the dim glow of the motel lamp as I dabbed perfume on my wrists. Sammie knocked not long after sunset, grinning like a boy up to no good.
âYou ready to eat, Miss Flo?â he teased, already reaching to take my bag even though Iâd made it clear I was only bringing my clutch and a slice of restraint.
I rolled my eyes. âBoy, I been ready. You said six, and itâs nearly half-past.â
âWell, Mame had to feed the litâ ones before we could get the table setâthey actinâ like they ainât in days. Litâ rascals eat like they got hollow legs,â he jokes as escorts me from the door towards the carâthis one much older than the first one, this indeed was Uncle Jedâs.
We stepped into the night, the air still heavy with leftover sun and distant barbecue smoke. I clutched my purse closeâmostly out of habit, partly out of instinct. Charleston at night was a different beast, especially on the roads winding through backwoods and cotton fields. And especially now, with my spirit still reeling from him.
Elias.
The nerve of that man.
Still⌠the gall stirred something in me I hadnât felt in a long time.
Hated how this all made me felt. Guilty. Here I am clinginâ on to something that no longer was mine. And somethinâ I knew was a faded memory, as far as I know, Elias was doinâ all of this for some sort of sport⌠I still had to return to my life with Clarence and I refused to have scandal attached to my beinâ when I returned to Georgia.
We hadnât been driving longâmaybe fifteen minutes topsâwhen Sammie eased his foot off the gas and squinted down the dirt road ahead. I watched as his face contorted in confusion.
âNow what in the hell isââ
The car lurched to a stop, tires crunching gravel hard as Sammie leaned over the wheel.
My eyes followed his line of sight.
Thereâbeneath the yellow haze of a crooked streetlampâwas a blur of chaos. Four white men, two already laid out on the dirt, the other two trying to wrangle someone wild and wiry who moved like a switchblade off its leash.
âSweet JesusâŚâ
It was Slick.
Sweaty, shirt half-ripped, blood streakinâ his cheek, and a busted grin stretched wide across his face like he was enjoyinâ this mess. He ducked a swing, caught one square in the jaw with a left hook, then let out a whoop loud enough to wake the dead.
Iâd seen enough. My unease raisinâ and my heart flutterinâ. I was not watching this boy get killed, even if he was enjoying the thrill of the fight.
âPull over,â I cracked tappinâ Sammie on his chest, while fumblinâ with the knob of the door.
âFloâ!â
âI said, pull this thang over, Samuel!â
The tires skidded to the shoulder as I yanked open the door and stepped out, heels sinking into the dirt. My hands shake contemplatinâ my next move. Hell what fuck am I gonna do?!
One of the white men had reached behind the bed of his truck and pulled out a length of ropeâa nooseâand my blood turned ice.
He tossed it toward another man. âHold him down! We gone teach this fuckâ nigger what happens when you lay up with a white manâs wife!â
Thatâs it⌠I saw red.
Slick was still fightinâ, but he was gettinâ overwhelmed. One had him in a headlock, the other kickinâ him in the ribs while the rope hovered over his head.
I didnât thinkâŚ
Didnât pray...
Didnât breathe...
I reached into my purse, pulled out my little mother-of-pearl pistol, aimed high then fired a shot clean into the air.
CRACK!
The sound ripped through the trees like God himself had clapped His hands.
The white men froze. One dropped the rope. Another stumbled back like Iâd shot him in the soul. My heart was beatinâ so damn fast anâ hard as if I just ran the length of a cotton field. They stared at me like I was a ghost. I kept my gun firm in my hand.
âIfân one of you motherless cowards take one more damn step, Iâll aim low next time,â I hissed, stepping forward with the gun still raised, cockinâ it, my voice steady like a hymn sung from the gut.
Slick was kneelinâ, coughing, blood on his lip and knuckles still clenched. Iâd them white devils, darinâ them to touch him or come near me.
One man bolted. Then the next. And the rest followed like roaches when the lamp flips onâscramblinâ fast and full of curses. I let out a breath that I did know I was holdinâ.
Damn, that was wild.
Yep, but I am girl from the delta⌠Learninâ to shoot came like learninâ how to make hot water cornbread.
Sammie scrambled out the car, jaw dropped. Lookinâ from me to the pistol. âFlossie Lee?! Where in the hell you get a gun?!â
I didnât answer him. I kept my eye on the treeline until the trucks roared off, leaving behind dust, shame, and the echo of cowardice.
Only when the road was quiet did I lower the pistol and turn to Sammie.
âGot it when I first started travelinââdoinâ the Lordâs work can be dangerous, dumplinâ.â
Tuckinâ the gun back into my clutch, I toss it in the car before we make our way towards Slick, who was still crouched, his adrenaline waninâ. But he manages to let out a hoarse laugh, blood on his teeth, pride in his eyes.
âDamn, girlâŚâ he wheezed, snortinâ then spittinâ out blood on the ground. âI see it now-- You really are Stackâs woman, huh?â
I pause in my steps at his words; Sammieâs head whipped to me so quickly I thought heâd catch a crick.
âWhat?â he said, voice full of confusion.
I said nothinâ and met Slickâs wild grin with a dead stare.
âYou donâ got me out my Sunday skirt, boy. Letâs go before they come back.â
He let out another laugh, leaninâ on Sammieâs shoulder as he limped toward the car, blood still drippinâ, but ego intact.
Slick was as tall as Elias and Elijah, but a bit light in the ass. We got into the backseat of the car, where he drunkenly chuckled and talked a bunch shit about the four crackas he was just fightinâ.
And me?
I got behind the wheel. Sammie didnât say a word, just stared like heâd never seen me before. Not like this.
Not with fire in my eyes.
But I ainât Flossie Lee for nothinâ. I been baptizinâ folks in the name of Jesus by day, and shootinâ at devils after sundown since I learned how to survive.
And tonight?
Well⌠I had no shame about savinâ a Moore man from an early grave.
Even if his brother was the very temptation I been begginâ God to keep me from.
The car rolled slow over the dirt road, gravel poppinâ under the wheels, crickets singinâ loud as church mothers on the front row. The scent of honeysuckle drifted in through the cracked windows, mixing with the salt tang of blood and liquor and something elseânostalgia maybe.
Slick was laid out in the back seat, shirtless, bloodied, and snoring like a saw through wet wood. One arm dangled off the edge, the other curled over his belly like he was napping in a featherbed instead of leaking bruises all over the upholstery. His busted lip was crusted with dried blood, and he smelled like sweat, moonshine, and reckless delight.
Sammie drove this time, having switch seats since he knew where to go and I did not.
Both his hands tight on the wheel, his face lit by the headlights and half-shadowed like he was battling a storm inside.
Weâd been silent a stretch. Long enough that I could hear my own heartbeat if I listened for it.
âYou still didnât answer me, Flo,â he said, finally, voice quiet.
I blinked, pulled from the window and the night.
âAnswer you what?â
He glanced at me, jaw set. âBack there. When he called you Stackâs woman.â
I shifted in my seat, fingers gripping my clutch tighter than I meant to.
âSammieâŚâ
âI ainât stupid, Flo. I know you didnât just meet that man today. I know what I saw in his eyes when he looked at you.â
I closed mine.
Lord, help me.
âYou were too litâ to know,â I sighed, looking out the passenger window. âBack then.â
He didnât say anything, just let the engine hum carry us forward.
Me?
I exhaled slow, the weight of a memory sitting down on my chest like an old dog settling at my feet.
âElias and I⌠we was somethinâ once. Before I left Charleston. Before Clarence. Before the Bible clung to me tighter than any man ever did.â My voice was low, soft like I was telling a ghost to hush.
Sammie listened.
âI was eighteen. Elias was already startinâ to get that grown-man look about him. Broad in the shoulders, sharp in the jaw. Carried himself like a man who knew what he wanted. And he did, Sammie. He wanted me.â
I smiled, but it hurt. That ache that comes when joy used to live.
âHe courted me in secret. Took me fishinâ at dusk, whispered things in my ear that made me feel like a womanânot a burden. Not a body to be hidden or shamed. He saw me before I even saw myself.â
Sammie said nothing, but his throat worked like he wanted to.
âHe used to call me thickems or pretty girl. Said I was the only thing bright enough to cut through all the trouble he carried.â
âWhyâd it end?â he finally asked.
I swallowed. Couldnâ I dare to tell him his parents sent me away like the burden they thought I was?
âBecause love ainât always enough sometimes, baby.â
The trees blurred past outside. Kudzu vines gripped the telephone poles like desperate hands reaching toward heaven.
âUncle Jed caught wind of it. Said a girl with my background had no business wrapped up in a boy like Elias. Said I was already halfway to beinâ ruined. That if people found out, itâd bring shame on the whole houseâŚâ
âSo, they sent you away?â Sammie queried, voice small, sad like.
Tears brimmed my eyes thinking âbout it.
âMm-hmm.â I quickly wipe the tears before he could see âem. âPacked my bags in silence. Put me on a train to Texas like I was a sickness that needed quarantininâ.â
He sighed, eyes still fixed forward.
âHe didnât come for me, though,â I added. âI waited⌠But Elias never came⌠It hurt my heart sumân horrible, Sammie.â
Sammie was quiet for a beat, then asked what had been hanginâ heavy in the air between us.
âDo you still love him, Flo?â
YesâŚ
But I didnât answer right away.
My throat felt tight. The kind of tight that comes before a prayer⌠or a scream.
The trees parted just enough for a patch of sky to peek throughâstars scattered wide, the moon big and heavy like a secret told too late.
âLove donât die easy, Sammie,â I said finally, my voice a whisper. âBut I⌠I donât know if itâs still love or just the memory of it. Donât know if itâs him I miss or who I was when he held me.â
Sammie bowed in understanding, eyes glossy in the rearview mirror. âWell, he still loves you,â he said softly, in a matter-of-fact tone. âThat part ainât hard to see.â
Behind us, Slick let out a loud snort and smacked his lips like he was dreaminâ âbout another womanâs bed.
I chuckled softly despite myself. âHis little brother gone get himself killed one day.â
Sammie snorted, glancing at Slick in the rearview mirror then back at the road ahead. âHe ainât scared of dyinâ. Think he likes dancinâ on the edge.â
âWell, he better find his footing quick,â I grumble, turninâ my head to glance back at him. âCharleston ainât the kind of town that forgives a colored boy with too much pride and a taste for white skirts.â
We fall quiet once more.
My spirit was still back there... Somewhere on the roadside. Somewhere in Eliasâs eyes. Somewhere in the space between what was and what couldâve been.
And I still hadnât figured out whether I was headed toward peace or temptation.
The moon sat high now, casting silver light across the wide, open stretch that led toward the edge of townâwhere neon dreams and blues chords lingered longer than church bells.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Slick was still sprawled out, arm, now, flung over his face, one boot half-off, bruised ribs rising and falling with slow, moonshine breath. He hadnât made a sound in the last few minutes, though I saw his fingers twitch every so often like they were still throwing punches in his sleep.
Sammie spoke up a few seconds later.
âIâm droppinâ him at the juke.â
I raised a brow. âThought we were headed to supper.â
He gave me a look, one part apology, one part worry.
âMama ainât gonâ be able to feed him in this condition, Flo. And I canât carry his raggedy tail past a single one of them churren without startinâ a riot.â
He wasnât wrong, probably best Auntie Mae and Uncle Jed didnâ see him in this condition.
So, we drove a few more minutes through the dark, winding back behind the old tobacco road until the trees opened up and the neon glow of SmokeStack lit the dirt like colored moonlight.
The juke joint stood proud and unbotheredâbig wooden porch with string lights hanginâ like lazy stars, hand-painted sign swayinâ in the wind. Music hadnât started, but the soul of the place was alive even when silent.
Outside, near the side steps, two men laughed over crates of glass bottles and burlap sacksâone tall and slenderâAsian man, the other tall, broad, muscular, andâŚ
Sweet Lord.
Elias.
He leaned against a support beam, hat tilted back, that damn gold tooth flashinâ as he threw his head back in laughter. Shirt rolled at the sleeves, suspenders hanginâ off his hips, forearms flexed and glintinâ with sweat.
It should be illegal to look that good with that much ease.
I blinked hard. I wasnât ready.
The man next to him, Sammie said it was Bo Chow, the half-Cantonese, half-Louisiana man who own two grocer stores but also ran dry goods for every juke within five counties. Bo was fussinâ about somethinâ, but Elias was just smirkinââlazy, dangerous, and untouched by the heat.
That smile of his dimmed the moment Sammie cut the engine.
Eliasâ eyes landed on the car.
Then on me.
That grin curved into something sharper. Sinister. Knowing.
But when he saw Sammie move around to the back door and help a limp, groaning Slick out of the seat?
Elias straightened up like a hound catchinâ scent.
âMan! What the fuââ He scowls like a disappointed father. âThe fuck this boy get into now?!â
His voice cracked across the yard like a whip. That Southern drawl wrapped in fury. Smooth, but sharp.
Slick half-laughed, half-choked as he leaned on Sammieâs shoulder.
âChill, Stack⌠Iâm alive, ainât I?â His words slurred. âJust got a little caught up.â
Elias crossed the yard in three long strides, boots hittinâ the ground hard enough to shake dust. His whole demeanor shiftedâless jester, more protector. That brotherly rage thrumminâ just beneath the surface.
âWhat the hell happen to yo face?â He barked, grabbing Slickâs jaw and turning it gently.
âGot jumped,â Sammie muttered trying to support Slickâs dead weight.
âBy who?â
âWell,â I open the door to the car and begin to step out. âSome crackas caught him with one of their wives,â I answer flatly, arms crossed tight, voice cool like fresh linen.
Bo Chow let out a low whistle. âBoyâs got a death wish, Stack.â
âBoyâs got a dick for a compass,â Elias snapped, dragging his eyes back to his brother. âYou out your goddamn mind?â
âAw, come on, Stackâshe wanted it,â Slick mumbled with a woozy grin. âCanâ take dick for shit though.â
Sammie snickered; I rolled my eyes then Eliasâ jaw flexed.
âAnd your Thickems shot at âem.â Slick gives me a lazy wink as I blew my breath. That litâ tidbit couldâve been left on the hush.
Eliasâ eyes snapped to me then to Slick. Like he was ponderinâ on who to go off on first. He took a heated step towards his brother, then just when I thought he might slap him sideways, Stack stepped back, blew out a curse through his teeth, and glared up at the sky like he was begginâ God to take this burden off his hands.
Then his eyes flicked back to me.
And his whole energy shifted again.
âYou,â he said, voice low.
Me.
Still standing in the shadows like I hadnât just pointed a gun in the name of his brother twenty minutes ago.
His eyes swept over me slow, heat simmerinâ under his lashes. âYou really shot at âem?â
âI shot above them,â I corrected. âAinât tryinâ to start no war. Just end one.â
His grin slips back into view, this time smaller. Sharper. Personal like.
âWell damn, babyâ he whispered, voice like satin, smooth. âDidnât know you still carried.â
âI ainât forgot how to survive, Eliâ I shot back, refolding my arms and looking away for a second then back at him, slowly.
Our eyes locked. And for a second, it was just us. All that noise around us faded into cicadas and old sins.
God, he is beautiful, still.
Slick let out a loud snore against Sammieâs shoulder.
âIâm takinâ him inside,â Elias muttered, finally turning his attention back to the mess known as his baby brother. âBo, grab a cloth and the whiskey.â
Sammie followed behind, still supporting Slick, who was still snorinâ.
I stayed where I was, contemplatinâ on sittinâ in the car.
Elias paused at the door then looked back over his shoulder at me. Gaze smolderinâ.
âYou cominâ in, Thickems?â I throw him a look of annoyance. He just gonna keep disregardinâ the boundaries, ey? âOr you need another gun in your lap to feel safe?â
I rollinâ my eyes, lips tugginâ upward despite myself. âIâm not here for you, Elias Moore.â
âMm.â He smirked then licked his lips, knowinâ what that does to me. âThatâs what makes it so sweet, baby.â
And with that, he pushed open the door to the juke joint, toss a long look at me, then disappeared insideâleaving behind a night thick with tension, and me... tryinâ real hard to remember why the hell I ever left in the first place.
Tw: time period drama, usuage of N word, mentions of lust, black love, mentions of violence, Reminiscing, mentions of racism, racial slurs, religious tones
*if you don't like it, don't read it*
Chapter One: Cherished Woman?
What does it mean to be a cherished woman?
Honestly⌠truly?
Not simply kept. But prized.
Valued.
Adored.
Mmm.
Maybe I ought to pick up this Bible more often and leave them little romance stories alone. Clarence said those tales were rottinâ my mind, warpinâ my understanding of what a godly relationship should look like. Said Iâd started confusing carnal longing with covenantal love. Maybe heâs right.
Real love, he said, ainât always fiery. Ainât always grand gestures or breathless kisses. Real love was steady. Righteous. Quiet.
But baby⌠I ainât no fool for hopinâ it could be both.
'Cause there was nothing fiery about my Clarenceââcept his sermons.
Kisses? I could count 'em on one hand, if I bothered.
Touches? Nonexistent.
But I was the preacherâs promised bride. And a preacherâs bride donât go lookinâ for passion. At least thatâs what he told me. âIt ain't proper to stir what God meant to save for weddinâ night, Darlinâ.â
I wasnât askinâ for fornication. I was askinâ for affection.
A hand on mine. A kiss to my cheek. A gesture that I wasnât just another laborer in his ministry but a woman to be seen and cherished.
But I had accepted it.
Didnât much feel like a choice, anyhow. Clarence was the one I was supposed to marry. So Iâd resolved to wait him outâstarving for tenderness until that holy night arrived.
âTrouble in my way⌠I gotta cry sometimesâŚâ
My white laced gloved hands gripped the cracked handles of my bag as it sat heavy on my lap, I sang-hum a hymn low under my breath, the same one that had been haunting me since Alabama-- soft, mournful, and sweet, like Mama used to hum while washing dishes.
All this traveling through these mean, tight-lipped little towns was starting to wear on my soul. Clarence said it was our mission to spread the Gospel, to perform and bring light to dark places. But lately, Iâd been the only one doing any of the damn spreading. Funny how men of God love to talk but wonât carry the weight of it with you.
His yellow ass felt far more comfortable than I had ever had. Had to crack a man in the jaw our last stop, this voice sings Heaven, but these hands knocked the hell outcha. ListenwenItellyanah! Pinched my booty cheek and winked, like I ainât a prize-fighter in a good womanâs skin.
Popped him so good that even Clarenceâs jaw rocked.
âNext stop-- Charleston!â
The conductorâs voice rang out loud and sharp, snatching me out my thoughts. My chest tightened. Charleston. Lord, I hadnât stepped foot back here since Annie laid her baby girl to rest. That was five, maybe six years back, and I still ain't found the words to soothe that ache in my heart when I think of her.
Loved me some Annie Jo Moore. Thatâs my sista.
Annie had been my rock once upon a time. She helped me find my voice when all I knew was silenceâwhen grief and shame sat in my throat like stones. She was more than a friend. She was my sister in everything but blood. Taught me not to be âshamed to love out loud and boisterously. Even though that same love would break every figurative bone in my heart and soul.
I used to carry a sharp bitterness toward Uncle Jed and Auntie Mae after they sent me off to Texas like a secret shame, but age and time softened that sting. Maybe they did me a favor. Maybe I needed to be far away from the chaos, from him.
A ghostly shudder cast down my spine. Elias Hosea Moore. That name tasted deliciously of forbidden fruit. He indeed was my apple of Eden.
Whew chile, how his lips would--
Getagripnah, Flossie Lee! You are here to sang to the heavens and see your loved onesâŚ
âŚnot fall into that foolishness of the past.
My head shakes off the thoughts of lust. As I watched the passengers around me began to gather their bags, though the train was not done moving. I shift slightly in my seat, the warm feeling in the pit of my belly swelling further south. Lord, Jesus. Even after ten years, that beautiful fool had this effect on me.
Donât forget that same love saved you when you didnât know how to save yourself.
Dammit, thatâs true.
Mama passed in her sleep twelve years ago. The doctor said fever, but I always knew it was sorrow that did her in. Pa buried her in the backyard by the apple tree, said a quick prayer, then moved his new woman in that same night. Didnât even wait a full sunrise. Just triflinâ.
Truth be told, I know Mama died of a broken heart. My daddy had always been quick with his hands and slow with love. Heâd beat on her, and then on me, just for breathing wrong. Some men carry violence in their blood and call it discipline.
If Iâd seen that filthy bastard today, Iâd take an ax to his neck. I hate that man.
And I knowâLord, I knowâI ainât supposed to say hate. But if the Lord could peek into my heart right now, Heâd see I mean it. Clarence always tried to convince me to reach out for closure. Said healing only comes when you face the root. But I shut that door the day I boarded that train and never looked back. Last I heard, Pa was laying hands on his new wife like he used to lay 'em on Mama. I ainât surprised.
Fools like him donât change, they just progress.
Clarence needs to mind his own on this one. Because only Jesus himself can make me ever forgive Horace Abidine.
I leaned against the window, watching as we rolled into town. My heart swelled when I saw clusters of my people gathered at the Colored Only landingâsmiling, loud, alive. This was my soil. My people. My home. I rose, straightening my dress, gathering my bags. My nerves hummed with a nervous kind of joy.
Then I saw him.
âSAMMIE?!â
I hollered his name before I even knew Iâd opened my mouth. My favorite baby cousin, tall now, lanky and brown-skinned, with that beat-up guitar slung across his back like it was born there.
âHey baby!â I squealed, nearly dropping my bags to run to him.
âHow you doinâ, Flo?â he grinned, me taken back by his low tempered voice, not my baby being grown damn man! He smiles wide, already opening his arms.
I wrapped him in a bear hug, pulling him in so tight I felt his spine pop. His head pressed into my big chest; I hear him yelp a bit:
âDoggone, Floâyou tryinâ to suffocate me!â he laughed, wriggling free.
Giggling I release him then fix his shirt and suspenders. âWell, hell, I canât help it, sugar dumplinâ!â I stepped back, looking him over. âYou done shot up like a tree!â
Sammie was the baby brother I always wanted. We wrote letters back and forth for years since I left those years ago. He was eight years old when I last lain eyes on him. Taught him to read books and music, and we sang together⌠all the time. His letter told me he plays at a juke joint on the weekends.
This little nigga out here trying to be grown, Iâma have to watch him close while I am here. Let me find out he getting knookie⌠Iâll beat a jezebel and two harlots over his little ass, and he knows it. But God is good.
âAnd you still ugly as ever!â I tease as I rub his boyish face, he smiles knowing I was just playing with him. Letting him go, he grabs my bags with both hands like the gentleman he had been raised to be. âYou stayinâ with Ma and Pa, right?â
I cringe.
âOh, goodness no, sugar!â I shake my head with a quickness. âThe Willow BendâŚâ He gives me a confused look. âLookyherenah, baby⌠Too many churren up in that litâ ass house, baby.â
Sammie throws his head back laughing. âNow, I love you all but thereâs too many of them litâ ones. I needs me sleeps and peace, Sammie-baby.â
He howls from laughing, now I ainât one not to tell the truth! But the truth is Uncle Jed and Auntie Mae took be fruitful and multiply very biblically and I love that for them. God is so pleased. But I couldnât do it for almost a week. Though I knew those doors were open, I respectfully shut them. Whew lord, thems a lot of churren.
âI reckon I understandâŚâ then a couple of ticks pass before he looks at me. âWell heck can I stay with you then?â
âOf course, sugar.â
We share another boisterous laugh while we maneuvered through the crowded dock, colored men smiled and tipped their hats, while ladies gave gracious grin. We stepped cautiously through the whites only platform, me murmuring to Sammie to slow his steps and to be mindful. The last thing I needed was a white lie to set off some unnecessary bullshit.
The Mississippi sunâs name should be Beelzebub, it was out with the vengeance on this day, I hooted once we were a safe distance from the dock and fanned with the paper fan stashed in my purse. âLord, what in the Earth is in yâall sun, Sam? Bad thoughts and black pepper?â
He chuckles as he stops by a fancy ride. âSame sun thatâs always been, FloâYou just soft now, girl.â
I kiss my teeth. âNah, this sun got a temper proâlem.â He chuckled at my contempt as he rounded the back of the car, my brows shot up. âDonât tell me Uncle Jed finally got the car heâs been prayinâ for?â
âNah, this is my cousinsâ car.â
My heart flutters as I stop short, one-foot planted head on the wooden planks on the platform, the other on the gravel of the ground.
âW-what cousin, Samuel?â My voice is quiet, so quiet it sounds near whisper like. Suspicious.
Sammie kept walking around the car, just a little too casual for my liking. âSmoke and Stack.â
The fuck is that?
âWhat in the blue devilâs hell is a Smoke and Stack, Sammie?â My arms are now folded, my brows still high, and sweaty. Between the heat and these names, I was ready to pass out. But Sammie just rolls his eyes, not slowing down.
âBoy, if you donât answer me--!â
âYou know them! They Paâs nephews,â He called over his shoulder. âUncle Emmettâs boys.â My heart thundered. âThey been up in Chicago for some years, but they returned last Summer⌠opened a juke joint⌠Youâll remember when youâll see em.â
I huffed and picked up my pace, lips pursed. I didnât like the way that name Stack sounded. Thick of danger. Sounded like sin and sweat and something you shouldnât say in the Lordâs house. And something in my bones knew him⌠I pray it is not who I think it isâŚ
âŚBut your soul is thirsty that it is who we think it isâŚ.
Lord, be a fence.
________________________________
Sammie drove cautiously, like he wasnât too sure about how to drive such a fancy vehicle or scared to crash it. Snickering at his tense shoulders being up to his ears, eyes ultra focused on the dusty road ahead of us.
We were surrounded by cotton fields, miles and miles of it; my black and brown brothers and sisters tending to the fields under this harsh heat.
âMm mm mm.â I muster with a shake in my head, while fanning myself with the paper fan, steadily. âHated picking cotton as a chile.â
âIt ainât too bad.â Sammie confesses. âBut playing at the SmokeStack is where my heart is, cousin. Playing the blues with Delta SlimâŚâ
There is that rebellious spirit⌠One that I nurtured as a teen. Always ready to danceâI guess singing to his own tune. Even as a chile his daddy didnât take too keen to Sammie wanting to be different.
âI know yo pappy ainât too happy about that.â Sammie grimaces a bit, trying to articulate his next thought but I finish it for him. âBut you ainât yo pappy, now⌠Gotta do whatâs best for you, sugar.â He smiles and looks over at me.
âYou always got me, FloâYou know I want more den disâŚâ
Smiling proudly, I looked away for a moment. âHeck, you deserve more den dis, dumplin! God calls us all on different journeys, yo path is not Jedidiahâs. Itâs between you and the Lord.â I pat his hand as he continues to drive us down the farm road. We talk a little then he asks.
âIâd really love for you to sing with me one night, Floâat the juke joint.â My eyes widen. âYou know like we did when I was litââŚâ
âI doubt they wanna hear nursery rhymes, Sammie.â I giggle while looking away. âNobody wants to hear a gospel singer at a juke⌠Theyâd kick me out so quick.â
âYour voice⌠Is special, Floââ He casts a quickly glance at me. âCould heal nations and swoon the heartless, girl.â
I let out a loud howling laugh. âBoy, shut yo mouth and keep talkinâ!â He laughs along with me.
âI am serious, FloâIâll talk with Eliasââ The sound of that name, causes me to slap the dashboard, causing Sammie to swerve. âGoodness, Flossie! The hell you do that for--?!â
âYou canât talk to him?! What about these Smoke and Stack and Jack people who own the place?!â
Sammie looks confused then it dawns on him. âStack is Elias⌠Smoke is ElijahâRemember them? I know you remember Annie, thatâs Elijahâs wifeââ
Waving my hands, I cut him off. âSamuel, I cannot be around no Elias. Thatâs a hard ass no for me, babyââ
A ghostly chill slides down my spine, semblance of his lips on me. Oh sweet, sweet spirit, please help me.
The confused look in his eyes read innocence, he was too young to have known or even remember. And I was not about to educate him⌠All he needed to know was that I did not want no parts of his cousin. Not now, not ever. Small town but I knew based how we were when we younger places he would never be⌠Church was one.
âL-letâs just get me into town so I can get checked into my room, please.â
Sammie hums in response but says nothing more.
________________________________
The Mississippi River still moves like molasses this time of day and hums low like it know all my business.
Lazy and thick, winding slow as if it knows everything we try to forget. Itâs the kind of heat that sits on your chest like an old grief, and Iâm just tryinâ to breathe through it.
Sammie, humming a bluesy tune, that I managed to make some words up to look over at me with a knowing smile. âMotelâs just up a head,â He finally says, in a casual tone. âAinât the Ritz, but itâs clean and tucked away. Right by the river.â
The Ritz? In this town? Shidddd.
âThank you, dumplinâ,â I murmur, still fanning myself. Iâm trying to focus on the random humid gusts of wind. Now, that I am in town, I had so many I wanted to put my eyes on, and one that I needed to play ghost for.
What are you afraid of, Flossie?
That my skeletons arenât actually buried six feet.
Driving through the litâ town, ainât nothing has changed but the years. Sammie drove me down to the to a little colored owned Inn called Willow Bend.
The riverâs front had mud, thick as ever, breeze slow and sticky, and the cottonwood seeds drifting like ghosts over the water. I used to walk this bend barefoot, skirt hitched, heart full of things I couldnât say out loud. And now Iâm back. Ten years older, a little wiser, and a hell of a lot more tired.
Sammie drums the steering wheel with his knuckles, eyes squinting against the devil sun. âMotel ainât too far now.â
I nodded, smoothing the front of my blue gingham dress. âGood, I am tied after that long train ride. I heard they have bathtubs in every room⌠I intend to draw a long bath and sleep for the rest of the day.â
Sammie lets out a low grunt before laughing. âI guess I am not coming back to get you for supper. You know Mama is expecting you.â
Man, I wasnât quite sure if I wanted to surrender my bed for food once I lain across it. Between this heat and the ride into townâmy stomach is going to lose.
We pass a broken fence post, leaning mailboxes, and finally a faded sign:
âWillow BendâLodging for Coloreds Only.â
The motelâs small, squat, with yellowed curtains and a porch swing that creaks in the wind. Peeling paint on the shutters. Lonely peace.
 It ainât muchâbut it ainât Georgia either.
Sammie parks near the office, dust kicking up under the wheels. I push open the door and step out. My shoes crunch on gravel. The cicadas start singing louder.
To be honest, when Auntie Mae called and asked for me to sing at Uncle Jedâs church, I used this as an excuse to get away. Clarence tried to tag along, saying we could do some stops to surrounding congregations, but I refused. His disappointed silence hasnât been a thought at all since I left Georgia. He didnât seem to understand that I did not come down here to be a performer, I came to see my loved ones and share in my gifts from GodâŚ
⌠Everything has become business for him. I needed distance. From him, from everyone and everythingâespecially the way I been startinâ to feel⌠caged.
Standing there in deep thoughts. Sammie hops out of the car. âIâll go grab the key. You go ahead and stretch your leg or whatnot. The riverâs right down yonder if you need to cool your feet.â
Nodding my head, softly singing to myself once more:
Life is in his hands; itâs in Godâs hands⌠Life is in his haaaannnnddddsssâŚ
My shoes crunch in the dirt as I headed toward the tall grass near the riverbank, my dress swishing against my calves.
And then I heard it. Laughter. I immediately stop my singing, not sure who the hell I was walking up on. Rough and unfiltered. Male.
Three of âem, I think.
I ease my big ass around the bend and freeze.
âElijah?â
Came out softly.
Brother.
Slouched against a tree, cigarette burning low, watching the river like it told him something he didnât want to hear. Cleaning a large gun meticulously. He turns as if he feels the unexpectant presence of me. A rare smile itches at his lips, then lifts two fingers in a lazy wave.
The smile touches his eyes. A rare moment. He's happy to see me.
But the moment was cut short by a man I do not know. Heâs pacing, He's tall, slim muscular built... loud, wild-eyed, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, gold chain bouncing against his chest. Heâs younger than Elijah but had similar features⌠and that damn gold tooth. Moore men and their gold.
âIâm tellinâ you, Stack,â he says to the third man that I cannot see, âif we cut âem off at the ridge, we can get the whole damn parcel. I ainât playinâ. Iâll run them peckerwoods out myself.â
There is a vibrant, hearty chuckle, close to me⌠Too close to me⌠My heart flutters in familiarity.
Elias.
The brooding figure stands up from the brush. He turns just slightly, enough for the sun to kiss his cheekbone and jaw. The manâs filled out like God ran outta clay and used iron instead. He stands like he owns the ground, all slow threat and coiled ease. The years have been kind to him. Too kind.
Get yo hide outta there, Flossie Lee!
I canât move! My feet ainât listeninâ!
His voice rumbles out, low and smooth. âYou betta calm yo hot head ass down, Slick, you gonâ set fire to your own damn boots.â
Slick snorts then gives him a large tooth grin. âThen fuck, weâll all be warm.â
Elias shakes his head as he chuckles, but his gaze lands on me. His body stills.
Not polite still. Not confused still.
Hawk-has-spotted-his-rabbit still.
Aw damn. Aw hell.
âThickems.â He whispers, voice low, honeyed with memory.
I shouldâve run. But I stood frozen, my name a breath in his mouth.
âI-I uhâŚâ I try to step backward but nearly falls on my hind quarters. âD-didnât mean to interrupt⌠Just coming to cool my feetâŚâ I swallow a mouth full of spit and lift my chin, trying not to appear overwhelmed.
The one named Slick gives me a flirtatious grin. âWell, damn, Stack. You ainât say you had you a fine ass piece of woman coming through here, Brotha.â
âShe ainât company, Slickââ Elijah corrects going back to cleaning his gun. âShe family, that right, Eli?â
That was all it took. Elias moves, his eyes are solid, unreadable, his face trying to decipher if I were real or not.
In three long strides, heâs standing in front of me. Closer than decent. Close enough that I catch the clean, woodsy scent on his collar and that unshakable intensity in his eyes.
He tips his hat, chewing on a toothpick, a satisfied smile dancing on his handsome face. âDidnât think Iâd see you again, Thickems.â
I grimace at the name.
âFlossie.â I gently correct. Not decent for a man to call you that when you are promised to another. âAnd trust me, Elias, I didnât think youâd be out here either.â
His eyes wander down to my lips. Ugh, the way he watches me say his name⌠Itâs not fair.
Slick, who is grinning from behind Elias, whispers, âOoooh, so they know each other know each other, man?â
His gaze stays on me like he got every right. Like he remembers every inch of who I was before I left, and he wants to find out whatâs changed.
âHeard you got a nigga back in the peach state.â My breath hitches. âWhereâs your ring at?â
Itâs a question disguised as small talk. A fishing hook.
My mouth goes dry. âI⌠I ainât got one right nowâ
âWhy not?â Elijah speaks up, now interested. âA man asks you for your hand, he 'posed to put a ring on you.â
âShit, if you were mineââ Slick cuts in. âIâd throw a chain across yo fine assââ
âEzra.â Elijah and Elias say at once.
Slick throws his hands up then backs off, joins Elijah by the tree.
âSo, the great travelinâ preacher cannot buy his own prize a ring? Letâs her move around without looking like a claimed woman? That ainât right, Baby Cakesâ
I raise a brow. âBridle yo tongue, Elias Moore. It ainât decent to start askin after another manâs womanâŚâ
âAs far I am concerned, Thickems⌠You ainât his unless I see a ring.â
I blink, heat rising in my cheeks.
There was not much I could argue back, I listened to Clarence excuses about not getting me a ring. Other finances came first⌠A home, a carâŚ
âA ring doesnât change what we are, Darlinâ.â
Taking a step back at a pace. I let out a heavy breath. âIâm just here to visit, Elias. Hear to see loved ones⌠Clear my mind a bit.â
His eyes narrow just a bit, he ceases chewing the toothpick⌠and there it is-- that old possessiveness simmerinâ under the surface like a pot neckbones about to boil. He donât say anything else, just looks at me the way only he ever did. Like he can read more off my face than Clarence ever tried to see.
Then he smiles.
âGood, good. I hope you rest really well. âCause I plan on seeinâ you again... Soon.â
He raises his hand and allows it to adjust the cross necklace around my neck, it hovers for a second before I turn to leave. My knees begginâ to do something igânant like buckle. I hear his breathy laugh as I quickly get away, running dead into Sammie, who is walking up with a key in hand, oblivious.
âRoomâs ready! Right corner unit. Got a little screen door and everything.â
âI, uh, thanks, dumplinâ,â I murmur, casting one last glance over my shoulder.
Elias was still there. Slick standing over his shoulder, chewing a piece of grass watching me as well. Like he was helping him plot against me. The look in his eyes? It ainât the look of a man whoâs done.
Itâs the look of a man who just realized his favorite sin came back home.
Elias blows me kiss as he takes calculated steps back towards the river.
Father God donât lead me unto that temptation. And deliver me that evil.
Girlie, we are catfish. Caught, fileted, and fried⌠Done!
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