#sinners drabble

It was something much worse.

The road to Annie’s shop lay just ahead, looming, narrow and rugged. Dirt kicked up from the wheels, a thick cloud of red dust and exhaust smoke that billowed into the sky and disappeared into the trees.

Seven years had gone by. Seven years of Chicago winters and tear-stained letters. Seven years of ache. Seven years of keeping his brother safe. And seven years without the woman who kept them both alive. 

He and Stack shared a lil’ kitchenette apartment in the blackbelt. They ran jobs for Capone, hoarding money, gold, and hooch, and stashing it in a dilapidated warehouse. It was risky business, sure— but Chicago was always a means to an end.

It meant no more busting ass for the white man to roll up a few days after Christmas, cigar in his mouth, smirk on his face, just to tell him he still owed him money after picking his cotton all fucking year.

They had plans. Big ones. They’d open a place where their people could enjoy themselves. Not some raggedy shit that ran out of a plantation shack. They’d buy that old sawmill, patch it up, turn it into a juke joint. 

He’d put his share of the profit into something more stable— a funeral home on Issaquena, running hearses from there to Mound Bayou. And Smoke, he could finally build his wife that house they both dreamed about. Something real peaceful. Two stories, a kitchen, a garden, a picket fence, pigpen and a chicken coop. They could live off the land and fill the house with babies. Little chocolate cherubs with his dimples and her eyes.

He’d begged her to follow him. He said he’d go ahead, set everything up for them, take a job at the stockyard. He’d work his way up and buy them a place over in Bronzeville. Something comfortable, with a view of Lake Michigan. A fresh start.

She refused. Told him that blood kept her bound to the land. That she wouldn’t leave their daughter’s grave untended. She poured her soul into his mojo bag before he left. He’d press his lips to it sometimes, when the ache started to feel tangible. He could still taste the salt from her tears, like she blessed it with them.

He kissed her hard and fucked her slow the night before. Then he tucked his hat and held her softly as she wept on his chest. 

“I love you.”

He didn’t apologize or make promises. He didn’t need to. Their understanding went beyond what words could explain. When she looked up at him, doe eyes red-rimmed and watery, his chest tightened. Her gaze pierced his soul. He kissed her trembling lips once more, then he walked out the door. 

Smoke’s truck stopped short of the house. He took a deep breath. Then he cut the engine, and stepped out of his truck. He looked around, taking it all in slowly. The porch still sagged in the middle; a wayward floorboard still hung loose on the steps. But the garden was tended. The faint scent of rosemary she used to sweep the porch still hung in the air. 

He looked to his left and froze. A little mound of earth. A stone with a small handprint. A bottle of fresh milk. An Egun stick...she taught him that. And a rusted tin for flowers. He took off his cap, the bundle of flowers trembling slightly in his hand.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been crouching before he noticed the wind had stopped blowing. The throaty flute of a windchime sounded and pollen danced around his head, but he could feel no breeze. A chill ran down his spine. The same chill he felt during long nights in Chicago, when the danger felt close and the longing got rough. Nights he swore he could hear her calling his name in narrow alleyways and the back of speakeasies. 

His voice was thick, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. 

“How you be?” 

Annie shifted her weight, leaning against the doorframe. 

“No misery’s worth complaining about.” She spoke with a rawness that brought him to his feet.

When he finally turned to look at her, his breath left him. She looked regal, leather belt cinching her waist, blue skirts moving like tide. She stood perfectly still inside the doorway, looking like a force to be reckoned with. Like a current.

Grief, longing, love and ache all channeled into something that looked more like peace on her. Acceptance. Purpose.

This wasn’t the woman he left seven years ago, the one who left teardrops on the leather of his mojo bag. Certainly not the woman he met 13 years prior— a shy young woman of 18 whose words were spoken quietly but carried weight.

This woman was different. Born of water and baptized in fire. She stood in front of him, a formidable woman. A pillar, a beacon. Unbridled, unapologetic.

Reborn.

The air was thick, sweltering with a lust-filled heat that rivaled the Mississippi’s. Wet smacks and low grunts echoed off the wall, jars and vials clinked as they fell making room for the slick joining of two bodies drunk with need. 

Smoke wasn’t gentle. He spun her around and shoved her dress up, putting her exactly where he wanted her. There was no formality, no softness— just a raw need to be close. He pushed in with one long thrust that filled her completely. The stretch was overwhelming— he was thick and long, and it made her face twist up in ecstasy. Her hands reached out, her fingernails digging into the warped wood. 

“Nuh-uh, where you goin?” 

Smoke pulled out, angling her hips, spreading her wider. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back onto his dick. This angle hit deeper, making Annie see stars. She squealed in pleasure.

“Ah! Elijah!” 

He set a punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin spurring him on. He licked up her neck, then buried his face in it, growling in her ear. 

“Who pussy is this?”

“Yours!” 

“Say it,” he gritted, feeling her clamp down on him.

“Ah—this p-pussy belongs to you papa!” 

“Mhmm.” Smoke slowed down his strokes, letting every thick vein glide against her sensitive walls. 

“I’ma fill you up,” he said breathlessly. “Leave you leakin’. Want you walkin’ around that juke full of my nut.” He pulled her hair back, making her arch into him. “You want that baby? Want me to make a mess in you?”

“Yes papa,” she moaned. “I want it drippin’ down my thighs.” 

“Ask nicely,” he grunted, tilting his head. She was squeezing him again, her pussy working hard to milk that nut out.

“Please papa,” she whined. “Please make a mess in me.”

Smoke groaned. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

He sped up his strokes again and Annie started screaming. “Come on baby,” he barked. “Fuck me back. Show me how much you missed papa’s dick.” 

And like the good girl that Annie was, she followed her papa’s orders.

A Few Hours Later… Smoke and Annie pulled up to the mill just as the sun began to set, the sky the color of a bruise. He cut the engine, going over the events of the night. Annie tried to listen, as he went on about roulettes and Irish beer, but her thoughts kept drifting like something reached into her brain and yanked.

“Smoke, what time is it?” 

Smoke looked down at his watch. “4:32,” he grumbled.

She grabbed her haint beads.

Smoke raised a brow from the driver’s seat. “You good mama?”

Annie hesitated. “Sun rose at six this mornin’. Ain’t due to set for another hour.”

Smoke rubbed her shoulder as Stack approached the truck. “What you thinkin’?”

Annie looked at Smoke dead in his eyes, “This place give me the willies.” 

“Hey sis-in-law, long time no see,” Stack said as he opened the passenger door. He removed his hat and helped her out. 

“Hey Stack,” she said, bringing him into a hug. 

“Thanks for comin’ tonight.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Annie said, still tugging her elekes. Just as she slipped into the building she looked up— three vultures sat perched on the roof. 

Music was flowing, plates were selling, bottles of beer and mason jars of wine and whiskey clinked in the air. Annie stood behind the bar, looking at what her husband and his twin put together for their community with a sense of pride. Still, she couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of doom. 

It wasn’t too often people her color were allowed prolonged happiness. There would always be some white person who came along and disturbed their peace just because they could. That’s what they did— they lived to reduce them to nothing but hard laborers and strip any sense of joy they tried to cultivate. That was their formula— break ‘em before they think they deserve more.

But this…this was something different. 

It felt older— older than Jim Crow and much more sinister.

As soon as Sammie struck his first chord, she felt it.

The veil wasn’t just thinning, it had split wide open.

🎵See I’m full of the Blues, Holy water too… I know the truth hurts, so I lied to you…🎵

“Ain't no way of bringing nobody back once they gone, that don’t involve evil. Best thang we can do for ‘em is free they spirit from the curse.” — Annie Moore

Club Juke turned into a mix of blood, fangs and fire.

Stack emerged from the shadows and lunged, pinning Annie to the ground. 

“No!” Smoke darted towards her, but was intercepted by Remmick. 

“Elias, not Annie!” 

This is it, she thought. She knew when she threw her bones it would come to this, it just hurt to think it’d come at the hands of Stack. That the man in charge of her demise would wear the same face as her husband.

She thought about what she could have done. Then she thought about what happened the last time she didn’t let things play out the way they were supposed to. She thought about Smoke, about what she made him promise. He was screaming her name, pleading with Stack while she sobbed quietly. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to witness the pain on his face. 

“Not you,” Annie whispered between tears. 

Stack pulled her jaw towards him. His eyes shined bright, a chilling pale blue. His mouth twisted into a smirk, drool dripping slowly from his fangs. He smirked wider when she squirmed, taunting her. He was enjoying this, seeing her uncomfortable, hearing his twin plead for her life. He took his time, watching her try to wiggle out of his grip with amusement. Annie braced herself as Stack lowered his head. 

The screams faded. The shooting, snarling, crackle of fire, all dulled like the world was holding its breath. Annie squeezed her eyes shut, praying quietly as she felt fangs tease her neck. 

“Asé.” 

Click-click. BOOM! 

Smoke was freed from Remmick’s grip.

Click-click. BOOM!

“Annie!”

Annie’s eyes flew open to find Pearline standing above her reloading her shotgun, the barrel still smoking. 

“Annie! Get up!” 

Smoke all but dragged her up off the floor, putting a stake in her hand. A not-so-subtle reminder that the fight wasn’t over. Not until they got Sammie someplace safe. “Come on baby, ain’t done yet.”

October 16, 1932 The air felt thick, like the morning after a storm. It smelled of iron, ash, and the morbidly-sweet rot of a juke joint stripped of its soul and forced to its grave. Death moved through the floorboards like a presence, lingering in corners and clinging to walls like shadows that bent wrong. The sun was still on its ascent, the pale light of morning peaking through the rafters, smoking the vampire bodies in its path. 

The shooting stopped five minutes ago, but Annie couldn’t tell. Time here felt like it was holding its breath— like she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t name, but recognized its shape. Like someone split the veil open and something older stepped out. 

Annie sat on top of the bar, trying to quiet the sounds of pain, horror and surrender that echoed in her head. She was slouched, breath stuck in her throat, limbs trembling under the weight of grief and guilt. Her face was covered— a layer of dust, blood and sweat like a second skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, raw and filled with tears that cleared a path where they fell like a map no one asked for. Her dress was in tatters, shoes long gone— lost somewhere in the fight. 

Delta Slim’s body was in literal pieces on the stage. Mangled and completely drained of blood, it was a chilling testament to the terror that tore through the night. His harmonica lay amidst a chaotic pile of splintered wood, shards of glass, and blood splatter like a shiny, silver headstone.

Her shoulders shook, tears spilling down her cheeks. The place that was supposed to be somewhere for their community to enjoy themselves became a vehicle of violence and destruction. Of course the klan were involved. Smoke took them out by himself. Picked them off one by one, just like he promised. The mill door creaked open and he stumbled in clutching his side. 

“Baby,” Annie gasped, “you hurt?!” 

Smoke shook his head. “Just a graze. But we gotta go. I got the truck ready.” 

He scooped Annie in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers. His white undershirt was stained red, his pants caked with dirt and gunpowder. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, his hands trembling where he touched her. He had Stack’s dogtags wrapped around his wrist.

“Thought I was gon’ lose you for good,” he murmured. “Ain’t livin’ without you again.”

Annie cradled his face, her tears still flowing. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not without you.”

“Then let’s go home, Mrs. Moore.”

They burned the mill and every trace of what transpired there to the ground until the land was as dark as the blood and ash that soaked it. Black fumes billowed in the air for miles, the smell so vile it burned their eyes. They drove until they couldn’t smell it anymore. Then they kept driving until they saw Spanish moss and swampland. Louisiana.

Her parent’s cottage was still there. Long unoccupied, but still standing. It had a wide porch, a large backyard, and her grandmother’s wind chimes still hanging by the front door. It felt like peace, like this was home now.

Annie swept the floorboards with rosemary and performed her protection spells while Smoke beat the rugs out back and hid their stash under the floorboards. 

They bathed together, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. They held each other a little tighter that night, the kerosene lamp throwing gold shadows against their skin. He laid behind her and slid in slowly. The thick stretch of him, the power in his strokes made her shudder with pleasure. He was still buried deep when they drifted off, tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with their love. And when the light of dawn made their eyelids flutter awake, he took her again.

Three Months Later January 31, 1933 

Life was joyfully slow. Annie fed the chickens and tended her shop. Smoke found honest work on the railroad. Every morning they watched the sunrise together. Every night they’d hold each other close, listening to the bullfrogs and crickets compete for sound. He’d fuck her filthy every chance he got. Talk her through it, leave her leaking. She stayed so full of him, he filled her with babies, too. 

The kitchen smelled like garlic and saltpork. Annie stood at the stove, apron tied loosely over a faded green house dress that fit a little more snug now that she was showing. She smiled down at her growing belly, rubbing it with one hand and stirring a pot of butter beans with the other. Her hips swayed slowly to the song she hummed under her breath. Smoke sat at the kitchen table, watching her with a tender heat. He crossed the room in two strides, pressing himself against her back.

“I’m hungry,” he said roughly.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Supper’s almost ready, baby.”

“Nah,” he muttered. “My food right here. Been marinatin’ all day.”

He dropped to his knees and pulled up her dress. No panties. 

“Mhmm.” He smacked each ass cheek. “Arch that back, baby.”

Annie whimpered. She arched her back.

He licked his lips and dove in tongue first.

October 15, 1933  Smoke sat in the living room, rocking their daughter. She babbled and cooed gently as he held her on his chest, just above his heart. 

Annie kneeled at her altar with a heavy heart, eyes wide with unshed tears. She laid a spread out in front of her like something sacred.

A pearl for Pearline. A flask for Slim. An old button from a pair of overalls for Cornbread. Bo’s keychain. And a paintbrush for Grace.

She thought about Cornbread. How Therese had to raise their child alone. Thought about lil’ Lisa, how her parents never came home. She thought about Pearline, a woman just trying to find some escape and got caught in the crosshairs. 

Then she thought about Slim. Thought about how he laid down his life for Sammie. Welcomed death with open arms.

“He’ll be visitin’ Sammie,” she whispered. “Watchin’ him play.”  Then she thought about everyone else at the juke. Her community who came there looking for freedom and fun, and ended up getting burnt by the sun. Those people left behind children, siblings, parents, friends, lovers, lives, legacies. She still remembered standing there next to Smoke, watching the mill burn to ash and feeling the souls stuck on that land, rotting, cursed.

“I think about y’all all the time,” she said to the empty room. “I wanna help y’all crossover proper…just don’t know how.”

A tear fell onto her bottom lip. She licked it, tasting the salt of her pain.  

“I need you grandma, great-grandma,” she pleaded softly. “Please.” 

She bowed her head and cried. “So many people lost that night,” she sniffled. “Just gone. It ain’t right.” 

A windchime sounded outside, but Annie didn’t hear it. The room got colder, the candles flickered once then held steady.

That’s heavy work, baby girl. 

Her head snapped up. “Grandma?”

Abeni. 

That was a different voice.

Annie paused. “Who are you?”

The stolen one.

A third voice. Annie thought for a moment, the constant tears shedding clouding her eyes and her mind. 

“Great-grandma?”

It was silent for a beat. Then—

The flood. The voice said.

Annie gasped. “The one on the other side.”

Your spirit looks sad.

“I could have done something,” she whispered.

Wouldn’t have stopped it no way. That kind of creature, they love to feed on a woman with your gift. Makes ‘em more powerful.

“How do I start? What can I do?”

A body is a good start.

“So they have to be alive?”

That kind, they may walk this earth, but they ain’t alive.

“But I can set their spirits free?”

You can guide it around what’s feedin’ on it. But it ain’t easy. Gon’ take a lot from you, just like it took from me. Their soul has to want it. And some souls, they like bein’ fed on— no matter what they say. Their type— they’re tricksters. Don’t confuse a spirit that wants to be set free with a rotted flesh that wants to lure you in.

Nine Years Later October 25, 1941 

The living room was…loud. A cacophony of toddler babbling, baby cooing and the high pitch of children’s voices. They huddled around the ham radio, turning the knob until they heard the smooth hum of the radio station.

“Hush now! Don’t y’all wanna hear cousin Sammie on the radio?” 

A chorus of yes sir’s rang out. Five to be exact.

“Then be quiet ‘fore ya mama send y’all back to bed,” Smoke barked out. 

Annie appeared from the back room, baby Ezra suckling her breast. “Now why am I in it?” 

Smoke pulled her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I just wanted you out here, baby. Missed you when you was gone.”

Annie giggled, moving Ezra to her shoulder to burp. “I been gone for five minutes, Smoke.”

He nuzzled her ear, then kissed her on the cheek. “Five minutes too long.”

Smoke squeezed Annie’s waist when a familiar bassline came over the radio.

🎵Somethin’ I wanna tell ya, ‘fore a long time… It might hurt ya, might lose ya mind…🎵

They looked at each other with recognition. The painful memories of that night still haunted them— Smoke would wake up gasping, covered in sweat. He’d grab his gun and check the locks twice before crawling back in bed. Sometimes Annie would see burning bodies when she closed her eyes. Bo, Grace, Pearline, Cornbread. Slim’s mangled body. His harmonica that laid on the stage like a grave marker. 

Stack came around sometimes. He’d leave candy for the kids, whiskey for Smoke and flowers for Annie. Him and Mary settled across the river in New Orleans, living in the shadows of narrow alleyways, rotting churches, and abandoned mills. They could be around their own kind down there, a certain kind of freedom if you squinted your eyes and looked real close. 

Sammie wrote to his cousins every two weeks. He made it to Chicago and recorded “I Lied to You” at Columbia Records the following year. Took him a whole week to get it done ‘cause the equipment kept shutting down mid-session. He told Annie that sometimes, when he was alone in the booth, he’d smell a whiff of corn liquor, followed by the faint thrum of a harmonica and a familiar cackle. He wrote a song for his old friend that day, the man who sacrificed himself so he could be free. It’d go on to be the second single on his debut album. Called it “Magic (It’s What We Do).”

December 7, 1985 The room held its breath. 

The oxygen machine hissed. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Their children, all six of them in their 40’s and 50’s now surrounded Annie’s bedside.

Smoke sat in the chair next to her, staring at the woman he loved since 1919. He was bald now, wrinkled, even walked with a cane— but his presence still filled a room and pressed into the corners. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, just so Annie could hear it. “For givin’ me this life.” 

Annie smiled weakly. “You mean havin’ all your bighead babies?”

Elijah Jr, who looked like he could have been Smoke and Stack’s triplet, spoke up. “Now mama, why we gotta be big headed?” 

Smoke chuckled, rubbing her hand gently. “For lovin’ me. For givin’ me another chance,” he said softly. “And havin’ all my big headed babies.”

Annie choked out a laugh that turned into a cough. 

Their eldest daughter Grace stepped forward, helping her mother sit up. “Mama, the doctor said relax. Don’t be workin’ yourself up.” 

Annie swatted her daughter’s arm. “Y’all don’t need to worry about me. Be laughin’ plenty where I’m goin’.”

“Mama don’t talk like that!” she hissed, voice thick with emotion. 

“Look here,” Annie started. “I told y’all this day would come. Everybody got a time. You just pray that your time come when you ready and not because somebody else decided for you.” 

“Mama….”

Annie sat up fully with Smoke’s help. “Now I want y’all to listen to me. I ain’t got long for this earth. And I ain’t scared. I feel a peace I ain’t never felt before. Know where I’m goin’, I get to see your sister again.”

Smoke squeezed her hand. 

“She would have been 62 this year. But she wasn’t meant to be on this earth that long. I had to learn to accept that. Took a while. Hurt real bad. Wasn’t my fault, or yo daddy’s. Not everybody meant to stay long. Some people shorter than others. Don’t mean they life didn’t mean nothin’. Your sister didn’t make it a year and I still remember her laugh like it was yesterday. Still remember what she smell like — milk and lavender.” 

Annie smiled to herself.

“It used to hurt thinkin’ about her. Thought I’d never think on her without it takin’ a piece of me. But now I feel joy.” She paused. “That’s how I want y’all to remember me. Y’all have a piece of me in you, so whenever you get sad, just remember…you a part of me. I’ll always be here in spirit.” 

Annie looked around the room at her family, the children her and Smoke made out of love and wrapped up in it. She looked at her husband, a formidable man even in his old age. Their eyes held a silent conversation.

“I love you.”

Smoke kissed the back of her hand. “I love you too, mama.”

She winked at him, then she laid back with a smile and closed her eyes. The beep of the heart monitor slowly decreased.

Annie took her last breath that night. Smoke sat by her side— an ever steady presence amidst chaos. He didn’t cry. Didn’t even look sad as the room filled with sobs and screams of their children. He just adjusted her blanket like it would make her more comfortable, kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

He wouldn’t make it to her funeral.

Stack came by that same night. He looked at his 87-year-old brother and saw the face of a man who ultimately lived life on his own terms. He saw a man who led a life so fulfilling, he was happy to leave it to spend eternity in the sky. He saw a man who he knew he’d never see again in person, not even in the mirror. 

They stood side-by-side under the old oak in the backyard, watching the warmth of the house lights spill out the windows. 

“How’d she go?” Stack asked.

Smoke dipped his head, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Peacefully,” he said quietly.

Stack nodded. “You next,” he said, not a question. 

“It’s my time,” Smoke said with finality.

Stack turned to face his brother. “You know I ain’t good at goodbyes,” he said with a shaky voice. “That’s why it’s never goodbye, always see you later.” He tried to chuckle, but a sob came out instead. “But it’s fuckin’ me up that I won’t be seein’ you later ‘cuz of this…curse,” he choked out. Stack took a deep breath to calm himself. “Maybe Annie can conjure up somethin’ from the spirit world, have me swallow some herbs ‘n shit so I can see y’all again.” 

Smoke looked at his forever 35-year-old twin with a profound sadness. He saw a restless spirit. He saw a 9-year-old Elias, terrified to walk this world alone. He saw a 23-year-old Stack terrified to go to Little Rock alone. His heart swelled. There were so many emotions he wished he could convey, but they all got stuck— like they were meant to be left unsaid. Or maybe because Stack already knew. “I’ma miss you,” was all he could manage to get out.

They pulled each other into a hug.

“Ain’t no me without you,” he sobbed. “I can’t do this shit without you.” 

“You can and you will. You gon’ do it for me. For my lil’ ones. Make sure they don’t get in no trouble.”

Stack chuckled low. “Thought I don’t know how to watch my own back?”

“You ain’t gotta choice now fool,” he laughed. “Annie gon’ put belt-to-ass, even from the afterlife.”

The SmokeStack twins stood under the stars, reminiscing about their glory days and the nights that still haunted them. New York. France. Chicago. Clarksdale. They talked until dawn threatened the horizon. 9 decades. Two brothers. Two paths. Split for eternity. When Smoke turned to the house, he looked over his shoulder one last time and saw tear stained cheeks that matched his own. 

“I love you, lil’ brother.”

“I love you too, big brother.”

As Stack watched his brother slip back into the house, something came over him. It wasn’t a breeze. More like a feeling. A prickling of his skin, like when the temperature drops suddenly. Then her scent wrapped around him— lavender and vanilla, the smell so strong it made his nose tingle. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Knew you’d come through,” he whispered into the darkness, tears still falling. 

Elijah “Smoke” Moore passed three days later. Peacefully. Just like Annie had. As he took his last few breaths, he smiled weakly at the ceiling. “Told you,” he whispered softly. “I ain’t livin’ without you again.”

“Look Daedae, we only security guards, okay? Ghetto security guards at that. We ain’t Cops, we ain’t America’s Most Wanted, NYPD Blue, none of that shit you watch.”

“We somethin’ like them.” - Friday After Next

—

“—usually calm. Make sure ain’t nobody fighting, stealing, or parking where they not supposed to be. That’s it and that’s all.”

“Why you look at me when you say that??” 

“Because,” Delilah placed a hand on her hip. Pointed one long red fingernail across the counter at the 23 year old that was basically her nephew. “You act like God ain’t gave you no sense most days.” 

“Awe it’s like that auntie?” Stack pulled his toothpick from his mouth, glint in his brown eyes playful, as a grin stretched across his face. One that was too damn big for Delilah’s liking. 

“I’m not playing with you, boy.”  Her eyes jumped from the right to the left. “Either of y’all.” 

Smoke hadn’t been paying them any attention. The older Moore’s mind was elsewhere, focus split between the rent him and his brother were always short on and the french toast with blueberry compote Delilah placed in front of him 10 minutes prior. On another day, there wouldn’t be anything but crumbs left, but it was hard to have an appetite when money wasn’t right. 

At her words, his fork paused, head coming up and eyes squinting in the corners like, ‘what she say fuck me for?’ 

“You heard me,” Delilah raised her brows pointedly. “None of that Smoke and Stack nonsense today. Y’all are Elias and Elijah. Security guards. Secure my plaza, get paid, and go home. That’s all y’all gotta do.”  

That was all Smoke planned to do. It was easy money. Not the most money, but it’d add up all the same eventually.  

“You know we got you auntie,” Stack was seated on the stool next to his twin, plate clean, hand moving in the air like he was waving Delilah off. “We gon’ have this bit- this place locked down. Ain’t nun’ movin’ witout us knowing about it. Ain’t that right, Smoke?” 

Smoke glanced at him, “We gon’ sit in that booth and watch the parking lot, like we getting paid to.” 

Stack waved him off next. “Auntie D —” He placed his hand over his heart. “We ready to die behind this shi– stuff.” 

She couldn’t laugh at Elias, because all that did was encourage him, so Delilah shook her head instead, “You heard what I said Elias. Don’t be playin’ in my plaza, cause I will fire y’all, family or not. It’s bad enough I lost my last security guards.”

“You ain’t ever tell us what happened to them.” Smoke pushed his plate to the side, deciding he was done with breakfast. Then he checked the clock on the wall, like he wanted to make sure they were out of here before people started piling in. 

Delilah paused her wiping down of the already clean counter. And then she continued. It happened so fast, anybody else would have missed the break in motion.  

Smoke wasn’t anybody though. 

“You ain’t ever ask,” Delilah glanced up at him and then back down. “And it don’t matter anyways. Like I said, watch the plaza, make the money, and go home.” 

Smoke’s eyes narrowed, “Nah, what happened to the last —”

“Nigga come on,” Stack was sliding off his stool. “I ain’t get up at 9 in the morning to play 20 questions.” 

“You didn’t get up at all,” Smoke frowned. “I had to drag you outta bed.” 

“That ain’t the point,” Stack was already walking towards the door, only stopped to turn around after he’d reached it. “We got ‘dis auntie. Watch.” He saluted Delilah as if that was supposed to be reassuring and then used his back to push the glass open. “Chop chop nigga,” He clapped at his brother. “World ain’t gon’ save itself.” 

A ding went off as the door closed behind him and Smoke frowned harder. 

This was gon’ be a long ass day. 

“Stop lookin’ like that,” Delilah brought him out of his thoughts, leaning forward over the counter and hitting his arm playfully. “It’s gon’ be fine. If anything it’ll be boring. Just…watch yo’ brother.” 

He was gon’ do that anyways. Had been, since he could hold his head up damn near. 

Smoke wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, and stood up from the counter. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And Elijah…” Delilah hesitated. Knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say, but tried anyways. “You know I don’t mind just giving y’all –” 

“Nah, D —” Smoke’s words were sharp and he fixed his tone immediately, fingers twitching at his sides like he was irritated. With himself. Her. The situation. “Me and Stack ain’t lazy. We don’t mind workin’. And I’m gon’ make sure things run smooth today. You ain’t gotta worry.” 

Delilah didn’t push. Never pushed. She just nodded her head and smiled softly. “I know you will, baby. I ain’t worried at all.” 

Outside, Stack was busy ‘fixing’ his clothes. He’d already untucked the grey uniform shirt from his black pants and had seemingly pulled a sharpie out of his ass to cross out ‘Elias’ on his name tag and write ‘Stack’. 

He’d moved on to undoing the first couple buttons of the shirt when Smoke stepped out of the diner.

“‘Bout time,” Stack started towards his brother. “Come here.” His hands reached for Smoke’s shirt then and the older Moore promptly stepped back, slapping the hell out of Stack’s hands in the process. 

“Nigga, stop touching me.” 

Stack screwed his face up, looking at his brother like Smoke was the one tripping. “I’m tryna help yo’ ass. She got us walking around in these stiff ass uniforms. You frowning like the world coming to an end. We gotta’ come better than that, we top flight security of the world now Smoke.” 

“Only thing we securing is this months rent. Don’t nothing in this plaza require you to have all that energy.” Smoke was already walking past Stack, moving from in front of his aunties diner and across the parking lot. 

Clarkdale’s “plaza” wasn’t anything more than 5 odd businesses with the same location. There were two clothing boutiques, Delilah’s diner, Slim’s music store, and a random ass gift shop that Smoke didn’t expect to stay open long because who was really stopping here for souvenirs? 

As he headed for the security booth that looked more like a phone booth, the sun beat down on his back, that Mississippi heat unrelenting as always.

“‘Dat’s yo’ problem,” Stack followed behind his brother, easy swagger nothing like Smoke’s steady gait. “You ain’t got no vision. You need to be thinking big nigga.” 

“And you jus’ need to think,” Smoke cut his eyes to the right. “We short on rent and you playin’.” 

Stack shrugged, “Cause it’s gon’ work itself out. It always do.”

That was true. Odd jobs, a missed meal here and there, a little scheming on the side — whatever paid the bills, is what they did. 

Hence the ‘stiff ass uniforms’ their late mothers best friend had them wearing. Smoke didn’t feel no particular way about the job — it was just another way to make ends meet. The only thing wearing on him, bothering him, was that his constant grind never quite produced enough. 

“Besides,” Stack continued as they maneuvered around cars. “I already told you what we could be doing to make some real mo—”

“And I told you we wasn’t doing it.” Smoke stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. “Stop bringing it up.” 

Stack didn’t blink at the edge in his brothers tone. “I only brought it up, cause you stomping around, ‘bout to pop that damn vein that’s in the middle of yo’ forehead. I’m coo’ with being top flight.” Stack spread his arms wide. “Shit — this plaza need a nigga like me. Ima fuck around and get a key to the city the way ima have this bitch running.” 

And he was so serious. 

Smoke looked at his twin smirking and felt it — that same vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing again. 

“Stack, we ain’t here to play no fuckin’ cops and robbers. We gon’ stay out the way and make this easy money.” 

It was the only easy money Smoke would allow himself to entertain, because that shit Stack kept talking about? They wasn’t doing that. Was gon’ be better than that. 

Stack shrugged, “If a nigga jump stupid in my aunties plaza, Ima have to show him somethin’ Smoke. I ‘ont care nothing ‘bout it getting out of hand. We run this shit now.” 

Smoke squinted, “You hear yoself? You get a whistle around yo’ neck and go on a power trip.” 

Stack blinked like he was saying ‘so’ and Smoke decided he was done with the conversation. 

“You heard what I said Stack,” He gave his brother a look and then started walking again, “Come on.” 

“Man I swear, niggas be born a few minutes early and think they the boss of errybody —” as Stack talked his shit, he made sure he was moving though, loud voice carrying through the air. 

“– and we ain’t little no more! You ‘ont intimidate me, nigga! I’m top flight of the world, Smoke!”

“This boring. Ain’t nun top flight about this shit.” 

Stack tugged at the collar of his shirt, shifting for what had to be the tenth time in the last ten minutes. 

Next to him, Smoke snorted quietly, never taking his eyes off the legal pad he was currently scribbling on. It had been in the booth, along with a #2 pencil, and was probably intended for note taking. There were no ‘notes’ to take though, so Smoke was working on a budget instead. 

“That’s how it’s gon’ stay.” The older Moore crossed out one number and replaced it with another as he spoke. “What chu’ think gon’ pop off at the gift shop, nigga? Just sit back.” 

The plaza had woken up. Closed signs flipped to open, cars pulling in and out, the hum of conversation gradually getting louder and creeping through the booths window. 

It had Stack restless and they’d only been ‘on duty’ for about an hour. 

In the younger Moore’s defense, it wasn’t in his dna to sit still. To watch the world move around him and not be at the center of it. To stand by, waiting for something to happen. And that’s all this job was — a whole bunch of waiting. In a hot ass, cramped ass booth, that was barely big enough to fit the two metal chairs they were seated in. 

Stack shifted again, “Man, if I knew all I was gon’ be doing was sitting here in silence wit’ yo’ ass —”

“It ain’t sitting in silence if you keep talking.” Smoke crossed out another number, brows furrowing in the middle. 

Stack sucked his teeth, mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah ight,” and then graced Smoke with three blissful beats of silence before — 

Yeahhh, we finna set it off in this mufucka’ ya heard me?

Boosie’s voice came out of nowhere. 

Correction. It came from Stack’s phone. The same phone that currently had Apple Music on display and it’s volume turned all the way up.

You wonna talk shit? You wonna run yo’ mouth? You want some gangsta’s front yo’ motherfuckin’ hou–

Stack was bobbing his head, the whistle around his neck slapping against his chest as his arm bumped Smoke’s every other second. He had three blissful seconds of chaos before —

“Turn that shit off,” Smoke snapped, head turning in his direction. “Got that loud ass music all in my ear.” 

Stack just grinned at first, shoulders jumping with the beat, southern drawl thick as he rapped.

“We’ll set this bitch off, yeah, set this bitch off!” 

And then Smoke sat up. 

And Stack stopped the music.

“Ight nigga, calm down.” Stack laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “You need to lighten up, damn. You don’t want me talk. Don’t wonna vibe out wit’ a nigga. What I’m ‘sposed to do?” 

Smoke…Smoke had to take a deep, deep breath before he spoke again, lids closing and opening slowly, like he was gathering patience. “All you gotta do Stack, is Watch. The. Parking lot.” 

So, Stack watched. Gaze focused on cars backing in and out and people moving from store to store for five whole minutes. 

And then he spotted two specific people, two strangers in one car, that made him sit up straight. That made that bored expression on his face completely transform. 

“Awe shit,” Stack was already half way out his seat. “We got action!” 

“What??” Smoke looked up from his budget in confusion. Was met with nothing but the sight of Stack’s back as his twin damn near speed walked out of the booth. 

If Smoke was the type, he would have thrown his whole damn head back.

Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like it took every ounce of patience he had with it, mumbled “This nigga,” as he threw the legal pad down in front of him, and got up to follow behind his brother.

“Aye, y’all can’t park right here.” 

Annie was already parked. Had just pulled into the spot actually, when a loud voice coming from her left made her and Pearline look over. 

Both girls blinked, Annie’s brow furrowing in the middle while Pearline’s whole head cocked. 

It looked like…a security guard approaching them? One with a whistle around his neck, pants hanging low on his hips and a smirk on his face that screamed unserious. 

“Excuse me?” Annie’s doors were off of her jeep today, so her voice and that incredulous tone reached Stack’s ears clearly. 

“Y’all can’t park here,” He repeated himself as he stepped up to the side of the jeep. 

“And who are you supposed to be exactly?”Pearline jumped in and Stack’s eyes darted over to her. Smirk on his face growing before his head jerked back, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Now I know you see ‘dis,” He patted his chest, right over the crest in his shirt that was shaped like a badge. “I’m security, baby.” 

Annie rolled her eyes. Could already tell he wasn’t securing a damn thing. 

“Stack —” Another voice joined the conversation then. It was deep. Low. Sounded irritated. And it caught Annie’s attention immediately. 

Her eyes left the fake ass rent-a-cop, to look over his shoulder instead. There was another ‘security guard’ approaching them and his uniform was fitted to his body. Shirt tucked in, buttons done up, pants sitting correctly on his frame. 

He had brown skin, stiff shoulders, and thick brows that were pulled together in the middle. For a second, Annie felt like she wanted to take her thumb and smooth them out. 

“Awe now you wonna patrol wit’ me??” Security guard one had glanced over his shoulder when he heard the voice. “Nigga I got this covered, I already let ‘em know they can’t park here.” 

“What chu’ talking about?” Security guard 2 reached them, still looking disgruntled, and not even sparing Annie and Pearline a glance. “This spot ain’t reserved. Nigga come on.” His eyes flicked to the jeep then, gaze jumping from Annie to Pearline and back again. “I’m sorry ‘bout him. Y’all can park here.” 

His voice was completely flat. He truthfully didn’t sound apologetic at all. 

And for whatever reason,  Annie was intrigued. 

Both girls spoke at once. 

“Y’all brothers? Twins?” That was Pearline, leaning up in her seat, eyes jumping from one Moore to the next. 

“How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?” That was Annie. Lips quirked playfully, eyes focused on one Moore and one Moore alone. 

Both brothers blinked, before Stack grinned wider, while that scowl on Smoke’s face?  Deepened. While his eyes really focused in on Annie for the first time. 

“Nah, baby,” Stack winked at Pearline. Watched her damn near melt into the seat. “We cousins.” 

Smoke wasn’t saying shit. He was just looking. At dark skin and big curls and full lips. Looking at a solid build, that was sitting up high in that jeep. At big eyes that felt like they could see through him.

He felt…off. Like he needed to fidget all of a sudden. And Elijah didn’t fidget.

“I’m Stack,” The younger Moore was still talking, because one glance at his brother had told him Smoke wasn’t gon’ be no help. “And this Smoke.” Stack moved a step closer to the car. “We keep eerbody safe around here and as fine as y’all is, I know y’all gon’ cause a commotion when y’all get out this jeep. I can’t allow no disruption like that beautiful’s. It’s dangerous. That’s why y’all gotta go.” 

Pearline’s ass started giggling. 

Smoke didn’t give Annie anything to laugh at though. He still hadn’t even responded to her question actually.

The smile on her lips died a little, one brow raising when she asked, “I got something on my face?” 

Smoke frowned deeper and for a reason he couldn’t explain, that irritation Stack had been causing all morning grew. His fingers twitched at his sides, arms came up as he crossed them. Like he needed to ground himself or something. 

“Nah.” 

Annie’s brow rose higher at the word. At the one dry word and the sharp glare being aimed her way. 

Okay then. 

She’d been intrigued, for like a minute, but she wasn’t in the habit of forcing conversation — nor did she appreciate him mugging her, like he was offended she’d even spoken to him at all.

Her lips pursed as she broke their stare, gaze drifting back to security guard number one. 

Can’t get ‘em all girl. Shake it off. Finer niggas exist. 

Stack was talking as Annie tuned back into the world around her.

“How ‘bout ‘dis,” Stack pulled his phone out. “We let y’all park here, but y’all give us y’all numbers, so if sumn happen, you can reach us.” 

He was saying y’all, but really was just looking at Pearline. 

“Promise we’ll come runnin’ to y’all rescue.” 

Annie didn’t know if Pearline would hand her number over or not. Half of the time, her friend flirted just to flirt — not because she was actually interested in getting to know anybody. 

What Annie did know was that she wouldn’t be handing over a damn thing. Not that Smoke wanted a number from her anyways. 

When Annie’s lips pursed harder, it wasn’t due to the sting of rejection. It was because even though she’d looked away, his glare was still boring into the side of her head. She could feel it and it was starting to get on her nerves because the fuck was his problem? 

As if he heard her thoughts, his voice suddenly rang out.

“You don’t gotta give him nothin’.” 

All eyes went to Smoke. Stack frowning and opening his mouth, getting ready to rebuttal. Pearline blinking, like she’d just remembered there was another twin standing there. Annie’s head turning, stare locking with his for a long millisecond before he looked away and directed his gaze to Pearline. 

Annie found it funny how that glare suddenly lessened. How his mouth opened and magically created more than one word now that he wasn’t looking at her. 

Clearly I did something to him in the past life. Fuck it. Not my problem. 

That’s what Annie told herself as irritation thrummed in her chest. 

Meanwhile, Smoke was reaching for his brother as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the girl in the passenger seat. 

Forcing his eyes to stay on the girl in the passenger seat. Because the one in the drivers seat? He ain’t like her. 

Ain’t like how she talked to him all casual and soft when he walked up. How she pressed him, when he didn’t respond. ‘Cause strangers didn’t do that with Smoke; joke, press, hell — make conversation at all really. Most people gave him a wide berth and reserved the talking for Stack.

He ain’t like how she looked at him either; like she was curious. Like she already knew some shit about him he’d never revealed.

And he definitely ain’t like when she looked away from him — like she was writing him off. How most people did. 

Smoke decided right then and there, that he ain’t like nothing ‘bout her. She, whoeva’ she was, made him feel too fuckin’ big for his skin and he was ready to get back to the booth. 

Where he would have been in the first place, if not for Stack. 

When Smoke continued speaking it was abrupt and short. Voice still flat as he looked at Pearline.

“He sorry ‘bout holdin’ you up. Enjoy ‘da plaza.” 

And then he turned. Hand wrapped firmly around Stack’s shoulder to pull his brother with him and gaze pointedly not looking back at that baby blue jeep in the process. 

Even if some part of him, deep deep down, felt like he wanted to. 

“Damn Smoke, let me go! She like me! Aye — I’m tryna do my job and secure some shit and you fuckin’ it up! Ima write yo’ ass up for insubordination!” 

Stack’s voice travelled across the parking lot as Annie and Pearline watched the brothers retreat.

The older Moore had Stack gripped up tight, long gait bringing both of them towards a small booth Annie had never paid much attention to.

He wasn’t rushing away, but he didn’t slow down. Nor did he bother responding to Stack.

Annie’s lips twisted, the annoyance she’d felt in her chest earlier, curling up and settling in as she watched them. 

He hadn’t looked over his shoulder once. Hadn’t spared her them a glance after he cut into the conversation and then retreated. 

He was…rude. Annie didn’t like that. Didn’t like him.

Didn’t like how he’d managed to capture her attention without trying. 

Didn’t like that he didn’t do anything with it when he had it. That he hadn’t bothered to throw more than one word in her direction, like he was to good to talk to her or something. Too good to be polite.

And she definitely didn’t like how he looked at her. Face frowned up. Eyes unreadable, like she’d committed some offense against him, when in reality she’d just barely learned his name.

Yeah. She ain’t like nothing about him actually. 

“They were coo’.” 

Pearline’s words had Annie pulling her eyes away from the security guards to look over at her best friend incredulously. 

“Uh no. They weren’t.” 

Pearline had pulled the visor down to touch up her gloss. Was currently popping her lips together as her gaze darted towards Annie and then back to the small mirror. “Well my twin was. He was cute too — in a goofy fuckboy kinda way.” 

She said it like that made sense, popping her lips once more before shutting the visor and giving Annie her full attention. “Yours a little rude though. How he gon’ pull my man away before he could get my number?” 

“Pearline —” Annie said it like ‘please stop playing’ “—you were not about to give that boy yo’ number.” 

“And was.” Pearline crossed her arms, charms from the bracelet wrapped around her wrist jingling in time with the movement. “Security guards need love too, Annie. Besides — he look like he can eat the fuck outta some pus-”

“Alright.” Annie stopped her before she got started. “Give that man yo’ number if you want to.”

“And you need to give his brother yours. Then we can double date.” Her friends eyes lit up before Annie snuffed that light right on out. 

“It ain’t gon’ ever happen.” She shook her head. Nose wrinkling. Eyes almost drifting back across the lot before she caught herself. “Like you said, he’s rude. Can’t speak, but was lookin’ at me like he wanted to fight or something —”

“Or like he wanted to fuck.” 

“That literally wouldn’t be any better Pearline,” Annie’s voice was dry. Skin a little hot. “You do whateva’ you want with the rent-a-cop, but don’t include me.” 

“Mmhm,” Pearline watched as Annie gathered her purse, like she was ready to get out of the car and end this conversation. “You ain’t gotta front. I saw you looking at him, friend.” 

“Lapse in judgment,” Annie’s response was quick. A little too quick, maybe. “I don’t like nothing that’s mean and you already know that.”

It was true. She didn’t do rude. Nonchalant. Or disrespectful. And she’d decided Smoke was all of that. 

“Now let’s go, before ain’t nothing good left in here.” 

Just like that, Pearline switched gears, remembering the reason they’d come out in the first place. The summer sale at D Lady’s Boutique. The name could use some work but the clothes? All sizes, all styles, and the prices hit every time. 

“Awe shit, you right.” Pearline damn near jumped down from the jeep. “Let’s go, because I need them shoes I saw on their site, and I will sling a hoe for ‘em.” 

Annie was only too glad that they were finally directing their attention away from any and everything security related. 

“So, what if that was my future wife? How you gon’ sleep at night, knowing you fucked that up?” 

“She wasn’t yo’ future nothin’ Stack.”

Smoke was back in the booth, arms crossed, lips pinched, stare directed straight out at the parking lot. 

He was doing his job. Watching. And if a lot of that watching was directed towards D Lady’s boutique, so the fuck what? 

“You ‘ont know that, though,” Stack insisted, leaning in like he was really proving a point. 

“I do know that.” Smoke cut his eyes sharply to the side. “Didn’t you meet yo’ future wife already last week? Wasn’t one of yo’ future wives tryna’ key our car yesterday?” 

Stack frowned, “You always wonna bring up old shit.” 

Smoke didn’t respond. Just directed his gaze back across the parking lot. 

He’d seen her hop out the jeep and go into the shop 15 minutes ago. And if you asked Smoke, it was stupid — the way she left her car open and unattended like that. If the Jeep came with doors, fuck was the point of taking them off? 

He added it to the list of shit he didn’t like about her — the one he’d been silently compiling in his head. 

“You know what I think?” 

“Don’t care.” 

“I think you jus’ hatin’ nigga,” Stack continued anyways. “My smooth ass was ‘bout to get ‘dat number, while you was fumblin’.” 

“Fumblin’?” Smoke’s whole head turned. “I ain’t fumble shit. Ain’t want shit either.” 

“Righttttt.” 

Smoke blinked at his brother. And then turned forward again. 

“You ain’t gotta lie, Smoke.” Stack was grinning now. “I think she was fuckin’ wit’ you, actually.” 

Smoke grunted, eyes narrowing just barely in the corners. 

He didn’t care who was or wasn’t ‘fuckin’ wit’ him’. Wasn’t concerned with most of the trivial shit other 23 year olds were. Since he’d been a teen, the older Moore had only three priorities: staying alive, keeping his brother alive, and making enough money so him and Stack didn’t end up somewhere out on their asses. 

His twin hustled with him, always. Understood the grind to a certain extent, but Stack wasn’t the oldest. Ain’t feel the weight of responsibility like Smoke did. Ain’t understand how nothing could derail Elijah from his mission. 

He was focused. 

How you work with the public, when you can’t manage to even sound sorry?

Smoke’s jaw clenched. Not hard. Just enough. 

I got something on my face?

He shifted his weight. Blamed the movement on the hard ass chair he was sitting in. 

“So you ‘ont like her? The thick one?” 

The older Moore’s face didn’t change. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the irritation crawling under his skin at Stack’s words. 

“I don’t know her. Don’t wonna know her. Seem like she got a attitude problem anyways.” Smoke felt like he was talking too much, so he shut up. 

“Man that girl ain’t have no attitude,” Stack smacked his lips. “She was tryna flirt wit’ yo’ uptight ass. But whateva’, stay sleep if you want to, ima get her friend regardless. That’s wifey nigga, I’m telling you.”

Smoke just shook his head, stare still on that jeep, mind flashing back to when she’d looked away from him. Like she was dismissing him. Like she couldn’t be bothered. 

She probably stuck up as fuck. 

Smoke added it to his list of dislikes, right along with her eyes, her mouth, her clear lack of awareness when it came to safety, and the way she’d made him feel. 

Slow. Awkward.

His jaw clenched again. 

“On a serious note though,” Smoke looked over as Stack started speaking. Was almost grateful for the distraction, until Stack kept speaking. “Listen to ‘dis and tell me if this shit hot or not. I been working on it for like…the past three minutes.” 

The younger Moore sat up in his seat, shoulder hitting Smoke’s in the process. And then he started banging on the ‘desk’ in front of them, whistle slapping against his chest, head nodding along with the beat he was creating as his mouth opened. 

“Me and my brotha’ bitch,

 We top flight for sho’ —” 

It was loud. The sigh Smoke let out through his nose. 

“— but he gotta get some game

 Cause he, scarin’ the hoesss, ” 

Smoke’s eyes closed, the same vein from earlier throbbing on que. 

Stack just grinned at his brother’s reaction,  nodding his head harder and rapping louder to his beat. 

“I just met my future wife and we gon’ be couple goalsss,

Smoke can’t relate, cause my brotha’ a lil slowwww…”

*picture the scene fading to black* 

A/n ~ If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyeddd! I think this is the first thing I’ve written where I actually really like my execution of Smoke lmao so yay for me ☺️ Anywaysss, Happy Thursdayyyyy 🫶🏾 my results on the poll will determine what I drop next 👀

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@saradika-graphics on dividers 🫶🏾

Visionaries: @lizbehave @thebumblebeesworld @shereeluvssinners @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @bananajoeclone @aellesa @atpeaceinthestars @underated345-blog @hotebonynearby @hdfen2474 @chromexbarbie @honeytoffee @mmbee675 @waitingtobreatheagain @mikaelsonharem7 @cocochannelmoi

Smoke Visionaries: @brownskincheyenne @meannaim @blue4everrsworld @thedutifulone @partylikemajima @ladychzzcake @shamansha @og-goddesstrill @naibaby