#like damn boy YOU REALLY GLOWIN

[storiesbythelake]

WHO SNITCHED ? - MICRO STORY

I knew I should've skipped the strip club and went home. Tell J.Q. I'll Holla at home later, roll up a backwood with some gas, hopefully the weed it'll be strong. forget what happened to Angella & wake up next morning, fresh. (I COULD'VE AVOIDED ALL THIS). Instead I'm in interrogation room B, waiting on Detective Ramone. I hope I'm not in here over Angella? These motherfuckas don't care about street hoes dying. But I was with her when she died. I just wanted an old fashion polish job from her. She really knows how to suck some dick. Niggas man, niggas had to shoot her. Probably trying to kill me. Now my hands are covered in blood. Metaphorically, cause I'm the reason she's been killed.  She could've still be alive, topping off some other motherfucka. Damn, it can't be that..I hope it's not that fortunately, the car isn't in my name but it was in my grandma's name. Shit! Fuck! I need to call waters to..wait..we just had a crazy ass fight. That nigga probably snitched on me. Mad at me cause Brownie dumb-ass keep fuckin’ up the pack. Trynna say that's my employee. I don't remember hiring his bitch-ass. Nigga always complaining about he needs protection on the block but won't carry not one gun. Waters puts his man's with him but these pussies gets robbed by Raysean. Fuck Raysean, I should've killed that nigga when I had the chance. But he had kids with him. I want his death to be fair & square by my hands. No disadvantages for either of us. Let that shit go down like those white boys in those cowboy movies. Ask a motherfucka is he feelin’ lucky..haha. All jokes aside, I gotta get out of this room. Plus, if they got me. I know Waters in the other room. That's the only motherfucka seen me with Angella, last. Well, I guess it's time for some questions. Detective Ramone just walked in. Navy blue suit with an open white collared button up. Badge glowin’ from his hip. No ties for him I see. I took my eyes off him just to appoint them at the seat across from which he's reaching for now.

     “I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long.” Detective Ramones said as he pulling up to the table. “It's been a long night.”

    “Take your time, I'm in no rush.” I replied. I noticed the paperwork from the Detective was still in the folder that was brought in with him. Knowing this situation, Ramone was probably playing the bait game and he set the folder to his left. And began his speech. 

    “As I said before, I'm Detective Spike Ramone. And you're brought in here just for a routine questioning from an anonymous tip we've received regarding a possible carjacking & murder.”

    “Which one is the possible?”

    “The carjacking mostly..the murder we're pretty set on the fact an 43 year old woman was shot in the head multiple times in the same vehicle. And we also noticed that the same car was registered to a Mable Welsh, who's your grandmother, correct?”

     Fuck! I knew her car was gonna be brought up, but I can't think long on that. I gotta respond. Can't fail at this baiting game.

     “My grandma's car was stolen!?” I said acting with rage and some excitement as well. I'm putting on my best Denzel Washington here.

     “As I said, possibly yes.” Detective Ramone replied.

     “You think ang..a 40 plus year old stole it?”

     “Possibly, yes I just wanted to know what you heard from your grandmother about this?”

     Now, no need to panic. All I have to do is sag a possible believable reason why I may or may not have heard anything. Grandma is tired of my shit but she wouldn't snitch on me. She hides most of my drugs & guns for me. Well mostly I believe she wouldn't. Alright, lemme say something.

     “No I haven't heard anything, my phone been dead the last two hours.” (MY PHONE BEING DEAD WAS TRUE). I'm hoping my grandma didn't speak the opposite. I gotta keep calm. Casual eye contact, no repetition in my speech. Unless the same question being asked twice. Detective Ramone looked at me with curiosity but certainly I was telling the truth. I think. After 10 seconds, he finally said “Hmm..okay. So where were you between the times of  9:45pm to 10:15pm?”

     I was gettin’ head from Angella right after me and Waters had our fight. So I responded by saying.

     “I can't say where I was exactly at those times. Last before I checked the time it was 10 minutes before nine.” I said speaking with all confidence of this fake knowledge. To be honest, if imma go down tonight. Imma die with the lie.

     “Well..” Detective Ramone speaking broke my confidence a bit. “Your grandmother, your grandma said that you were suppose to be in possession of the vehicle. We followed up to see their was a stolen car report from either of you two and couldn't find a thing, so you sure you don't have any info about your grandma's car?”

     Oh yeah, he's reaching. My grandma – shit grandma, I hope you didn't say that. I should’ve been with your car. I didn't expect this..gotta think fast.

     “No.”

     “No. What?”

     “No, I don't have any info about that.”

     “So explain how your grandmother’s car ended up exactly where that 40 plus woman turn tricks at, ends up dead?”

      Shit, he got me there. But I still got some shit up my sleeve. I'll reply with simply this.

     “You're guess is good as mines.” very good timing. “Maybe it was stolen before anyone notice it. Even if my grandma noticed, her old ass must've been thinkin’ I probably took it (WHICH IS RIGHT). Unfortunately, the woman who took it, died in the process.”

     “Yes, maybe but I never said she stole it.”

     This nigga gotta know somethin’ I don't. I tried spinning this off me for the last ten minutes. I don't care about tricking. We're all tricking either if you paying directly or indirectly. We're all tricking. Men & women. But this Detective nigga probably thinks or knows I was there. Maybe he doesn't or maybe he does.

      “Mowry, right? That's your name?” Detective Ramone speaking through my thoughts. I didn't kill Angella nor I know who shot at us. Round 2 of her mouthy water works and bam. At least 12 rounds were fired. Her head didn't even make it to my lap. Neither of those bullets, thank God. I'm too deep into this though let me tell this Detective Ramone nigga something.  Right, he asked me my name. 

      “Yeah, that's me. Is there a reason you ask?” 

      “Uh yeah, your friend Darneil asked if you were arrested & wanted to find out if he had to bail you out. I told him just as I'm telling you, you're not under arrest. Your name is just on a list of witnesses and leads to cross out.”

      Fuck that motherfucka, Darneil. He has to be the one that shot at me & Angella. Pussy ass nigga man..or he spotted me being walked into the police station. If he did shoot at me, he knows what grandma's car look like, but that also goes for Raysean too. He's a suspect to me. Wow, I gotta get the fuck outta here. I'm talking like the cops. Can't rush this or make a fast exit, imma have to play this through.

      “Well, I'm glad to help in any way I can, detective.” I said knowing tonight won't end easily. 

      “Appreciate you taking the time to clear some things up for us.” Said Detective Ramone. “I wanted to ask you one last thing..do you know someone by the name Justin Ross?”

      “Justin Ross?”

      “Yes, also known as Waters?”

Well ain't this some shit. I knew this nigga Waters for 7 years and just now finding out his real name!?

      “No never heard of him.”

      “Your grandmother seems as if you two are best friends.”

       What the fuck grandma!? Damn! I'm really praying you didn't low key snitched on me. "She said ya’ll two are usually always  together.  But you're telling me that you don't know this individual.? Then why you're grandmother of all people who said that ya’ll two are friends?”

        To be honest, I deserve an Oscar if I pull this shit off. The next great hood story based on true events. But to respond to his question I just simply shrugged and said “My grandma is gettin’ up there, detective. She barely remembers my name,  not to mention my friends but I have a lot of friends.”

       “Hmm..” Detective Ramone just looked more stuck than confused while delivering that gesture. I know he did his homework, I can tell he was staring away at me taking mental notes. “Well with the information that's provided,  I'm thinking otherwise.”

       Detective Ramone said this with an “I'm not convinced” kinda look. I know he's thinking I'm lyin’ or I just lied about Waters. Even if he knows I'm lyin’ about Angella, grandma's car or my whereabouts, for me the main thing would be how does he know? Who snitched? What evidence does he has on me? I can end this shit right now, but I know that'll bring me back in here. Either arrested or about to be arrested. Think Mowry, what this niggas possibly knows. Possibly the detective believes my grandma and made up his mind on the fact of me & Waters are friends. And also I could've been with Angella or the one that killed Angella. Thinking she stole my grandma's car. But why would a trick go from suckin’ dick to GTA. I know for both of us, it doesn't make sense. Especially since she turn tricks on the other side of town. Man, fuck this battle of the witts shit. I gotta get outta here, so I can only play this card.

      “I'm sorry, detective that I'm not much of help. Is there anything else you want to ask? I need to go check on my grandmother.” Hopefully what I just said won't bring up anything else. Five seconds after Detective Ramone lean from the back of his chair forward, sat up straight while holding eye contact with me. Why? I truly don't know. Stood up, pushing his chair farther behind him. He simply replied all with body language. The interrogation is over. I jumped out of my seat. Detective Ramone proceeds with motioning me to the door with his hand.

        “Here's my card, Mowry. In case if anything new pops up in your memory. Something that’ll benefit both of us with this case. Stay in town, I might need your help again.”

         “I gotchu,  detective.” I replied. 

The lights from the halls were brightening, that interrogation room was dark as fuck. A fuckin’ blackout in the middle of night in the summer. Through the threshold,  taking a few steps towards the exit and I seen something that I thought I would never see. The bitch ass niggas that would snitch on me. I should've been got rid of these bastards.  These niggas might have to die right here, in this police station. Right here in this fuckin’ hallway. Wait, fuck that. Which one snitched on me? Why both of these niggas here? One of these niggas is a rat. I should have known. I wonder outta these two who's the snitch? Raysean or Darneil?

[guksuu]

#HAPPYMINGYUDAY  ♡ 0406

[jynzandtonic]

I was hoping you could do something for me .. I’m having a really (really X a million) hard time. My wife is sick and I could use something fluffy with one of the boys if you have time.

It could be about anything you chose just fluff is all I need. 🖤

Oh, Gabriel, I’m so sorry to hear about your wife’s illness—my fingers are crossed for a smooth recovery, and I’m wishing you both comfort during this time 💓

Whenever I feel like absolute garbage, I like to turn to little creature comforts: things like cozy clothes, mac n cheeze, a glass of red wine or cup of herbal tea, a blanket burrito... and, of course, some self-indulgent home-spa skincare bullshit.

And I watch Logan Lucky. 🤗

So on THAT note...

He huffs out a breath in subtle protest, plush lips pouted as you finish the last plait and secure it with an elastic.

“Perfect,” you muse, sitting back to admire your handiwork. Even while he’s frowning, Clyde looks adorable in French braids.

Hey, you had to get his hair out of his face somehow.

You grab the bowl you’d prepared—chilled in the fridge as an extra cooling treat, too—and set it on the coffee table.

“You ready?” you ask him.

“Anythin’ for you, darlin’,” he says, resigned to his fate.

His little pigtails sweep his shoulders as he turns to offer his face to you.

. . . . . .

“I smell like a damn cobbler,” he grumbles.

“Shh! I’m not finished yet.”

You smear another glob of sweet-scented facemask onto his cheek, carefully spreading the thick indigo mixture around his nose.

“Might as well enter me in the County Fair pie contest.”

“Well, you could eat it if you wanted to. It’s just blueberries and honey from the market blended up with oats!”

“Remind me why I’m lettin’ you rub this all over my face?”

“Because it’ll make you preeeeetty,” you grin. He wrinkles his nose. “Okay,” you elaborate. “The blueberries have lots of good vitamins and minerals and antioxidants, the oats soothe irritation, and the honey is a humectant to help with moisture. Your skin is gonna GLOW after this, babe!”

Clyde looks equal parts confused and concerned.

“Whaddaya mean? Glowin’ like a lightning bug?! An antioxi-what?”

You’d kiss him on the cheek if he weren’t covered in blueberry goop.

You smile.

“I mean it’ll make your face soft, Clyde.”

[babbushka]

My dear friend, hello and happy Sinday to you and your flip. Im really excited about this one. Holiday season is my favorite time of year. Can I please get my fave country boy, cheering up his girl who’s being a complete Ebenezer Scrooge about christmas? Just pure tooth rotting fluff. But only if the muse takes you there. I’ll be happy to ready anything you write. Love you boo!

You ain’t usually one to sulk. Usually you’re the one pullin’ everybody out of their shit moods, the one with smiles and good cheer. Usually you’re the one pushin’ everybody out of their beds, bright eyed to go face the holiday season with some tradition or other. So to see you curled up on the couch scrollin’ through your phone in the middle of the night, sighin’ next to a cracklin’ fire, is a strange image for Clyde to try and process.

But you’re his wife, and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let his woman feel alone and upset on Christmas Eve. He makes his way over to where you are, your mis-matched socks peekin’ out from the quilt Clyde’s Mama had made him a lifetime ago, and he settles next to ya on the couch, pulls ya close.

“Alright, what’s goin’ on in your head darlin’?” He asks, kissin’ the side of your face, makin’ you chew at your cheek.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You mumble, already turnin’ towards him, moving into his embrace with happy sighs now that he’s back from an early shift at Duck Tape.

Clyde does his best to gather you up in his arms, holds ya real tight, hums out low in his chest the way that you like, the way you always call purrin’, like he’s some great big cat content to be near you. And he is, but he’s worried too, he ain’t used to seein’ you like this, all scowly.

“C’mon, we both know I got all the poutin’ and glarin’ covered for the both of us. And we both know you don’t like to go keepin’ your feelin’s all to yourself so why don’t ya just tell me all about it like I know ya want to.” Clyde tugs on the hem of your sleep-shirt, and you smile a little at how much you love him, before that smile falls and you shrug.

“I’m just…I don’t know Clyde, I’m not feeling very festive this time around. With everything going on in the world, all the pain and suffering and mind-numbing stupidity, it’s hard to care about something so commercial like Christmas.” You look down at your hands, fingers pickin’ at nonexistent dirt under your nails, and Clyde gets it.

He looks deep into the fireplace for a moment or two, the flickerin’ glowin’ embers no doubt havin’ brought you some peace while he was out pourin’ drinks for the folks that don’t got nowhere else to go for the holidays.

“You know, the true meanin’ of Christmas ain’t about parties or presents or nativity scenes or carolin’ or decoratin’ a damn good tree.” Clyde prompts. It ain’t quite a question, but his voice tips up like it is one. You give in to his game, raisin’ and eyebrow at him and fighting a small smile at his tactics.

“What is it then?” You ask, because you know he wants you to.

“It’s here.” Clyde replies softly, covering your heart with his hand. He can feel the steady beat of it underneath his flesh and blood palm, and he can feel the warmth of your own as you cover his hand with yours. “It’s love. Love for your friends and family and folks you don’t even know. Sure shit’s rough right now, but hell, when ain’t it? Year after year the world feels like it’s endin’, I used to get that way. But it ain’t over yet, and if nothin’ else, we’ve got these next few nights filled with light, ‘n love. And as long as we’ve got that, well then we’re winnin’ the fight against pain and sufferin’ and mind-numbin’ stupidity, wouldn’t ya say?”

You’re quiet for a few seconds, trying not to blink too much on account’a if you do you’re gonna get tears all over your face. You lean your head back on his shoulder and look up at the ceiling, willin’ the little droplets to absorb back into your eyes.

“That’s quite the speech Clyde Logan.” You say, your throat tight as some of the tears spill over anyway.

“Someone real smart told me all that once, good couple years ago. I never forgot it, not even through rough times of my own when I was overseas.” He wipes the away with his thumb, brushes them off your cheeks and tilts your head to face him.

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” You whisper, lookin’ right at his lips in just about as obvious a way as he was being with you.

“I’m lookin’ at her.” He quirks up a smile, and leans in to press the most gentle of kisses to your lips, a kiss which you happily sigh into, already feelin’ better, better now that he’s home with you. “Now c’mon, whaddaya say the two of us get on goin’ up to bed? I hear Santy Claus don’t visit houses when folks are awake.”

“You expecting a big gift this year?” You tease, and Clyde pretends to not know about the new lawn mower he’d been hintin’ at for damn near six months that’s waitin’ out in the shed.

“I hope so, I’ve been good.” Clyde nods, and you huff out a little laugh then, smiling for him.

“Yeah, you have.” Your eyes are real soft when you say it, giving his hand a squeeze. “Thanks Clyde, I love you.”

“I love you too darlin’.” He stands up, takin’ you with him and leadin’ you through the trailer, where he stops suddenly to point at the doorway with a little, “Oh shit, would ya look at that? Mistletoe.”

And as the two of you lean in to smile and chuckle against each other’s lips, Clyde can feel the tension slippin’ and slidin’ away from your shoulders, and he feels like your words an age ago have never felt more real and present than right now.

[thepilotanon]

Who's gonna be the most into his girl coming home done up after her first beauty appointment after the quarantine?

I want to say all of them, because who wouldn’t want to love up their lover, after being so excited to get back to the salon after a long period of time?? All the boys under cut!

Clyde would know that you’ve been so excited to get back to Mellie’s work after the quarantine, saying how you miss Mellie’s facial treatment because you could never replicate the routine at home and think you’ve lost your prettiness while stuck at home. Clyde would argue that you could never lose your beauty, but he was happy for you to go and get pampered nonetheless (he even snuck a call to Mellie to put it on his tab as a surprise). As soon as you come home, Clyde just points out every new detail he sees about you, buttering you up with kisses and twirling your hair around his finger with his sweet words.

“Hey, look at you, Darlin’! What’s all this? This nail polish color is new, ain’t it? It looks so pretty on ya, baby. See ya glowin’ from the facial, lookin’ brighter than the sun! God, don’t ya look gorgeous. Feel like yer dressin’ up all for me, baby, gonna have to take ya out on a walk n’ show ya off.”

A man like Flip wouldn’t really know that you left until he wakes up and can’t find you for his good-morning kisses (he pouted the whole time you were gone and ate his sloppy oatmeal). As soon as you come home, happier than a cat with string, with a new ‘do and dress and a present hidden in a bag, Flip is honestly floored. He knew you’ve been a bit sad being cooped up inside and he couldn’t blame you (his own temper of cabin fever had been crazy, and it’s only amazing that you’re still married to him after all that). Still in his jammies, he walks circles around you and immediately wants to get handsy.

“Babydoll, you should’ve told me you wanted to go out, after all this shit. I would have gone out and gotten a trim! Now I look like a shaggy pirate - don’t laugh, you know me and all the guys at the station were doing the whole ‘no-shave’ thing! Damn, I need to get my eyes checked or something, because I feel like I’m going to go blind just by looking at you, baby!”

Kylo would insist that you spoil yourself at his expense, knowing how stressed and worried you had been throughout the whole thing. As soon as everything was in the clear and your life could return to normal, he ordered a whole day of spa and spoil just for you to enjoy and get rid of all the stress that you’ve built up in the past weeks. He knows (from personal experience of spoiling himself, too, honestly) that a scalp scrub, facial, massages and scented treatments can do wonders for the mind and body, so he can’t help but smile for you as soon as you come back and melt into his arms.

“What’s this now? After all that fuss of not wanting to go, saying how you didn’t need anything…you sure look a lot more relaxed now, after your appointment. Okay, I’ll take the stinkeye, but I’ll still say that I told you so, sweetheart. Come on now, lets get some dinner.”

Adam…would just go with you to the appointment. He really doesn’t have any big plans to get going as soon as everything is in the clear, besides working, but he wants to spend time with you anyway. As soon as he sees your eyes light up when you read the options of the spa treatment, he slams down his card and does is oh-so-Sackler volume “PUT IT ON HERE, AND MAKE IT DOUBLE.” Yes, when I say that Adam just goes with you to the appointment, he’s going and he’s going to enjoy every minute of it with you. Not much of a quiet R&R, but Adam’s commentary honestly adds in more enjoyment for you and entertainment to the staff.

“Y’know, this is the first time I’ve ever had a message, can you believe that shit, guys? Now I see why you were so excited about all this, babe, this is frickin’ awesome. You guys are seriously doing God’s work - Oooh, holy shit, that felt like a bitch! Did’ya feel that? Meanwhile, angel over there is lookin’ like a pampered goddess. You know, those Greek or whatever princesses who get waited on hand and foot? Hey, baby, I think I have an idea for when we get home…if I ever manage to move from this fuckin’ table.”

[pynkhues]

Prompts for Center and Circumference if you are..... I'd love to see Rio having a tea party with the girls and Beth getting a picture of him wearing a funny hat.

Not exactly a tea party, and not exactly a hat, but I hope you like it anyway, anon. :-) 

- 

“When do they come on?”

“Soon, pop,” Rio hums, shifting further back in his seat and glancing sideways at his son. He squints, rocks his jaw when he clocks Marcus’ heels hooked into the padded bottom of the chair, and shit, if that ain’t Jane all over. Rio makes a pointed noise in his throat, dragging Marcus’ attention back from the stage, down to his feet. He promptly drops his legs.

“We’ve been here for ages,” Danny whines on Marcus’ other side, and Rio’s basically inclined to agree. He had vague recollections of watchin’ his sisters at their own recitals thirty years ago, but it had nothing on this whole thing. Elizabeth had been stressin’ about it for weeks, and in here now – at some hired out little theater, it’s easier to see why. Ain’t exactly Radio City, but school halls ain’t got shit on it with its high stage and dark velvet curtains, bright, moving stage lights and thousand-chair audience. Not that the seats are full exactly, but it’s close, he’ll give ‘em that.

Then again, it is the girls’ dance school’s end of year revue.

It had been a big enough deal at home anyway – with double the amount of classes for the girls as usual – a fuckin’ scam if ever he’s heard one, because next thing Elizabeth’s fiddlin’ with their household budget and suspending her yoga classes until the end of the year to pay for it like they’ve got to count pennies (and shit, she’d been pissed when he’d called the club to unsuspend it, but he knows how long it’s taken her to find an instructor she likes, and he knows just how fast spots get snapped up there, and he ain’t havin’ her goin’ without for no damn reason. Not that she’d agreed with that either.

“The whole point of a household budget is to stick to it,” she’d insisted in bed that night, her freezing feet pushed between his calves for warmth. “We can’t just keep magicking up more money to pay for things.”

He’d scoffed, pulling her closer, until she was half draped across his chest, hand drifting down her back, canvassing the knobs of her spine before sliding over the swell of her ass.

“Do you even remember what trade we in, mami? Or you wanna go pick up some more wrappin’ paper with your girls for reference?”)

It hadn’t just been the extra classes though. If it was, maybe it would’ve been easier, but it was the fact that the parents were expected to make the costumes themselves – the dance school emailing out patterns and listing out fabric stores like they’re doin’ them a favour. Elizabeth being Elizabeth had gone and volunteered to make half the other girls’ in the class’ too, and shit, he feels like Halloween was yesterday (two months, but still) and now he’s pretty sure the electric whir of her sewing machine has become the soundtrack to his nightmares.

It had only gotten worse too when Emma had been promoted to head dancer for their class, something that had the kid alternately glowin’ like she’d swallowed a lightbulb and sobbin’ over her footwork not being good enough, which had only in turn gotten Elizabeth all in her head, stressin’ about this whole thing being perfect for Emma, despite Rio trying to tell her nothin’ good would come of protecting a kid from the reality of hard work and the rewards of it (like, fuck, she was already head dancer – if that wasn’t winning, he wasn’t sure what was).

Rio sighs, shifts back in his seat, resists the urge to rub at his forehead at what feels like the twentieth group of little girls in tutus skipping out onto the stage. Tinkling piano music starts up again (and he’s sure they’ve played this song before), when a dim light hits the corner of his eye. Rio twists in his seat, looking to his other side to find Kenny with his cell shoved up his shirt for cover, reading some bullshit on somethin’ or other, and Rio levels him with a look, holding out his hand. Kenny at least has the good sense to look bashful, pulling his phone out from his shirt and passing it over to Rio.

On stage, the dance wraps up, and a tall, thin woman with a head of tight black curls steps out onto the stage, still clapping as she approaches the microphone stand in the far corner of the stage.

“Wow, what a performance from our Bright Little Bees class! Now we’re moving from the backyard to the forest for our next performance with our Gumdrop Fairies!”

Marcus gasps at that, and all three of the boys sit up a little straighter, looking over the heads in front of them to get the best view of the stage, and Rio quickly passes Kenny back his phone, gesturing out to the aisle.

“Film it for your ma and your aunts and your abuela, yeah?”

Because shit, he’s already preparin’ himself for an earful from his mom for not inviting her (nothin’ personal – Emma had banned extended family, too up in her nerves), if she finds out he didn’t even tape the thing, he doesn’t think he’ll ever hear the end of it.

Kenny nods, pleased for a job, sliding out of his seat and into the aisle as the piano music starts again from the front of the theatre.

Rio’s only just had the time to turn around when a little girl dance-runs out onto the stage, a puff of white tulle and silver glitter, her hair bundled up on top of her head. She curtseys to the audience, and then behind her, another little girl does the same, and then the third is Jane, making Marcus and Danny burst into cheers beside him, and Rio grins too, watching her curtsey a little roughly to the audience, and he sits up taller, hoping she’ll be able to see them only - -

Rio frowns, because Jane spots him and Marcus and Danny, but averts her gaze, no toothy grin or proud little chin tilt to be seen. He narrows his eyes, watching as little girl after little girl dances out onto the stage, and then the fairy queen, only - -  

“That’s not Emma,” Danny says a little too loudly, making a bunch of the parents turn around to shush him, but Rio gives them all dark looks, making them quickly turn back, because that little blonde girl definitely ain’t Emma. He waits a minute, watching the stage as Marcus and Danny murmur confused beside him, and even Kenny’s looking back at him from the aisle, and finally he waves a hand at them.

“Stay and watch Jane, I’ll be back in a minute. Kenny’s in charge.”  

With that, he scoots out of the seats, glad Elizabeth had booked them closest to the aisle in case Rio had needed to take a call, before ducking out. He heads out the back doors and then around towards the backstage area where he’d seen Elizabeth briefly before the thing had started – every inch of her sparklin’ from where she’d been spraying glitter onto costumes and her hands a little bloody from pin pricks and needles.

Slipping through the door, he’s met with a mess of cheap, pop-star perfume and bouquets of wilting gas station flowers, tiny kids in tights and tutus rushing around, laughing, mothers shushing, a few running through steps, more just giggling as they pelt each other with powder puffs covered bright with pink blush. Glancing around the space, he spots the names of the group classes – following through from the Bright Little Bees to the Dancing Divas to the Princesses of Power and Rio’s rolling his eyes a little at the names before he finds the empty corner for the Gumdrop Fairies. He ducks over, briefly checking over the area before spotting Elizabeth’s bag, shoved into the corner beneath one of the little dressing tables. Crouching down to peak inside, he rolls his eyes when he finds both her cell and her wallet left in it because clearly she gets off on not listenin’ to him, and he grabs both, shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans before standing back up.

He glances across the room again, only to spot a dark-haired woman at the next class over eyeing him a little uncertainly. Rio rolls his shoulders back, gestures with a tilt of his head down to Elizabeth’s handbag.

“Yo, you see the woman and little girl who was here?”

The woman blinks, opens her mouth, her hands fluffin’ up a tutu, and her eyes drop down to his tattoo, but she firms up her step.

“I’ve seen a lot of women and little girls here,” she says carefully, and Rio huffs, tries to soften his expression.

“I’m lookin’ for my partner and her daughter. She’s supposed to be out on stage right now with her sister, but she ain’t. Just tryna figure out what’s goin’ on.”

The woman’s brow draws, her expression shifting cautiously as she looks like she’s trying to gauge intent in his expression, and she must see something she likes, because she smiles sympathetically at him, before glancing down at a little girl who can only be her own daughter, hoppin’ around in a lime green leotard.

“There’s always drama at these things, I swear,” she says with a huff, holding the tutu down to the ground for her daughter to step into. “What do they look like?”

“Kid’s cute, blue eyes like her mama. She’s brunette though – hair down to her ankles,” Rio says with a good natured huff, and at least that makes the woman laugh.

“Which one won’t let you get it cut?”

“Ain’t figured that out yet,” he replies easily, and the woman laughs all over again.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that narrows it down. Your girlfriend?”

“Hair blonde, a little red,” he gestures to just below his jaw. “’Bout this tall. Wearin’ a dress with flowers on it.”

A look of dawning surprise crosses her face.

“The one with the - - “

She gestures a bit to her chest, and then promptly looks embarrassed, but Rio just grins, dimples and all, huffs out a laugh.

“That’s the one,” he says easily, and the woman nods, pointing out across the room.

“Her daughter was really upset. Seemed like something happened with another girl. I think she might’ve taken her into the bathrooms.”

Rio nods, says a quick thanks, and darts off across the room. He sucks in a breath, knocks a little, and when nobody says anything, he slides right in, and shit, at least that answers that. The bathroom is completely empty except for Elizabeth and Emma, who are sitting on the tiles, Emma red faced, clutching her flower crown, and sobbing at Elizabeth’s feet, her hair out of it’s sprayed-up bun, and Elizabeth, furiously combing it out. She glances up at Rio, and just - - something in his jaw sets on edge, because her expression is somethin’ between furious and grief-struck.

Striding over, he’s barely a foot away, when Elizabeth turns her gaze back down to Emma’s hair and he sees the tangled mess of it, held together with a bright, big glob of somethin’ pink and ugly. Elizabeth seems to sense he’s there in that way she does, seems to know what he’s lookin’ at too, because she sighs thickly.

“She put gum in her hair,” she says, her voice strained, and Rio frowns.  

“Who did?”

“Savannah Brinkly. That little - -” Elizabeth huffs out another breath, cutting herself off, scowling. “She’s the girl who’s out there now dancing Emma’s part.”

The words only serve to make Emma sob all the louder, and shit, Elizabeth’s face just falls apart. He leans in a little closer, drops a hand to her neck, pressing just slightly, then harder when one of Elizabeth’s hands come up to squeeze his. After a moment, she looks up at him, glassy eyed and pink cheeked.

“Is Jane on stage?”

Rio hums in affirmation, and Elizabeth exhales a breath he don’t think she even realised she was holdin’ in.

“She was almost as upset as Emma.”

“Didn’t look happy up on that stage,” Rio agrees, crouching down on the floor beside Elizabeth, behind Emma. He watches Elizabeth work the comb a little longer, but her hands are shakin’, so he pries the comb from her fingers, replacing her grip on Emma’s hair with his own. He combs a bit, but it ain’t gonna take a salon to tell them this shit is just gonna have to be cut.

“She did it right as they were about to go on. Just shoved her hand right into Emma’s hair. I’d seen her chewing gum all night, and I knew she was jealous of Emma getting the part – she’s the same girl who pushed her during class last week, remember Emma’s grazed hands? I should’ve done something.”

“What could you have done?” Rio asks her, lowering his voice, but he don’t think Emma’s listenin’. Too wrapped up in her own tears. “Can’t protect her from jealous bitches, ma.”

Beside him, he can feel Elizabeth stiffen, can feel her sigh.

“She worked so hard,” Elizabeth whispers, her voice thick. She shakes her head, and Rio glances sideways at her, his jaw rocking. He looks down at her hands – marked up from cutting through tulle and pinning fabric and weeks of work and energy and it’s strange – the feeling it tightens in his gut. He opens his mouth to reply, only for the bathroom door to spring open and another woman to run through, urgency thick in her tone.

“Beth, we need you out there right now.”

Swivelling beside him, Elizabeth blinks wildly over at the other woman, and Rio follows her gaze.

“What? Why?”

“Jane’s just, like, thrown herself at Savannah on stage.”

“Oh, god,” Elizabeth groans, and Rio passes the comb back to her.

“I’ll handle it,” he tells her, but Elizabeth shakes her head, getting up to her feet beside him.

“No, stay with Emma.”

And just like that, she’s following the other woman out, the door swinging shut behind them, taking all the noise of the theatre with them. Rio sighs, sitting back on his haunches, watching Emma’s glittery shoulders shake in front of him. After a moment, he just sighs.

“’Ey, enough of that now,” he says gently, turning Emma around, and she avoids it – tries to at least, tries to cement herself to the floor like she weighs anythin’ upwards of fifty pounds, but still. Rio moves her as gently as he can. “She worth all this?”

Emma shakes her head, but her bottom lip is still wobbling.

“No,” Emma says. “But this was supposed to be special.”

Rio hums, rubbing a few tears off her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“This ain’t special? Can’t say I spent a dance recital in a bathroom before.”

And shit – it would’ve made Marcus laugh, but Emma just bursts into tears again.

“Ain’t sayin’ that’s a bad thing,” Rio says quickly, but Emma’s little hands are growing white knuckled around her flower crown, and Rio just sighs. “What she did ain’t right, and I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m sorry you missed your show, sorry we gonna have to cut your hair too.”

Emma sucks in a wet breath, but he thinks she might be all cried out, if the look on her tired little face is anything to go by.

“I don’t know why she was so mean, I’m never mean.”

“Nah, you ain’t,” and shit, Rio thinks, he wishes she was sometimes. He doesn’t think he’s ever known someone who smells the roses as much as this kid, and it still surprises him – how much he wants to protect it.

Protect her.

And - - not just her, he thinks, the picture of Elizabeth’s glassy eyes and sagging shoulders and scratched up hands taking up too much room in his head. He huffs, annoyed at himself before he can help it.

That woman’s fuckin’ wrecked him.  

Emma hiccups again in front of him, and Rio’s gaze drops to her face, to her hands, to the white and pink flowers in her flower crown, and he sighs all over again.

“This sorta thing, it ain’t really about you,” he tells her gently. “It’s about her, and it’s about what you have and what she don’t, and it ain’t on you to make her feel better about that.”

Emma looks up at him again, her face red and all her little dancer’s make-up practically leaking off her face, and Rio watches her hands tighter, her grip white knuckled to match the flowers, and she starts to say something, hiccupping all the while, when the bathroom door bursts open again, and Rio looks up, expectin’ Elizabeth, only - -

He laughs.

“Damn, darlin’, look at you.”

Because it’s Jane standing furiously in the doorway, her little face twisted up and her tutu ripped enough to hang off the back of her dress like a tail. She stalks over to them, dropping heavily down to the floor beside Emma, facing Rio, and he lets go of the comb to knock her up by the chin. There’s the start of a killer shiner reddening around her eye, and Rio’s brow furrows.

“Savannah do this?”

“I got her better,” Jane says sharply, tilting her chin up proudly like she hadn’t had it in her to do on stage, and Rio grins.

Say shit get hit, he thinks, amused, dropping her chin and turning his attention back to Emma’s hair.

“Where’s your mama at?”

“She’s talking to the teacher and Savannah’s mommy,” Jane says. “They’re yelling a lot. Mommy told me to come in here with you.”

Rio hums, trying to comb out Emma’s hair again, but giving up after a couple of brushes. Ain’t nothin’ but a pair of scissors left for it.

“Are we gonna have to cut it?” Emma whispers, her voice soft, and Rio nods.

“Yeah, darlin’. Your mama will do it when we get home, yeah?”

She exhales a wet breath, the sound coarse in the otherwise quiet of the bathroom, and Rio rocks his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Guess you’re a regular princess now, huh?”

And that’s enough to get both their attention, their twin sets of blue eyes blinking bright up at him, and Rio hums thoughtfully.

“Rapunzel had to cut her hair at the end of the movie too, didn’t she?”

Because shit, he’s watched it enough with the two of them now he thinks he could recite the thing – had to almost kill a guy at a drop because he’d clocked Rio humming that dumb I’ve Got a Dream song. It’s an ear worm, that’s all, burrows in your head.

“She lost her magic though,” Emma says, and Rio shrugs.

“Yeah, coz she didn’t need it no more. And you don’t need it neither – you got somethin’ better. You got skills and smarts, and you got bruiser over here to knock down anyone on the playground who says otherwise.”

Jane practically glows at that, holding up her little bruised fist, and shit, Rio thinks with a grin, she really knocked that kid out. He fistbumps her, before looking back over at Emma, turning over the flower crown in her hands. He knocks it a little with his hand, and Emma looks up at him.

“Do you think mommy can cut my hair to make it look like Rapunzel’s at the end of the movie?”

“Don’t think there’s a lot your ma can’t do, baby.”

Emma grins, dropping her gaze back down and they sit in silence for a minute, like she’s considering it, and Rio glances over at the door, wondering if he can get her out of here. He feels like it’s time to clear out – to get the girls home and happy and out of this fuckin’ place. Emma swipes briefly at her face, getting rid of a few of the shed tears, and Rio rocks back a little on his haunches.

“So what’d you wanna do?”

The words are enough to make Emma look back up at him again, and then back down at the flower crown in her hands, and Rio follows her gaze.

“Want me to get rid of that for you?”

She shakes her head, glancing back up at him, and then, after a beat, she climbs up onto her knees, lifts up the flower crown and drops it ceremoniously on his head. The action is enough to send the girls into flights of giggles, and Rio pops an eyebrow at them, playing up his shock and outrage.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?”

The girls just laugh louder, and Rio opens his mouth to reply, only to see a quick flash of light, and his head jerks around to see Elizabeth in the doorway, her cell in the air, pointed right at him, and Rio gives her an unimpressed look as she looks innocently back at him.

“Okay,” Rio says shortly, pulling off the flower crown and standing up. “Pack up your things, let’s get outta here.”

Leaping to their feet, the girls scurry out of the bathroom to collect their bags, and Rio strides easily over to Elizabeth, looking at her bite her lip at him, play innocent even as he says:

“You’re deletin’ that.”

“I absolutely am not,” she says. “In fact, I’m going to get it printed and send it out with the company Christmas cards. Seasons greetings from the boss. An honourary gumdrop fairy.”

She laughs, the sound melodic, echoing up through the bathroom, and Rio can’t say he ain’t glad to hear it after tonight. Still, he steps in a little closer, enough their chests are almost touching, enough she has to crane her neck to look up at him, enough he can just about see down the neck of her dress. He rocks his jaw, and he can see that too – the slight look of trepidation in her eyes, like she ain’t quite sure how he’s gonna play this, and shit if he don’t love that he can still surprise her.    

“Everythin’ okay with the teacher?”

And that definitely wasn’t what she was expecting, but the second the surprise wears off, she’s sighing harshly, dropping her arm and tilting her head to the side.

“No. I mean, yes, it’ll be fine, but they’re acting like Jane’s the one who did something wrong when none of it would’ve happened if Savannah hadn’t had it out for Emma.”

“Sounds like Jane still knocked the kids lights out,” Rio says with a shrug, watching Elizabeth’s chest rise and fall beneath the neckline of her dress, when Elizabeth suddenly cringes.

“And a tooth.”

And well – shit. Rio barks on a laugh at that, and then Elizabeth starts too, a little hiccupping giggle that makes him inch closer.

“I mean, it was a baby tooth! With the way Savannah’s mom was talking about it, you’d think she’d fractured her skull or something.”

Outside, Rio can hear Kenny’s voice now, and Danny, and then Marcus too (with awe in his tone, no doubt at Jane’s display, and shit, Rio thinks, it’s not like he don’t love the kids, but Jane’s trouble with a capital T). He can hear the bustle of the performers and a few mommas yelling about somethin’ or other, and there’s a whole rest of the night to get to, but still. He presses a little closer into Elizabeth.

“Tonight was a disaster,” she says, groaning. “And everyone’s gonna know.”

“Yeah,” Rio agrees, because the thought of his sisters finding out doesn’t particularly appeal to him neither, but it is what it is. He lifts his hand up holding the flower crown and pushes it down onto Beth’s head, watching the white petals fall down into Elizabeth’s curls, and he doesn’t move his hands from it when she looks up at him, her blue eyes bright as anythin’, and she looks somewhere between suspicious and entranced, which is really just the way he fuckin’ likes her, he thinks, grinning as he uses the crown to bracket her head and pull her up for a kiss.

“You’re deletin’ that photo,” he says against her mouth, feeling her breasts press soft against his chest.

“Never.”

Arching an eyebrow down at her, he bites her lip, just a little sharply, just until he feels her shiver.

“I got methods, mami.”

And Elizabeth just scoffs, and well, if that ain’t a challenge, he don’t know what is.

[thesickbcy]

Idle fingers brush together as he stands on a very small mound of whithered yellow overlooking a wide circular expanse of vibrant green. Colors fade from bright to dark, but the center-most point is the brightest and liveliest in color. The unchecked grass sways in the wind, long and slender, waving at him tenderly from where it grew. Fae’s glamoured fingers rub together once more, feeling the sensation of warmth from fake flesh and the cold of metal rings coiled around his fingers. The other hand of his, held tight to his clothed chest, tightened slightly around a boquet of three white tulips, several purple hyacinth, and three black roses. The plastic crinkled around them as he made his way towards the center of the Eye, finally feeling brave enough to pry himself from the endless pine trees that surrounded the sacred grounds he stepped upon.

In the center of the massive faerie circle (the Eye of the forest, as it were) sat three pillars of stone. The one to the left was the smallest, the roundest and smoothest (almost worn down into a ball rather than a pillar), and sat slightly tilted. The one on the right was a bit taller than the first, with a pointed head and several flattened sides, almost as if it were a pencil made of stone. Bits and pieces of it had been chipped out by the world. The center pillar was the tallest, reaching up to about Fae’s height, and it remained a simple cylinder with a round ball sitting atop it. The ball itself had seven prongs sticking out of it, all connected by a single halo; a simple sun statuette.

At the bottom of each pillar was a plaque. The first plaque read the name KEATON “PARCE” BISHOP, with a date that lasted only eight years beneath it. The second plaque was for a woman named MICHIKO “HAGRAVEN” BEAU, and her date indicated she had died when she was only foury-two years old. The third and final plaque read KAIROS “FAE” BISHOP. He had died when he was only twenty-one.

He stands before the three pillars - specifically, before his mother’s gravestone - and looks them over. The years trapped within the Eye had kept them safe, although the typical wear ‘n’ tear nature caused were beginning to show. Fae’s own grave seemed to suffer the most damage, which didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. He really only comes here once in a while to tend to the grounds, bring some flowers, mend the stones. Though, his job’s getting more and more persistent, meaning he has less and less time to come by.

“Heh... sorry, Ma. Didn’t mean t’make ya wait. Life’s gettin’ real busy now that ol’ Asswipe’s makin’ me his real heir.”

Fingers pick at the plastic wrap around the flowers, rubbing it between newfound nerves and sinew to get a feel for it. Everything felt so different when glamoured. Like it was... number. Duller. Life wasn’t as technicolor for humans and monsters as it was for the Fae. He kind of misses it.

“I know how it is with the fae ‘n’ witchy kind, but I think you’d really like it down there. It’s beautiful, vibrant. Bright. You were never really one for much color, but I think you could get behind the pretty yellow flowers ‘n’ the glowin’ pink drinks we serve. They remind me’a you every time I see ‘em.”

He stops fiddling with the plastic for now, breathing in deep and holding a lungful of air. Something he hasn’t done in so long. What else is there to say to her? He can’t really excitedly tell her about his day job, and his night one isn’t much better. There’s really not much to do here anymore, is there? Except for the promise.

“I can’t remember if this was ever a real thing ya said or if it’s just my imagination, but. I think it was real. ‘Least... it helps me thinkin’ it was real. So, lemmie be selfish for one last time and continue on believin’, yea?”

He always asks so much of her. Let him be selfish. Let him go fight. Let him take care of the household. A whole lot of good that got him, huh? Fae’s aware he’s a selfish, greedy little man. Didn’t matter his intentions. Good, bad, in the end it all turned out the same: he ruined their lives by being selfish. By trying too hard to be the good guy, the hero. Maybe that’s why he can’t stand Iret and his goody two-shoes friends.

Fae squats in front of the pillar before him, getting comfortable on his feet while resting his arms on his knees. There’s a rustling in the forest on the other side of him, but he doesn’t pay it mind. The wind’s stopped blowing, as if to listen in on his private conversation.

“I remember you an’ I makin’ a promise. You forced me to, actually. The week before we all died, you said I had to promise you somethin’. Wouldn’t tell me what it was ‘til I agreed. Then... you said...”

As he recites the words, he can hear them in her voice almost as clear as night.

“ My son, listen here. There’ll be a time when I’m gone. A time when I won’t wake up the next day, and you and little Kea will be all alone in this world. When they bury me beneath that damp soil, I want you to promise me never to hold on too tight to anything but your brother and your soul. I want you to promise me that you’ll let me go whenever you’re ready to, and you’ll finally start letting yourself live the life you deserve. Promise me, my son, that you’ll keep yourself and your brother safe no matter what you must do. ”

Tears well up in false eyes as Fae exhales. The faerie’s free hand lifts and rubs against his eyes, trying to rid him of the painful reminder of just how human he had stayed all these years. You can take the man out of Humanity, but you can’t take the Humanity out of a man. That’s what she used to say to him whenever he feared the Faeries howling at night. It means, no matter what happens, you will always still be you. Remember that, my darling dear. They can catch you, but they can’t kill you- the real you lies deeper inside than you could ever reach.

Yeah, right.

“I think you know why I came here t’day, then.” He stares at the base of the pillar, taking note of all the little vines and flowers that had woven themselves around it. “I came to finally say goodbye, ‘n’ t’keep that promise I made to you all those years ago.”

He broke every other promise he’d ever made to her, but at least now he could say he kept the most important one. Letting go was never easy, and he’s sure he’d never really let go of her or her memory, but maybe.. maybe if he tried, they both could find some kind of peace. She in her afterlife, and he in his hell.

“I’ll never forget you, and I’ll always... a-always love you, Mama. But I think it’s time we both parted ways. Parch is fine. I’m as... okay as I.” He stops to clear his throat, looking skyward to keep more tears from pouring down his tattooed cheeks, “I’ll be okay. You just rest now, okay? You did the best damn thing ya could for us boys. ... You... y-ya gave us hope. No matter... who we are. Ya always told us we’d be loved.”

The flowers crinkle quietly as if out of respect for the heavy emotions Fae laid out in front of him. He set them atop her name plaque gently, making sure they rested safely atop her grave. The stark contrast between the white and black flowers really shone among the grey and the green surrounding them.

Three black roses, one for each of them. A symbol of death and end for each relationship he held, and for his old life he could no longer live. A symbol of hope that in this death, something new would blossom. Three white tulips - again, one for each - prayed for purity and innocence to come after their death, and symbolized his own forgiveness of what had come to be. And the purple hyacinth which made up most of the bouquet... a plea. Forgive me, I am sorry, I am filled with sorrow. They were all for her, primarily, in hopes that she would grant him a mercy he did not deserve.

“Goodbye, Mama. May your sleep be Dust free and your wings bring you high.”

Just as he’s about to get up, something shifts to his left and catches his eye. On the plaque of his brother’s grave rested a single blue hyacinth, a symbol of begging forgiveness for one’s own lie. Fae reached out to pick it up before noticing something else peculiar. All around the base of his brother’s grave, a flower he’d never seen before bloomed. Fresh, natural, as if they had been planted there or had grown through the ground on their own. Only when he plucked one from the ground did he hear their name whispered on the wind.

Spring crocus. Penitence roses. Flowers bloom with forgiveness from one’s loved ones.

Standing upright and tucking the single plucked flower into his shirt, Fae adjusted his jacket and once more wiped his face free of tears and snot. It’s nasty, but weren’t all emotions as such? He took a deep breath of the fresh air around him, glancing outward towards the forest in an attempt to recover his composure. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with something stirring in the forest that he felt truly vulnerable.

Watching him with steady red eyes was none other than a forest harpy. He couldn’t see her bodice entirely well; her brown mottled feathers kept her pretty well blended among the trees and the dark shadows of the endless forest. But he could see her. Her long hair, her glowing eyes, her sharp and gaunt face almost hidden among the shadows like her bodice was.

He stepped around the graves and began making his way towards her as quick as he could without coming across as threatening. Unfortunately for him, by the time he made it around the graves, she was gone, fleeing off into the forest like a frightened doe from a hunter. Fae would run after her, but stepping outside the Eye meant he’d leave the graves for good, and he just wasn’t ready to leave yet. Whoever she was, she was gone now. How’d she even find the Eye? Non-fae weren’t supposed to be able to see into it...

He’d been caught - and there’s no telling who might catch him next if he wasn’t careful. Fae’s time has run out, which meant he needed to return back to the Mountain. Trudging back to the front of the graves, Fae wanted to get one last look at the pillars before leaving them for good. When he turned to stare at them, he covered his mouth with his hand, keeping whatever emotions he felt from overwhelming his expression. Tears welled up in his eyes once more, spilling over his hand as he stared at the beautiful sight before him.

The flower from before - the one he couldn’t recognize. The spring crocus? Whatever it was, it had begun blooming not only over his little brother’s grave, but his mother’s and his own as well. Several new bulbs just waiting to open had grown thick enough to cover and unite each of the name plaques, making it so anyone who’d come through - if they’d come through - could no longer read the names or dates written there. Forgiveness. Mercy. Grace. Protection. To top it all off, a single vine coiled around the flowers resting on his mother’s grave, holding them tight to the plaque he could no longer see.

One final embrace for his final goodbye.

[nancydhooper]

Murum Aries Attigit, Y'all

Tell them boys they can have the statue and $2.5m… US dollars, that is.

This here case is a pretty good story.

It all starts in Orange County, North Carolina. Folks there, well, everywhere, say the wheels of justice turn slowly. But, a few weeks ago, Lady Justice traded in her robe and blindfold for a pair of short cutoff jeans, tossed her scales into the kudzu on the side of a dusty road, and grabbed the keys to a bright orange 1969 Dodge Charger. She jumped in one window and Mendacius rode shotgun. The two of them let out a cry that bystanders called “a foxhunt yip mixed up with sort of a banshee squall.”

She pushed the pedal to the metal and made those 426 cubic inches growl through Orange County (North Carolina, that is) at such a speed that I do say that ol’ road’s hills flattened and its curves straightened for her. She screeched on up back to the courthouse hoping to return before anyone noticed her joyride had taken her from her post. She skidded to a stop, but those wheels were spinning just a bit too fast for her to brake in enough time to avoid running right over poor Veritas, who ironically was waiting outside for her daddy – who always did seem to dawdle when he was in that building. Lady Justice crawled out of the car window and put her blindfold back on, lest she see with her own eyes the consequences of leaving her post to go on such a joyride. And while she blindly wept, Mendacius grabbed her robes and scales and ran right in that courthouse to set things just the way he liked em – dirty.

Now Mr. Doucette ain’t no Greek god, but he might be mistaken for one mythological figure – Mr. Clean. Acts like him too – at least in this story. He’s a lawyer in North Carolina now, but once upon a time, he was on the Board of Governors of the University of North Carolina (“UNC”).

Way back, more than a hundred years ago, a group of ladies went around calling themselves the United Daughters of the Confederacy and putting up monuments to that lost cause. Now this was pretty darn ironic, since General Lee, himself, believed memorials like this would just keep the wounds of the Civil War open. He famously said “I think it well, moreover, not to keep open the sores of war, but to follow the examples of those nations who endeavored to obliterate the marks of civil strife and to commit to oblivion the feelings it engendered.”. Well who am I to argue with Robert E. Lee?

I might not be nobody to argue with the General, but a bunch of folks down South didn’t have so much respect for what he wanted. And those former slaves around that time were getting a bit what folks called “uppity.” It was right about 1908 when the started the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, or as you know it, the NAACP. They started asking for things like “rights” and “equality.” So those nice ladies went around with smiles as wide as their hats and didn’t have to work to hard to convince the powers that be all across the South to start putting up monuments to General Lee’s lost cause, and nobody paid any mind to what he said about ‘em.

Along came “Silent Sam” – a pretty tall feller made all out of bronze who these nice ladies with a not-so-nice mission got put right there at the front door to the University of North Carolina, in a position of honor. Now that was a pretty ironic kind of position for him to be in, since his mission was about as dishonorable as the soldier he represented. Where the real thing was there to preserve slavery, Sam was there to remind Black people that, if Joss Whedon will indulge me and forgive me, the Confederates might have been on the losing side, but they weren’t quite convinced it was the wrong one.

When they oh so ironically pulled the sheet off of Silent Sam in 1913, this KKK supporter named Julian Carr spoke from his heart, and told the crowd that the Confederate soldiers it honored had saved “the very life of the Anglo Saxon race in the South,” and told the following story:

“One hundred yards from where we stand, less than ninety days perhaps after my return from Appomattox, I horse-whipped a negro wench until her skirts hung in shreds, because upon the streets of this quiet village she had publicly insulted and maligned a Southern lady, and then rushed for protection to these University buildings where was stationed a garrison of 100 Federal soldiers. I performed the pleasing duty in the immediate presence of the entire garrison, and for thirty nights afterwards slept with a double-barrel shot gun under my head.”

Nobody really remembered that until about 2018, but about then someone dug it up. With a metaphorical flamethrower taken to the tale that Sam stood there as a solemn testament to “southern pride,” some people just couldn’t take looking at him anymore – so they got together and damn if they didn’t tear that statue right down. Now that might not have been the polite, legal, or gentlemanly thing to do. And, I’m not one for giving a pass to destroying art or public property. But, I can still say, with no insincerity at all, that I damn well understand.

It don't end there. You see there’s this group of good ol boys, call themselves the North Carolina Sons of Confederate Veterans. We’re sure that some of ‘em are pretty nice guys and they mean well. But, them all that run it, they’re still a bit put out that you can buy an old Dodge Charger in the Auto Trader, but there’s no similar publication to buy and sell yourself a Negro, if y’all is so inclined.

So let's fast forward to November 27, 2019 – when the Sons of Confederate Veterans filed a lawsuit, despite lacking standing to bring it, against UNC for its failure to put Silent Sam back in his place of honor. (check it out) Despite the fact that the plaintiffs lacked standing, seven minutes after the suit was filed, a state court judge approved a settlement between the parties. Whoooo-eeee! Thats there where I was talking about earlier with Lady Justice using all 426 cubic inches of that engine!

Well, in those seven minutes, the Sons of Confederate Veterans got themselves the Silent Sam statue and slap my ass and call me Sally if they didn’t also get $2.5 million United States dollars from the University too. Now if that don’t beat all! Seven minutes of a lawsuit, and a nice sweetheart deal with a bag o’ cash come just raining down on the Confederates!

The day the settlement was approved, the Sons’ “commander” Ronald Kevin Stone, announced this “victory” to thousands of his members – not all of whom agreed with it. Some of those boys who didn’t much like it, they sent Mr. Doucette the victory proclamation. Well you might be surprised to learn that the victory proclamation itself confirmed that this deal stank like the shithouse on a shrimper boat. The Commander himself admitted that the Confederates had no business suing the University, and his victory speech sure made it seem like that someone might have used a bit of impropriety, as they say, to convince Justice to take that joyride of hers.

Now Mr. Doucette thought everyone had a right to know, so he went on and put that victory proclamation right up on the glowin’ tubes of all of the Internets, just so you and me and everyone else could see what they’d done. But, the Confederates didn’t like that. They wanted their skulduggery done in the shadows. So what they did is say that the proclamation was a copyrighted work, would you believe it? They then got it all censor-iffic despite knowing full well they were no more in their rights than if they were firing on Fort Sumter.

Well, Mr. Doucette wasn’t takin that lying down. He gave those boys a chance to come to their senses. They didn’t.

Murum Aries Attigit, Y'all..

Copyright 2017 by the named Popehat author. from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.popehat.com/2019/12/13/randazza-confederates-doucette/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[smartgirlsaremean]

My Heart’s in the Highlands - Chapter 5

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Bellish

Rating: T

Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can’t face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.

AO3

Chapter 5 - For Fear of Little Men

It took Belle a couple of days to realize that something was a bit different. At first she thought she must be imagining things, but no, she thought one day, there was definitely something going on.

The smell wasn’t particularly noticeable unless one happened to think about it, but once she noticed, the faint aroma of roses that hung about the circulation desk and permeated the entire library was inescapable.

It wasn’t exactly a problem. Roses were her favorite flower, after all, and she’d been meaning to get a wax warmer or something to stave off the occasional musty odor of the building, so she couldn’t exactly complain. But still, it was strange.

Over the course of a week, no one else seemed to notice. Hamish, who often spent an hour or two in the library in the mornings, never mentioned it; neither did Esme, who was there every afternoon after school. Belle was beginning to think she was imagining it when, as she was checking out a book for Frankie Bryce, the boy turned to his adopted father and said,

“What’s that smell?”

Lachie frowned in thought and sniffed. “Some sort of flower, innit?”

“Roses,” Belle said. “The library’s smelled like roses for a little over a week now.”

Frankie looked around the desk. “I don’t see any roses, Miss Belle. D’ye have one of those fancy air freshener things?”

“No. I suppose the breeze must be carrying the scent from someone’s garden.”

Frankie looked unconvinced as he glanced at the closed windows, but he didn’t argue. Lachie, never the brightest bulb, merely nodded in instant conviction and shepherded his son out the door. “We need to get home, lad. Lots to do.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and then turned to her next patron, who happened to be Lachie’s father. “Aye, lots to do, tha’s for sure,” Lachlan said, his chest puffing up with pride. “My Lachie’s gonna be a father again.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“Lachie’s chuffed, ay course, and Jean’s glowin’. But mind, it’s a bit of a secret just yet.” Lachlan leaned in and waggled his finger. “I trust you willnae be tellin’ everyone you see.”

“My lips are sealed, Mr. McCrae,” Belle promised, grinning as he turned away and immediately began to share the news with the first person he met. A book of fairytales - tales about fairies, not stories about anyone she might know, thank goodness - landed on the counter with a thump and Belle smiled at the boy, whose face turned red. Thirteen-year-old Jack Mitchell was a regular patron and an avid reader; he was always asking her for suggestions, and she took care to praise his taste and ask him to share his insights. The people of Lochdubh were a literary bunch, but the look in Jack’s eyes whenever he entered the library spoke to Belle’s own enthusiasm for the written word. Like always recognizes like, and she had Jack pegged for a bibliophile the second he entered the doors, hunger and longing evident on his face as he scoured the shelves and then approached the desk with his arms overflowing with carefully chosen books.

He returned the books one at a time as he finished them; Belle thought he must spend every spare second reading in order to finish a book a day as he did, and she always made sure to ask him something about his reading. He glowed under the attention, and she wondered if anyone at home recognized his passion for literature.

“Just the one today, Jack?” she teased gently.

“I haven’t finished all of the others yet,” he said in his quiet voice, “but I’m nearly there Miss Belle. I just thought this one looked interesting.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Belle stroked a hand over the book’s leather cover. “It’s a beautiful work and I’ve actually been dreading loaning it a bit. I know you’ll take extra special care of it, though, won’t you?”

“Yes, miss,” the boy said with a shy smile. “Of course I will.”

She checked the book out in the system and handed it back across the desk. “Enjoy, Jack. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks, miss.” Clutching the book to his chest like a precious treasure, Jack hurried to the door, but he stopped abruptly and turned back to her. “Miss Belle? Does it smell like roses in here to you too?”

“It does. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from, but I’m not about to complain. I love roses.”

The boy smiled and ducked his head, then hurried out the door, nearly running Hamish down in the process.

“Eh, mind yourself!” Hamish called after him, but Jack ignored him. Shaking his head, Hamish approached the desk and held out his own books. When Belle took them he leaned on the desk. “Looks like you’ve got a wee admirer,” he said.

“Oh? Is Jock here?” Belle leaned over the desk, but the terrier was nowhere to be seen.

“I meant the Mitchell boy. Face like a beacon he had.”

“Don’t be silly, Jack loves to read and he’d just checked out a book of fairytales. Probably thought you’d tease him if you saw it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You wouldn’t, but plenty of people would.”

Hamish shrugged, and then an odd expression flitted across his face. He straightened up from the desk and sniffed the air, turning in a slow circle. Leaning over the desk again, he breathed in the air around Belle - she stepped back in surprise - and his confused frown became more pronounced.

“That’s not you, is it?”

“What?”

“The roses. Before, I thought it was you - your soap or shampoo or summat - but it’s gotten stronger and it’s definitely not from you.”

“You noticed it before?”

“Of course I did. First showed up about a week ago, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Belle sighed in relief. “I thought I was imagining things at first. I’m so glad others have started to notice.”

“Then where’s it coming from?”

“I have no idea.”

Hamish hummed and pushed away from the desk again. “Mind if I take a look around?”

“Please.”

He sauntered off into the depths of the library and Belle returned to organizing the returns. She could hear him moving about, shifting the occasional piece of furniture, and muttering under his breath. When the books had all been sorted, she picked up a stack and headed towards the history section to reshelve them. She found Hamish on his hands and knees on the floor, scrutinizing a vent for the heating system, and she smirked a little. He leapt to his feet when he heard her set the books on the table.

“It could be comin’ frae the vents, but I’m not sure,” he said hastily, brushing dust off his trousers. “I haven’t seen anything in any of ‘em.”

“I’m not that worried about it, to be honest. If someone is coming in here and spritzing the library with rose water every day, it’s not as if they’re committing a terrible crime.”

“You haven’t noticed any suspicious persons hangin’ about? Or noticed any loose windows or scratches on the locks?”

“No, but I haven’t really been looking. Should I?”

Hamish nodded uneasily. “You’re right that it’s not something I’d want tae lock a man up for, but it’s still a bit worryin’. You’re often here all alone. I dinnae like the idea of someone sneaking in after hours and surprising you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. If they were breaking in, they were very good at it, and she didn’t relish being caught in the library alone either.

“I’ll check in on you after close,” he said after a few moments of silent thought. “And maybe...if you don’t mind, that is...I’ll walk you home?”

Normally she’d turn him down, as she was quite capable of walking the streets of Lochdubh on her own, but he looked so sweetly concerned for her that she didn’t have the heart to argue.

“Alright. Thank you, Hamish.”

He shrugged awkwardly. “Got to keep the librarian safe...now that everyone’s used tae having books again, I’d have a riot on my hands if the place closed.”

“And where would you go for your Westerns?”

“Exactly.”

The next day, the scent of roses was more pronounced than ever. Belle examined the lock on the door, but there was nothing to indicate it had been picked or forced in any way. Frowning over the mystery, she set her things in the office and made a quick sweep of the library to see if anything was out of place. Nothing was, and she stood in the middle of the space with her hands on her hips. The building was completely still, and Belle shook her head as she made her way back to the circulation desk. She stopped short a few feet away.

The candy bowl on one side of the desk, which she always filled with peppermints or jelly beans or chocolate kisses, was empty.

Had she forgotten to refill it the night before? She searched her memory but couldn’t recall whether or not she’d actually filled the bowl before leaving for the night. Hamish had been waiting, so perhaps she’d been in a little more of a hurry than usual, and she’d simply forgotten. Then again, she usually took a piece on the way out and she wouldn’t have been able to do that if the bowl were empty, and surely she’d have noticed and remedied the situation?

Belle was still staring at the empty candy dish when the door swung open behind her.

“Belle? Everything alright?”

She turned to face Hamish, unsure whether she should be amused or frightened. “The candy’s gone.”

“Eh?”

“The candy. It’s gone.”

He leaned to one side and peered around her at the bowl. “What the hell is that all about?”

“I don’t know. Who would break into a library and steal nothing but candy?”

“It’s the damn salt robbery all over again,” Hamish muttered, scratching the back of his head, and Belle bit back a smile. She’d heard all about that in her first week.

“Nothin’ else is missing, is it?” he called after her as she went into the office. Belle glanced around the little room, noticed nothing amiss, and pulled a bag of peppermints out of the cupboard.

At least, it had been a bag of peppermints yesterday. Belle stared at the empty plastic and felt a tiny thrill of fear. The innocuous nature of these peccadilloes was beside the point. Someone was breaking into her workplace and stealing her property. She rifled through the cabinet, pulling out the bags of candy she’d stored there - all empty.

“Belle? I asked…” Hamish caught sight of the empty bags scattered on the floor. “Right, that’s it,” he snapped. “TV John’s comin’ over an’ he’ll sit wi’ ye every day ‘til this is sorted. Ye’re nowt tae stay here after close, an’ one ay us’ll escort ye home at night.”

In his anger his brogue had thickened considerably, and Belle smiled shakily. “I don’t think that’s necessary. No one’s tried to get in while I was here; they must wait ‘til I leave.”

“Which means they’re watchin’ the place,” Hamish pointed out. “John can keep a lookout for any suspicious characters.”

That made sense, and as much as she hated to suspect anyone, this had to be the work of some townsperson or other. She just hoped increased police presence would be enough to put an end to...well, whatever this was. When Hamish raised his eyebrows, she nodded and bent to clean the empty candy bags off the floor.

TV John was summoned, brought up to speed, and stationed at a table near the front door of the library. From there he had a view of everyone coming and going, and could catch anyone lurking or acting suspiciously without much trouble. He was a very unobtrusive guest, and he could certainly look like an absent-minded old man when he wanted to, but Belle had the feeling his sharp eyes missed exactly nothing, and she found herself relaxing. She hadn’t even known how tense the mystery had made her until she had someone to share it with. TV John was a man of extraordinary intuition, and Hamish was far more talented an investigator than he let on. Between the three of them they would suss out the culprits.

The day went smoothly until the afternoon rush. The bustle of the library after school let out was something to behold - far busier than Storybrooke’s had ever been -  and Belle was too busy to worry much. Jack Mitchell was there again, returning a book, and he brought her mind back to the trouble when he reached for a mint only to find the bowl empty.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack,” Belle said. “I’m all out, I’m afraid.”

“But the bowl was full yesterday,” he said sadly.

“I know, I can’t explain it. I guess people were desperate for candy today.”

Jack stared at the bowl with a look of intense concentration. After a moment he leaned forward. “It could be the fairies, Miss,” he said solemnly.

“Fairies?”

“I read all about ‘em in that book. They like to steal candy - they love sweets.”

“I’ve heard that,” Frankie Bryce chimed in from behind Jack. “There’s a smell o’ flowers about ‘em too. That’s how you know they’re near.”

Smiling, Belle shook her head. There’s no such thing as fairies, her brain supplied, but she knew better than to utter the deadly words just in case their terrible magic could cross realms. “I don’t think there are any fairies around here, boys, but thank you for your concern.”

They looked unconvinced, their faces masks of concern as they left. From his table TV John raised his eyebrows at her.

“Fairies, eh?”

Belle shrugged. “He’s got quite an imagination.”

“An interesting reaction you had, though. Most would tell him there’s no such thing as…” John’s voice cut off when she winced. “Are you alright, Miss Belle?”

“Fine,” she chirped, his sharp-eyed gaze making her nervous. “I’ve got to shelve these!” Picking up a few books at random, she hurried to the back of the library. She set her pile on a table and leaned over it, suddenly breathless.

Fairies.

Jack was right, of course. The scent of flowers did surround the fae, and they did have a weakness for sweets. And a fairy would not need to pick a lock or force a window to enter the library.

But there were no fairies in Lochdubh. This was a land without magic.

Wasn’t it?