#main stacks

[clumsypuppy]

@heropartnerweek 2025 day 1 - home

[ryllen]

when everything is confusing, and then u see a familiar face

[darkcrowprincess]

the women in sinners: being badass

The men in sinnners: *heart eyes 😍* is anyone going to worship the ground these women walk on?*and they didn't wait for an answer and worship those women like the queens they were.*

[fight-for-what-you-love]

♪ Worldwide - Big Time Rush

I'm gonna be honest- these episodes kind of fell apart while I was making this. The more I re-wrote the story for it's second draft the less this version made sense and the less interested I was to work on it. I have not much else to say except sorry this part is kinda iffy and sorry it took so long. I promise you I'll make up for this in the next episode I PROMISE

Notes on both episodes under the cut!

Sweden Sour

* (I think it’d be really funny if Cody just doesn’t talk at all this episode. Not a word. Just nods and head shakes and depressed faces.)

* Cody’s incredibly depressed after Noah’s elimination. Sierra’s over the moon, though. She sees Cody depressed and gives him a tight side hug, petting his head. She tries consoling him with “I know you’re sad, but it’s ok! At least I’m still here~.” Cody starts sobbing, head in hands. Heather is sick of this already.

* The teams get their “ibuilda” pieces and the Amazons argue on what it’s supposed to be. Cody stares at the pieces for a few seconds before the light briefly re enters his eyes. He starts building. Courtney tells him to stop but Heather tells her he’s obviously got it, so let him work. They start helping him build�� something.

* Once the Amazons are done, Heather, Sierra and Courtney take a step back to see what they’ve built. It’s a giant wooden Noah head. Their faces drop. Heather is filled with murderous rage.

* We built Noah’s face (We’re gonna take first place) Cause we built Noah’s faaaace

* Tyler’s jumper would be white.

* Cody doesn’t sing in this number. Chris notices and stares at him threateningly. He reluctantly hums the chorus and Chris takes what he can get.

* (Alejandro takes off his shirt to pull the boat like a freak. Duncan is unfazed and Tyler will deny it if you ask him if he blushed.)

* Sierra hits Noah’s Head hard enough it falls over on its side and suggests sawing off the side to ride in him like a boat. Heather and Courtney agree to this. Cody has no comment.

* Duncan and Alejandro don't bother bending over backwards to please Tyler. Duncan makes himself captain and no one argues.

* When the Amazons go to pick a captain, Courtney grabs the hat and declares herself captain without input. Heather tries to argue but Courtney argues back- Cody is in no condition, no one trusts Sierra and Heather took control the last challenge so this time she’s in charge. Heather reluctantly backs down.

* Amazons catch up to team Chris in the water. Alejandro sees them approach and makes note of Cody’s face, making fun of him for being so upset about “the Noah thing”. Cody furrows his eyebrows and points furiously at Chris’s boat. Courtney agrees that yes, they should shoot their boat.

* It doesn’t matter who wins the challenge since it’s a non elimination round, but I want to say the Amazons persevere. The massage helps Cody enough that he’s not stone faced next episode at least.

Aftermath III (Aftermath Aftermayhem)

* Gwen, Owen and Noah are introduced together. Gwen walks out first and Owen, hugging Noah to the point of lifting him off the ground, walks behind her.

* Geoff asks what all that’s about and Gwen responds that Owen refused to let him go until Noah “understood just how sorry he was”. Noah insists he forgives him, but Owen still won’t let him go.

* The Owen square is replaced by the Tyler square. The prompt is survive. (The hosts throw a bunch of debris at the contestant for thirty seconds and if they dodge everything they move on.)

* (For brevity’s sake, assume all of the contestants that participated in the board game in the original episode participated here [with the exception of Tyler, who is replaced with Owen]. They all get eliminated the same way as well, Noah getting got by aliens, Owen falling down the booby trap square and Beth making it to the final question.)

* When Beth gets stumped on the last question (What was Duncan's band called) Noah yells at her, frustrated: “Oh my- It’s Der Schnitzel Kickers, Beth!!” Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling.

* (He knows this because Cody had mentioned it in a conversation after the London challenge.)

* Noah initially complains about winning the game, but Owen reminds him that he gets to see Cody again and he shuts up immediately.

* “Noah wins!” “Wasn’t he disquali-” “NOAH WINS!! Let’s wrap it up. We’re done here.”

[writerbee-ffs]

Summary:

000: https://www.tumblr.com/writerbee-ffs/784659392500023296/000

001:

Atlanta, 1992

ShaNiece McIntyre, 33

Oh baby, baby, baby

I got so much love in me

Ooh (baby, baby) baby, baby, baby

‘Cause if you’re gonna get me off

You gotta love me deep…

ShaNiece swayed her hips to the newest TLC track, wine cooler in hand, curves dipping low with every beat. She was in her element. Vibing. Glowing. Free.

Her mama had finally caved and agreed to watch Shanaye for the night. Fifteen or not, that little girl had more energy than most grown folks, and ShaNiece—thirty, fine, and flying solo—needed a break.

Sure, she’d made what Big Mama still called “the biggest mistake of her life” at eighteen. But that baby saved her. Made her sharper. Wiser. Stronger. She went to college, graduated top of her class, and broke into finance like a storm in heels. In a world full of men trying to “rescue” her from single motherhood, she was already saving herself—six figures deep, child in tow.

She was good. Or so she thought.

“Damn, Niecy! Slow down on them drinks, girl!” Belinda—BeBe to the crew—called out, passing her a murky shot of something strong.

ShaNiece laughed, tossing it back without hesitation. The burn kissed the back of her throat and lit her chest with fire. “Girl, I don’t get out like this often. Let me shake this ass in peace!”

The bass dropped, and the house party roared to life. BeBe kept the shots flowing, and ShaNiece kept dancing like the night owed her joy.

Then he came.

He didn’t ask. He just stepped behind her like he’d been invited by the rhythm itself. He’d been watching, she could feel it. His body slid into place behind hers, close but not too close, letting the music guide them. He wanted to catch what she was throwing—and baby, she threw it well.

When the next beat hit, she paused, teasing, until his breath brushed her ear.

“You scared now?”

His voice was smooth, deep and sure. Her hips responded before she could. Fueled by liquor and laughter, she rolled her ass back into him like it was their song playing—and it damn sure was. He matched her every move, gripping her waist, hips meeting hers with intention. A few heads turned. Let them watch.

“That’s it, lil’ mama,” he murmured, before spinning her to face him.

ShaNiece caught her breath. His golds flashed when he smiled. Coogi sweater. Baggy jeans. Mustache thick and neat. Skin the color of sweet caramel. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was fine. Real fine.

“You tryna fuck me on the dance floor?” she teased, snapping her fingers in his face. “Helloooo?”

“You always got an attitude like that?” he asked, raising one brow as he pushed his shades higher.

She smirked. “Only when men act brand new after grinding on me for four songs straight. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Stack.” He lifted his hand to show a gold-plated ring spelling it across three fingers. “Yours?” He already knew it. He’d heard her friend call her name throughout the night.

“I’m sure that ain’t what your mama named you,” she said, popping her gum and patting her finger waves. “But I feel you.” Her gold earrings swung with flair—Niecey etched on both. “My friends call me Niecey”

“So we friends now?” he asked, grinning.

“We danced, didn’t we? That counts.” She winked, stepping back into the crowd. “Later, Stack.”

“Hol’ up,” he said, catching her wrist.

A jolt shot through both of them. He dropped her hand like it burned and shook his head like he forgot what he meant to say. “Uh… take my number.”

She smirked as he scribbled digits in her palm before they vanished in opposite directions.

⸻

It was close to 2 a.m. when they stumbled out, trying to make the one-block walk to BeBe’s apartment.

“Biiitch, I’m drunk,” BeBe groaned, hunched over a fence. It was their third stop in a five-minute walk that was now dragging into twenty.

“You ain’t lyin’,” ShaNiece muttered, pulling tissues from her fanny pack to dab the sweat from BeBe’s face and spit from her mouth. “Here. Drink.”

BeBe slumped to the grass. “Go without me!”

“You dramatic.” Still, ShaNiece knew they weren’t making it home like this.

She pulled BeBe’s cell from her jeans and called the number in her palm. A shot in the dark.

“Hello?”

That voice. Smooth, like that dark brown liquor she’d been downing all night.

“Niecey?” His tone softened her name like he already missed her.

“Yeah, um… it’s me. I know it’s late but—”

“Where are you?”

She gave him the corner.

BeBe gagged. “I hope this nigga ain’t no murderer! What you know about him?”

“I know he’s giving us a ride. Hush!” ShaNiece palmed her blade, just in case.

Stack pulled up minutes later. The ride was quiet except for the radio—and his humming. She joined in softly, their voices finding a rhythm even without the music.

When they reached the building, he tapped her thigh. “Take your girl in. Come holla at me.”

She paused. “Or… you could come in.”

She wasn’t the one-night stand type. But something about Stack made her brave.

They carried BeBe to bed. ShaNiece made sure she was okay before returning to the living room, kicking off her Reeboks and tugging her earrings off with a chuckle. “We might’ve gone too hard tonight.”

Stack kicked off his sneakers and sank into the couch beside her. “This every weekend?”

She shook her head. “Not even. Between work and my daughter, I’m booked and busy.”

“Then let’s not waste this rare time.”

He leaned in. Kissed her neck. Hands roaming. Mouth hungry.

By the time their lips met, she was pulling him into the spare room.

Clothes hit the floor in rhythm. His Coogi sweater. Her button-down jersey. Her lace bra fell away and he growled, mouth on her chest. Her shorts slid down and she took him in—his strong chest, curved girth springing free. She reached for his glasses.

He pulled away. “No”

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her deeper.

ShaNiece gently reached again, this time with both hands, easing the glasses off.

His eyes were unreal—shifting hues of shimmering silver, and something old. They sparkled like a curse and a promise all in one.

She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

“Damn,” she whispered. ShaNiece kissed his lips to reassure him before leaning back.

She stroked her clit watching him take over. He kissed her down to her center, tongue working slow, fingers thick and skilled. She shook beneath him, whimpering, reaching for him.

“I need you,” she moaned, staring into those eyes. “Please.”

He slid into her slowly, possessively. With every stroke, he seemed to pull lightning from her bones.

“Yeees, Stack!” she cried out.

He zoned in on her neck.

Just a taste, he thought hearing her blood pulsating. Calling out for him.

“You like that, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “I’mma keep fucking you until I’m the only thing you think about.” He growled into her ear licking the tip of it.

She screamed his name, eyes wet with pleasure. He flipped her, stroked her deeper. She climbed on top, riding him backwards. He couldn’t resist that pulsating force.

When he bit her neck, she gasped. The bite—sharp, precise.

Pain bloomed, bright and quick, but it unraveled into something else. Heat. Wetness. A pull so deep it made her knees buckle.

She felt the suction of his mouth, the way he fed—not ravenous, but sensual. Worshipful.

Her breath caught, then spilled out in a moan. Her body trembled against his, hips arching, thighs clenching. It was as if he were drinking more than blood—like he was pulling memories, want, soul from her skin.

She was floating. Melting.

And Stack groaned against her, one hand sliding to pinch her chocolate perky nipple.

“You look so fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned, licking the blood. “Had to taste.” His eyes sparkled more.

She turned to kiss him, tasting herself and him and whatever magic sparked between them.

“You’re mine now, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Whatever you had before—dead that.”

She stared, expecting a laugh. None came.

Their bodies slapped in time, her bangles rattling like wind chimes. She gave him everything—and he took it, pushed her further, until the world fell away.

When they were done, tangled and sweaty, he whispered, “You’re beautiful,” against her frizzy finger waves.

She laid there, one hand on his chest, circling gently.

He meant every word.

She told herself it was just the drinks talking. Tomorrow, he’d be a faded memory.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was everything.

⸻

Atlanta, 1992

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

He should’ve never touched her.

The moment her ass backed up into him on that dance floor, something in his chest cracked open. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull in decades—not since Mary. But this? This was different. This woman wasn’t casting a spell. She was the spell.

ShaNiece. Niecey. That name settled on his tongue like honey and heat.

When she called him later, voice soft and a little slurred, asking for a favor—he didn’t hesitate. He was halfway to her before she dropped the cross street. It wasn’t just lust pulling him. It was instinct. Fate. Hunger.

He helped carry her friend inside, eyes flicking to every corner. He didn’t sense any other presence. No one watching. No threats.

Except the one inside himself.

When she invited him in, he knew he should’ve said no. He had rules. Boundaries. Protocol. Fallon would curse his whole bloodline if she knew he was entertaining a mortal woman this drunk, this vulnerable.

But she wasn’t vulnerable. She was vivid. Fully alive. That rare kind of woman who knew who she was and didn’t apologize for it. And that laugh? It had weight.

He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.

So he followed her into the back room, watching as she stripped with casual grace, like she’d done this dance a thousand times for no one but herself.

Then she reached for his shades.

“No,” he said too fast, too sharp.

She blinked but didn’t flinch. Just eased her hands back. “What’s wrong?”

But he saw it in her eyes—curiosity. Maybe a little hurt.

He couldn’t let her see. Not yet. Not until he knew what the hell was happening between them.

Because something was happening.

And it scared the hell out of him.

When she touched herself, moaning his name, his resolve cracked. She smelled like warm rain and vanilla and the faintest trace of something familiar. Not perfume. Not lotion.

Bloodline.

The first time he tasted her, tongue pressed to that aching pulse between her legs, it was electric. Tense. She trembled like her body already knew him—like her soul was calling out something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Then she begged for him.

“Please.”

He gave in. Sank into her slow, controlled, trying to keep the beast leashed. But the moment her nails dug into his back and her cries filled the room, he felt it rise The thirst.

He pressed his mouth to her neck and just breathed, trying to ground himself. She smelled divine. Real. Unfiltered. Not the sterile, synthetic blood bags he forced on himself. This woman carried something pure—unspoiled by darkness.

Just a taste, he told himself. Just enough to remember who he used to be.

When he bit down, she gasped. He moaned against her skin.

The blood hit him like a lightning strike. A rush of her hit him—heat and copper, sun-drenched laughter, a child’s cry, an old gospel hum from a porch swing on a Sunday afternoon. Her blood poured over his tongue like silk, thick with grief and joy, survival and sweetness. It wasn’t just sustenance. It was a story.

He gripped her tighter as her body bucked beneath him, her moans hitching on the edge of pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, steady and brave. She didn’t scream. She gasped. Then melted.

“Damn, you look so fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, licking the wound gently, sealing it with his tongue.

The moment he did, her body arched again. Her orgasm hit with tremors—shaking both of them. The taste of her climax still clung to his lips when she turned to kiss him, like she needed to taste what he’d taken.

She kissed him like she knew something.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push him away. She turned and kissed him like she knew. Like she wanted him still.

He wanted to stop.

But he needed to finish.

So he fucked her like he’d been waiting lifetimes.

Because maybe… he had.

She came apart in his arms, all curses and moans and fingernails, and he held her through it, burying his face in her hair like a man at prayer.

Afterward, she curled against him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

Not from the sex. Not even from the bite.

But from the knowing.

ShaNiece wasn’t just some fling. She wasn’t random.

He’d felt this before—decades ago, in shadows and dreams. Every couple of years or so, someone would spark that flicker, but it always faded.

This? This burned.

He looked down at her, sleeping like she trusted him.

He didn’t deserve it.

He’d tasted her blood—and buried in it, something simmered beneath the surface. Not just sweetness. Not just warmth.

Something immortal.

Something dangerous.

And for the first time in a long time, Elias “Stack” Moore felt something close to fear.

Because he didn’t know if he’d been sent to protect this woman… or destroy her.

Atlanta, 1992- The Next Day

Elias “Stack” Moore POV

The sky was still painted indigo when he walked into the back office of the club. The city wasn’t fully awake yet—but Fallon was.

Of course she was.

She leaned against the desk, arms crossed, in a black turtleneck and gold hoops. Her eyes—that sharp hazel gold—tracked him like prey.

“Where the fuck were you last night?”

Elias didn’t answer right away. He took off his sweater, dumping it to the side. Peeled off the rest of his clothes one item at a time down to his boxers. He needed to shower.

Fallon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You didn’t check in,” she said, voice low and flat. “And you didn’t feed yesterday.”

He looked up then, jaw tight. “I fed.”

“You fed,” she echoed, nostrils flaring. “Not from a bag.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past her to the small bar and poured two shots of bourbon. It burned going down, but not enough. He still tasted her.

“I told you,” she said, stepping closer, “the girl from the party. She’s not clean.”

His hand stilled on the glass.

“I didn’t say she was dirty. I meant she’s… special. Like she’s different or something.”

“You think I didn’t feel that?” he muttered, turning toward her.

Fallon’s eyes narrowed.

“So you did see her?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.

Fallon’s jaw locked. “You bit her.”

He stayed silent.

“You fucking bit her?” Her voice dropped, but it hit like a punch. “Jesus, Elias. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She was already in it,” he said quietly. “Before I touched her. Before I knew her name.”

“Don’t give me that ‘destiny’ bullshit,” she snapped. “You felt a pull? Great. You know what that means.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her face was tight with fear—not anger. That scared him more than anything.

“She didn’t scream,” he said. “Didn’t push me away. When I bit her, she leaned in.”

Fallon shook her head. “You don’t get it. That’s worse. That means she already in trouble.”

He stilled. “What?”

Fallon lowered her voice. “Mary.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then she whispered, “The Juke, Elias.”

“Don’t” he growled.

“They died, Stack. And it tore a hole in you big enough to crawl through. Don’t pretend like this ain’t déjà vu.”

He turned away, gripping the edge of the desk until the wood creaked.

Fallon stepped closer, softer now. “You said she was the only one who ever made you feel like this until she didn’t”

“She broke me on purpose.” He thought of her and the curse she forged in him.

“But this one,” Fallon pressed, “ShaNiece. She’s making you feel again.”

He nodded once. Slow. Painful.

Fallon’s voice trembled. “Then we got a problem. Because if you felt that bond, Stack, if you took ShaNiece’s blood because it called you—you know what comes next.”

He closed his eyes. “Mary.”

Fallon nodded. “She always knows when you give yourself away.”

@rolemodelshit @chaneajoyyy @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @jackierose902109 @blackisy2k @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bxrbie1 @honeytoffee @wakandamama @fd-writes @lovelymari4 @raysunshine78 @l-auteuse @twistedcharismaaa @dameshaemonique @artsninspo @eye-raq @reci1996 @destinio1 @tastingmellow @ghostfacekill-monger @thehomierobbstark @erikismybitch @theogbadbitch @bakarilennox @passionxwrites @sheabuttahwrites @spicypiscesssss @belleofthefloor @hairhattedghooligan @hippiesandpeacesigns @zillasvilla @wawakanda-btch @triplet-k-a @moihasarrived @stacksrackz @madibee0905 @spideyverseprblms @freyanistics @anniensmoke3 @jayymaria @just-a-little-nut @thefutureemmywinner

[mydearthisbe]

Things I Loved About Sinners (2025):

The three vultures visible sitting on Bert and Joan's house while Remmick is inside, and then circling overhead the juke joint immediately after, visually signalling the ill omens those three will bring to the place

The scene where Sammie plays at the Juke Joint and how it shows so many layers of breaking barriers (the visual barriers of the roof being on fire, revealing the people inside, the time barriers of people of different eras, the cultural barriers in the types of music and performance displayed, in particular representing Black-American and African and Chinese cultures). It is one of the coolest scenes I've seen in in any movie

The scene switching back-and-forth between Smoke trying to talk Sammie out of being a blues musician (intentionally sheltering his family) versus Stack being talked into approaching Remmick through Mary (inadvertantly endangering his family), highlighting their differences in both risk aversion and trust in others

The way that Remmick primarily speaks with a Southern twang, but the times that his Irish accent can be heard are mainly through song, or in his last scene, prayer, but in acknowledging his heritage, is also simultaneously compelling the others around him to participate as they mimick his words and music

The way that Smoke defending himself against the Klan members doesn't at all impact his gentle transition into the afterlife

The fact that as an adult, Sammie wears a hat like Smoke's, showing the importance of their relationship, but in his background poster, a hat like Stack's, showing that he hasn't forgotten their bond either

How Stack and Mary are the only ones we see who have significant glimmers of their original selves and the care for the people they loved (Mary in her distress at Annie's death, Stack in ending his fight with his brother peacefully and making a promise to leave Sammie alone) and they're rewarded for that by being the only people who turned to make it past sunrise

[jo-inconnu]

against the odds, adults is actually pretty funny

[samsblades]

the fact that almost every fic (specifically x reader bc i haven't seen anything else so far) for sinners as i scroll through the tag has been for remmick is so crazy and insane and you guys really missed the point of the movie i think. i fear. you missed the point. of all the characters to blorbo-ify you really chose the white man huh

[axelboneboy]

Continuation of this post(Some HCs for this scenario):

__________________________________________

In this AU Remmick would still be a vampire

Sammie so sheltered he doesn’t understand the idea that a rich older man might want something other than his music. He’s not stupid, but he’s definitely naive and like a deer in headlights.

Smoke and Stack being ‘businessmen’ theirselves, cough cough gangsters cough cough, would immediately understand what Remmick’s trying to do. They like some of the artists signed to Remmick’s label but they both know what he’s trying to do. Even though their innocent cousin wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on.

Sammie: I don’t know what you’re talking about, it ain’t like that.

Stack: Then why’d he send you a vase of roses?

Sammie: It’s a gift all employees get when they sign on

Smoke: And why the hell he said you can’t date nobody else?

Sammie: Cause fans don’t like it when their favorite artist is unattainable, they want to believe they could date me.

Stack: It sounds like he wants to date you

Sammie: What? No. This is about the women. That’s all it’s about.

You just know Remmick is licking his lips at the idea of having a sweet little southern belle that don’t know any better willing to do as he says, especially because of Sammie’s gift. But something feels different about Sammie. It’s not just his gift, no, Remmick feels like this boy will be with him a lot longer than others he just used for sex. He’s deeply attracted to Sammie beyond a primal sexual way.

Meanwhile Annie is looking to see how this is gonna go, and it doesn’t seem good. Smoke doesn’t believe in hoodoo but he believes in his woman and he don’t like Remmick.

[mistfallengw2]

You know what the funniest thing is about mfs having such beef with fictional characters that they have to always bring up their negative feelings for them in the most obnoxious way possible?

They often dislike those characters because: A. they see some part of themselves in them and oooh boy they don't like seeing it, especially when the character grows past that and they still haven't B. the character ruins their "absolute center of the world" fantasy and they can't accept that someone "lesser than them" (read into this as much as needed to explain magnitude) takes the spotlight off of them for even just a moment C. both

[shivapvoid]

Afflatus Solace

Restores target's HP. Cure Potency: 800 Additional Effect: Nourishes the Blood Lily Healing Gauge Cost: 1 Lily

[contractuallybound]

ciel is as much of a tease sebastian is

that's it .. that's the post

[tennessoui]

i was wondering the other day, has mobi-wan seen the recent Interview with the Vampire show? i feel like he would vibe with Lestat. and it might even make the list of Approved Media Anakin Is Allowed To Watch since (spoilers) Louis goes back to Lestat in the end, which vowbreaker-era mobi-wan would approve of. but then again it's hard to tell with mobi-wan

lmao I’m constantly in love with and amused by the idea of anakin being only allowed to watch certain things, Lest He Get Ideas.

Indiana Jones is a yes, because even mobi-wan approves of punching nazis and he’s confident that Harrison ford is not anakins type

Silence of the Lambs is an easy yes

Hannibal season 1 and season 4 are yes’es, but the other ones are deemed too revolutionary

I haven’t seen interview with a vampire yet but I feel like it’d probably be a yes for at least a few episodes. Mobi-Wan would of course find ways of distracting anakin with sex the moment it becomes a no

(anakin took a media literacy class in community college as part of his electives, before he even met obi-wan. He’s not sure if he should be flattered or offended that Obi-wan is so insecure in their relationship that he thinks anakin would watch a movie and then decide to leave him)

(Sure anakin’s been brainwashed before but that was by another mob boss - or I guess 2 mob bosses if we’re counting Obi-Wan. Anakin feels like that’s different. Obi-wan isn’t taking chances)

[ryssbelle]

WAIT THEYRE TWO SEPARATE GUYS smh I'm a fake fan. No wonder I could never figure out where the middle bit connecting the two stories was 😂

YEAH okay so the looore

The guy on the left in your picture is from the Branching Timelines au in which Sksw Link is mistaken for the goddess Hylia reborn and Zelda goes down to save him, it was started by @attllhak and the reason my side is called Branching Timelines is because it is a branch off their own story, I had made a joke comic at first that turned into a series accidentally lol

here is their fic: AO3 LINK TUMBLR LINK

NOW Divine twili beast Sky is an LU au that stems from a weird dream I had that also turned into a series as I tried to flesh out what the lore of this world could be like which is why there's a lot of holes in it but like it's my Swiss cheese angel

What's funnier is there is a 3rd au I barely talk about because it was when my Zelda hyper fixation was waning a bit, which links up with Branching Timelines called Fractured Timelines and THAT Sky is the same Sky as Branching Timelines SORT OF

It's complicated but the fracturing aspect does play a part in how that's the case. Idk it FT will ever see the light of day past the designs I made BUT we'll never know

Also

You: THERES 2 SKYS

Me:

[writerbee-ffs]

✨✨✨Lost Soul✨✨✨

1992: Stack x ShaNiece McIntyre

2025: Elias x Solana McIntyre

[ruushes]

due to poor taste i'll probably do an astarion origin run after finishing nox's playthrough but i don't want to immediately play a rogue again so