#stack moore

[kekewell]

Y'all not understanding that Mary is a White-passing Black Woman is frying my brain fr.

The best way I can equate her narrative throughout the beginning is when you're a little girl and gender doesn't really matter. You play with girls and boys equally because you're all kids. And then one day the same boys you played tag with don't want to play anymore. You're only allowed to play with "girls" toys and wear "girls" colors. Adults tease you at best and outright reprimand you at worst because you still want to run with the boys who, two years ago, were your favorite playmates.

Even worse is when those same boys tease you and exclude you too, all because now you're a girl instead of just another kid.

Mary has a Black mother, grew up among the Black folks and coloreds in their hometown. Which is why she had to leave the town and the state to find opportunity. The same way Smoke and Stack went to Chicago to make something of themselves.

When Stack says, "For one night, we was free." That includes Mary.

For one night she got to be with her one true love, for one night she got to be among her people, with what remained of her family after her mother died. That's why she was so vulnerable to Remmick. Once that one night was over she'd be forced to go back to Arkansas living as a White woman, constantly longing for a home she can't return to, a love that keeps pushing her away to protect her, and praying that no one ever found out her roots because that would spell the end for her.

And she didn't go out to talk to Remmick and Klan out of White arrogance, she did it because she wanted to use her unwanted power of passing to help her family for once. Because they are her community and if she can do anything, even sus out the weird "musicians" lurking in their parking lot, she was going to do it for them.

Lastly, let's not act like Mary was the only reason Remmick was able to turn one of the twins/anyone inside the sawmill. Cornbread left shortly after her to go piss, and that's why he missed Stack getting bit by Mary and dying. Say she hadn't gone out, he'd have still had to use the bathroom and would have been let inside after being bitten without anyone thinking to stop him because they wouldn't have known not to trust him.

The whole point of Sinners is that they were all damned. Take Mary out of it, Remmick would still be drawn to Sammie. Cornbread still would have been bitten. And even if the threat of Remmick never materialized the Klan would have been there minutes after dawn.

Stop applying modern beliefs and feelings about race on a time period where one drop, passing or not, made you vulnerable under Jim Crow.

[slippinninque]

I love me a good yearning and this man provided 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

Annie said lemme give ya something to think about Poppa 😌

Mail Call! A Letter of Lust!

I FINALLY POSTING A SINNERS FIC 😎

While on downtime during their tour in WW1, Smoke receives a special letter and care package from his woman back home.

“Mail call!” 

Smoke looks up from his game of solitaire to see his brother’s big grin as entered their unit’s tent. Stack struts in with a cheerful swagger to disrupt Smoke’s solitude. Stack plops the box into Smoke’s lap then whips out his pocket knife fancy spin and points it to a beige envelope thick with a long letter. The younger of the two raises an eyebrow in question, Smoke curling his hands into fists for a moment then lets them go, his pinkies are shaky so he nods. 

“And where you been?” Smoke asks as Stack rips his letter open for him and hands it to his brother.

“Letting this thick yella-bone outta Marseille teach my dick French. Shoulda know all them snails they be eating would make they mouths that talented.” Stack quips, wagging his tongue in triumph.

Smoke rolls his eyes and warns “Don’t get burned out there brother.” 

Smoke pulls out Annie’s letter from the envelope and watches with a rare smile as dried butterfly weed and lavender buds fall to his lap. He presses the letter to his nose and takes a deep smell of the plump colored lipstick mark at the top of the page, Smoke swears he can catch the whiff of black cherry Annie used in her lip stain. Smoke’s nose twitches in curiosity as a teal blue handkerchief flutters to his lap next, he quickly balls it into his hand and unfolds his two page letter.

“Aww shit, yo woman done sent you a bouquet." Stack teases, as he picks up some of the dried buds and sprinkles them over Smoke head.

 “What did Annie say? She send word about Mary and Mama Munroe? She send some of them cinnamon candies again?” Stack harasses while he squeezes behind Smoke on the cot. Smoke puffs one of the orange petals off his lip as he uses his head to block the words. Stack reaches around to Smoke’s lap to grab the box and receives a swift elbow to the gut that sends him yelping and rolling off back off cot to the floor. 

“Fuck you nigga!”

“Read yo’ own damn mail nigga!” Smoke scolds down at him. The older twin pointed a thumb to the small pile of little pink envelopes covered in smiley faces and kisses that Mary had sent Stack over the last 5 months.

“I’m tryna be nice and do ya favor bringin’ you ya mail, just to get assaulted in my own damn bunk!” Stack argues as he rolls up and pulls himself back to his feet.

“And thank ya… Now go be nosy somewhere else.” Smoke says, waving him off with his free hand. Stack kisses his teeth and makes a show of snatching all of Smoke’s playing cards, hustling out with a long laugh as Smoke cusses him out. 

Alone again, Smoke carefully scoops all the flower petals back into the envelope and settles it in the front pocket of his pack. He settles the handkerchief on his chest and finally stretches out on his back in the bed to read Annie’s neat and loopy handwriting.

To my dearest Elijah, 

My love, I’ve missed you terribly. 

Mary done found a new hobby with that little bit of cash Stack sent her last week. She bought a camera! I think you’ll like the gift she helped me make for you with it. It’s in the box. 

Before making her way back to Louisiana, my grandma was thorough in guiding me to make this latest batch of candy for you. It’s more of those orange and honey ones you like, but I did put a small bag of the cinnamon stuff in there for that fool Elias so he doesn't drive you too crazy. 

However, if we are talking about crazy, then we have to talk about just how badly I’ve craved you Elijah. 

Smoke shifts in his cot at the turn of tone in the letter. He lets his free hand drift to his waist band and rest right over the crotch. Just what in the world did his woman have to say? 

Sometimes I think I miss ya hands the most. How them strong fingers of yours could, play my pussy like a fuck’n’ piano. Finding just the right key to tune me up every single time. You make me louder than a cicada in the heat of the day with just two fingers in there Elijah, that ain’t sane. 

Or ya thick thumb in my mouth, putting the taste of my cunt on my tongue like lime after liquor. Can you still feel that slickness ya be draw outta me on yo’ hands Poppa? I’ve been trying to replicate just how yo do it, but it just ain’t right! Guess my fingers too short. Only you can reach in and fill me up how I need to be.  How you know I need to be filled.

Smoke lets out a low whistle at her statements, he shakes his head in disbelief at the picture painted. It aches him thinking about Annie laid out in her bed edging herself wet and whiny in thought of him. He needs to get home and fix that. 

Do you miss my hands too, baby? If ya do, just close yo’ eyes and ‘magine my hands back where they belong. You ‘member how I did it, right? I can’t just ever take it easy when it comes to handling that shaft of yours, I gotta get a whole handful of that beautiful thang before I can get started. I gotta feel the weight of you so that lusts fills my gut. Do ya miss when I’d trail up you, baby? Feel every vein on the column of you. How’d I point that dick up nice and high so I could take it down my throat?

I miss the feeling of you in my throat, Elijah. 

Tasting you is my ambrosia, Poppa. Do me a favor? Hold that dick for me, baby. Treat it nice, just how I would.

I know you miss this pussy. 

This pussy misses you, she’s still crying for you every night and it leaves me so achy Elijah. I wiped her up the best I could after just the memory of your lips on her with this scrap off my night slip. 

Can you smell me?

“Fuck” Smoke hisses between his teeth. He palms his dick through his cargos, it is tight and hard, becoming slick at the tip at Annie’s written words. Smoke bites his lip in and glances at the door of the tent before checking his watch.

Only 2 hours until curfew. He could get it in. 

Smoke presses the teal cloth to face, deeply inhaling and praying that the boat ride over didn’t deter the essence of Annie off it. Smoke groans, right there, a bit hidden by the dried florals is the musk of his woman. All bold and familiar, the scent of Annie’s pussy prompts Smoke to unzip and keep stroking. God he needs to get back home to her. 

I liked my hands on you Elijah. Up and down. Up and down. Slow and steady so I could feel your pulse between my thumbs while I kissed up and down that dick of yours. I loved swirling the tip wit’ my tongue so I can taste every little drop of you on my tastebuds before I let you down my throat. 

If I remember right? Ya like that little choke sound I’d make when ya dick would jump when I was coming back up. Right? You’re a fucking freak likin’ to choke your girl with that thickness. What if I spit Poppa? All that good nut leaking out my mouth before it can even get in me? Wasteful.

“Fuck, Ann.” Smoke groans lowly as he beats his dick just as Annie describes. Slow. Steady. Up. Down. Phantom touches of her soft hands make him jump. He remembers her pretty puffy lips swallowing all seven inches of him down the velvet of her throat in one swallow then how she would make it re-appear twitching, glistening with her spit. All done with only a whiny moan humming on his lap. Annie is magic like that. 

He pictures that woman running the tip of her heavy and heavenly tongue right along the veins of his dick. Then that fucking tease of his, swirls the tip, pop off it with a loud kiss just to swallow him down again.

“Annie.” Smoke moans again, forcing the collar of his shirt into his mouth to muffle his moans as just the thought of Annie’s command made him uncontrollable. The slick sounds of his actions become louder and quicker.

Elijah please be careful with that dick, that’s mine. You are mine and I need my things to come back to me in perfect condition. Because Poppa…I need you to fill my coozs up from every angle. On any surface. Only you can satisfy that ache between my legs, only you can make me ache so good. You got the only thang that can make this cunt all hot and puffy. I know you like that shit, some soft pussy to thrust into, lay into, have bounce on ya. 

You want this ass on you? I miss the smacks we’d make, I miss pushing all this weight against you and you putting it right back on me. You wanna get in me baby?

“Yesss.” Smoke moans out, half muffled as his head bobs back and he starts to thrust sloppily into his wet fist. He starts to crumble the cloth over his nose so he can breathe deep of her scent once more.

I moaned your name last night. Blessed it be I ain’t neighbors for a mile or they would know your whole government. Fuck being Smoke, fuck being Mr. Moore. They’d know Elijah. They’d know that this pussy is yours only, Poppa. They’d know I’m just some bitch in heat about you. Come home soon, so you can fill me up and I can have my body back. 

Love you, always.

Annie Greenwood

Smoke drags the cloth down and presses it firmly over his mouth to mute his shouting grunt as he comes hard into his hand and drawls. He pants in more and more of Annie’s essence as he comes down from the high of his nut. After a few breaths, he lets himself go boneless in ecstasy and actually breathes air. Smoke didn’t know kinda magic had to be done, but he needed her in a dream tonight. Requiring it for his own mental stability at this point, he has already spent 40 days in hell with 369th Infantry in this European war, can’t a good soldier atleast get a wet dream of his woman? 

Smoke can only catch his breath for another moment before hearing boots and hoots from the other making their way towards the barrack. 

“Damn.” he hisses and swiftly sits up and places a pillow in his lap. He pretends he didn’t just make a mess in his drawls over Annie’s written words, instead making his hands busy with opening the gift box. It’s a group of four soldiers who just greet Smoke but mind their own busy with getting ready for bed.

 Smoke opens the box and frowns at some black cord necklace, he recognizes that it was one of them mojo bags that Annie and her grandmother both wore. Annie had placed a slip of paper under it. 

“Put this on, so you and ya brother come back safely to me.”

That was all the instruction. It ain’t say nothing about a prayer or any kinda ritual. Just put this on because I said so. And for Smoke, that was enough, believing in Annie was always enough. 

Smoke chuckles softly, gives his shy grin and slips it on with a perfect fit. Annie was good at remembering the dimension of his neck after all, it was her favorite place to put her hands when she-

Smoke quickly shook off the thoughts before his dick got hard again and he’d have to try and sneak out for a cold shower with only 40 minutes to spare for curfew. 

He settles the bag of orange honey drop into his pack, then tosses Stack’s cinnamon bullshit on his cot to the left of him. He finally gets to the bottom of the box and sees a photograph wrapped in tissue paper. He hums in intrigue as he unwraps it to find-

“You're a damn cheat Stack!”

“Learn to play dominos and then you can talk about cheating! You just made I took yo lil lunch money!” Stack banters back with one of the boys as they get ready to enter the tent. Just as they go in, Smoke is hustling out a change of lounge clothes and shower kit pressed to his crotch, the white-back of a photograph pressed to his chest and a look of flustered determination across his face. Stack frowns and grabs Smoke’s arm to stop him. 

“Where the Hell you going?

“Shower.”

“But curfew is i-”

“I know when it is nigga! Worry boutcha self.” Smoke interrupts, shaking his brother’s hand off his arm. Smoke goes to march on but pauses long enough to make eye contact.

“Write Mary and tell her to throw that damn camera in a creek!”

[j0ysyndr0m3]

LIFE OF SIN, stack x oc! reader

rosetta ‘rose' thornton finally returns home to the delta after touring for nights as a singer and is surprised to see her former lover, elias 'stack' moore has returned after 7 years in chicago. as the bitterness subsides and past feelings still linger for each other, unbeknownst to them, an even greater evil follows them back home.

warnings — violence, religious trauma, strong language, smut, talks of infidelity, depictions of southern accents, time period drama, mary slander, talks of racism, use of the n word.

all i need in this life of sin, is me and my girlfriend...

elias ‘stack’ moore

down to ride ‘till the very end, just me and my boyfriend...

rosetta ‘rose’ thornton

divider by @uzmacchiato

COMING SOON …

( if you would like to be tagged, please comment here )

wattpad vers.

prologue

[bxunyx]

𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬

Pairing-ModernAU-Smoke&Stack x Bookworm reader

Request-SmokeStack twins with book worm reader. I would love to see the contrast between her and them like they bring her to make plays, hanging with the gang and she’s just reading not hearing a peep.

A/N- hope you like it pumpkin

You weren’t supposed to be in their world.

Not the backroom meetings. Not the corner politics. Not the smell of rubber soles scuffing concrete and burner phones buzzing with coded tension.

You were supposed to be at home—curled up in bed with a candle lit, sipping tea, annotating chapters like they held the answers to life.

But somehow, you ended up in the thick of it. Caught between the two wildest men the South Side had to offer.

Smoke—the quiet one. Sharp jaw, darker eyes, slick with that slow Southern drawl and a stare that made grown men stutter. The mind behind the movement. If Stack was fire, Smoke was the shadow moving through the smoke after it burned.

Stack—his louder twin. Flashier. Mouth slick. The kind of man who laughed during shootouts and flirted between shootouts. Gold in his mouth, heat in his waistband, and a habit of turning anything boring into a party.

And then there was you.

Wearing soft sweaters in rooms full of cracked leather and gun oil. Sitting cross-legged on trap couches with your paperback open while stacks of cash were being flipped behind you.

You didn’t blink when the doors slammed.

Didn’t flinch when the guns clicked.

Didn’t even pause your reading when someone got to yelling about re-ups and bad product.

“Bruh,” Stack said one night, watching you over the rim of his solo cup, “she really sittin’ here reading Jane Austen like we not plannin’ a lick.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” you corrected, not looking up.

Smoke smirked from across the table, where he was cleaning his pistol. “She just like her peace.”

Stack snorted. “She with us. Ain’t no peace in this.”

“She got peace ’cause she with us,” Smoke said calmly, sliding the magazine back into place. “Ain’t nobody gon’ touch her, ain’t nobody gon’ speak crazy, and ain’t shit gon’ interrupt that chapter.”

He nodded toward you, and Stack followed his gaze—watching the way your lips moved while you read, your lashes low, your body relaxed like you were a thousand miles away from the war room you sat in.

⸻

You weren’t dumb.

You knew who they were. What they did. What they were capable of.

You just chose not to be scared. Chose not to ask questions. Chose to be something else in their lives.

Because everybody wanted a piece of them. The streets, the girls, the gang, the game. But no one ever gave anything back.

You gave them quiet.

Unbothered, unshaken quiet. The kind they didn’t even know they craved until it was already sitting cross-legged beside them, correcting their grammar and dog-earing chapters they didn’t understand.

⸻

They started bringing you everywhere.

To the drop spots. The dice games. Even late-night stakeouts, where Stack played loud music in the front seat while Smoke sat silent, watching. And you? Tucked in the back, reading by the glow of the glovebox light.

“Yo, baby,” Stack said one night, eyes on the side mirror, “you hear what this nigga just said?”

“Nope,” you said, turning a page.

“Damn,” Stack grinned. “She in deep.”

Smoke cracked the window and said under his breath, “Good. Let her stay there. World’s too loud anyway.”

⸻

It wasn’t until someone tried to test the setup that things went left.

One of Stack’s ex-flings showed up at a party—loud, made-up, and mad.

She clocked you instantly. Sitting on a barstool, knees pulled up, reading in a crowd full of gang members and Instagram models.

“That’s who y’all with now?” she sneered, looking you up and down. “Girl look like she belong in a library, not a trap.”

Stack laughed. Laughed.

“Damn right,” he said. “And we the library cards. She checkin’ both of us out.”

The girl scoffed. “She don’t even talk.”

Smoke stepped up behind you, sliding a protective hand to your lower back.

“She don’t need to,” he said, voice low. “She listen. She think. She know more from a book than you ever did runnin’ your mouth.”

Then he looked to you. “You good?”

You closed your book, finally raising your eyes. Calm. Unbothered.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “She’s just mad I read more than receipts.”

Stack damn near choked laughing.

Smoke smiled slow.

And the girl? She disappeared before the next song started.

⸻

That night, the twins brought you home.

You laid between them—your book tucked on the nightstand, their arms thrown over you like guards at the gate.

Stack kissed your shoulder, mumbling, “Don’t ever leave us for some nerdy professor.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Smoke pulled you closer. “’Cause real peace only show up once.”

And you were it.

The calm after the shootout. The silence after the plan.

The only thing they never had to fight for—

Because somehow, they knew they’d lose you if they ever made it loud.

And you? You didn’t need much.

Just a quiet corner, a good book…

And two men who loved you enough to let you read through the war.

[trailerparkvampire]

you ever think about the intricacies of smoke & stack's dynamic and go fucking crazy?

their abusive father zeroing in on stack as the outlet for his beatings, smoke killing their daddy, half way done burying him by the time stack came to - smoke being the BIG BROTHER from the start, keeping stack safe - stack becoming who he is - bit reckless, full of charisma and whimsy because of smoke, in a way, shielding him from the world ("doesn't know how to watch his own back").

thinking of smoke saying how stack is the best thing about him, how stack talks a big game but how it's smoke who kills the snake, smoke who shoots two men for stealing out of his truck, smoke who pulls a gun on sammie and pearline. does he ever think he got more of their daddy in him than stack? where stack can connect with people in a way smoke can't quite follow. stack laying out clothes for him, doing his hair, rolling his cigarettes- giving smoke back some of what the war took.

but I also can't help but think that there is this slight ....almost paternalistic element at times - the way stack looks around for smoke when he's with mary, worried he'll be caught, worried he'll displease him and yet that thing he says when he's turned "don't let that witch come between us again" - there's no doubt that stack loves annie and is clearly DISTRAUGHT when smoke kills her but ...was there ever resentment? did he ever feel betrayed? was it ever only meant to be the two of them against the world?

"he was the best thing about me" "i ain't doing it without you there ain't no me without you" "sorry for not keeping you safe - you always did" the way stack is just that one person smoke can't kill, the way the only time he wavers in his resolve is when his vampire brother talks with him.

(this is borderline incoherent but I have a lot of thoughts)

[nikredd]

Papa's here. - Smoke Moore

We was free. - Stack Moore

Sinners 2025 Movie

[logray]

When they're first introduced, Smoke is wearing a tweed suit with a flat cap that's typical of an Irishman, while Stack is wearing a fedora with a pinstripe suit accessorized with gold bits that lean into a more Italian style. This hints that the brothers dress appropriately to blend in with both the North Side Gang and the Chicago Outfit back in the city. [x]

SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[mametzwood]

somebody take me in your arms tonight

[maddiearts2307]

Sinners Vampire Stack Art

[dollerin]

part two is out now!!!! read here !!!! hope u enjoy 🌺

VOICE OF AN 𝓐𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 stack moore.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── you’ve got one hell of a talent, everyone knows that except for the notorious, stack. but he may be the one to get you your very first gig when he finds out. he says you shouldn’t let your gift go to waste, you’ve got the voice of an angel.

elias ‘stack’ moore x f. reader romance strangers to lovers physical touch 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 𝟣.𝟩𝗄 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

part 2 available here

The old restaurant smelled of tobacco smoke and the pork chops that were being made in the kitchen, the aged wood scent lingering with it. It was crowded, per usual, but you didn’t mind—it meant you and your mother were getting business.

Fridays were usually the busiest anyway, people getting off of work, needing a good meal and a drink to wash down their rough week. Some work all day in the field and want to run away from the trouble of the other folks out to get them. And then there were others who just wanted to dance.

No matter where they were from, you served them anyway, a smile always on your face. Though working and serving for your mama wasn’t ideal, it was a start—a start to your dreams. And you were okay with that.

You weaved through the tables and small crowds of dancing elders, placing plates in front of people and collecting the empty ones. This was nothing new to you, so it came like second nature.

The music in your mama’s joint wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t fast, either. It was the perfect tempo for people to groove along and for you to begin humming to yourself as you cleaned off empty tables. The band that played were a few good family friends that agreed to play there every night, no pay required. Every once in a while, you join them. Sometimes they played popular blues songs, other times they played the songs that you wrote yourself, and knew all the lyrics to. Now, of course, the audience didn’t know the songs but they didn’t have to. Your voice was what captivated them.

By now, it was a regular thing for someone to come up to you and request a song—or just ask you to go on stage so they could hear you. All you could ever do was nod your head and bashfully agree as you walked up.

But tonight, it didn't happen. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe it was because your mama needed some extra help, with the amount of folks that piled into her restaurant. Your cousin—the only chef that she had at the moment, was sick so she was forced to do all the cooking by herself, instead of helping you serve.

As you continued to hum to yourself, the music still echoing throughout the restaurant, the bell on the door jingled. Your back was turned, but you heard footsteps as another customer came in. They didn’t ask to be seated, though.

You glanced behind you to see that they’d taken a seat at the bar, but then you did a double take once you saw who it was.

Some people whispered to each other, but they didn’t dare make eye contact with the person.

Stack.

One of the famous Delta twins. Dressed in that red hat that sat low, hiding his eyes a bit.

You turned back to the task at hand, not wanting your staring to be too obvious—though it probably already was. You could hear him shuffling in his seat at the bar, the sound of his lighter flicking and him inhaling a bit.

You continued working as if he weren’t there, humming along to the music. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

Soon, the music ended on the stage, leading everyone to applaud before the band started their next song. Some of them walked off the stage, taking a bathroom break or a sip of water. You continued humming to yourself, even as the music was gone.

“Y/N! Hey!” Someone called out to you.

Your head popped up, seeing one of the band members headed right toward you.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“You wanna c’mon for our next number? It’s your favorite,” he said.

“What? ‘Down Hearted Blues’?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow.

The man chuckled, “You know it.”

You thought about it for a moment, his constant ‘c’mon’ had made you want to go up there and grab that microphone. But you weren’t so sure if you’d do that tonight.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir—“

“Go on up there! You know everybody love yo’ voice!”

You shook your head, hiding the bashfulness on your face.

He turned around to the rest of the restaurant, raising his voice for everyone to hear, “Aye, y’all, don’t y’all love lil’ Y/N’s voice? Don’t ya’ love when she sing for us?”

They all paused what they were doing to agree, the area erupting with applause and cheers. That didn’t make your case any better, if you were one of them white folks, you would’ve looked like a tomato by now.

Your smile grew as the people’s focus was now on you, encouraging you to head up on that stage.

“C’mon, Y/N, sing for us!”

“I wanna hear some good ol’ blues tonight!”

“Girl, if you don’t get up there—!”

After a moment of them all trying to persuade you at once, you drop the cleaning towel on the table you were standing at. You walked through the crowd again, walking toward the stage with loud cheers behind you.

The smile on your face never dropped, even as you got to the center of the wooden platform.

Stack was tucked into the back of the restaurant still, remaining in his seat at the bar. He took another drag of his cigarette, waiting to see what all the ruckus was about—what the big deal was about one voice.

People took their places at their tables and some stood around as the instrumental of your favorite song began to play. You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes as the lyrics began to flow out of you.

Were there folks watching you all around the restaurant? Yes.

But you could feel a certain pair glued to you. Like they couldn’t move. Like they didn’t want to move.

You sang out, your voice drifting throughout the restaurant like a harp played in the moonlight. You clutched your chest, reciting the lyrics as if you had lived by them.

Stack looked up at the platform from beneath his hat, the cigarette sitting between his plump lips. They curled up at the corners, a smirk playing on his face as he listened to you. He could’ve sworn he died and came back when he heard, nodding his head slowly in approval and enjoyment.

You twirled to the side of the stage, your long work dress flowing with you as you fell in love with the music all over again. People not only loved you for your voice, but for your performance. How you let the chords flow through your veins. The music was you.

As the band began to reach the end of the song, you smiled out to your little crowd, seeing all them send cheers your way.

You made your way off of the stage, hugging some of them, others kissing you on the cheek.

“Alright, y’all, I gotta get back to work now,” you laughed, cheeks burning from your wide grin.

They all let you get back to your duties, still cheering you on from afar, but not wanting to hear any fuss from your Mama.

You walked back to the table you were at before, grabbing the dirty towel to place in the basket full of other used cloth.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” a voice said from behind you.

You turned to see Stack grinning at you, sly look plastered on his face, per usual.

“Um, hi?”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I don’t mean to bother, but… that was you singing up there?”

You nodded.

“Mhm.”

He smiled, gold pieces on display. His eyes scanned you for a moment before speaking again.

“Just wanted to let you know I enjoyed it. Sounded like an angel sent from heaven.”

You raised your brow, slightly, “Thanks.”

He moved a hair closer to you, eyes never moving from yours.

“I’m offerin’ you a spot down at this here Juke Joint.. You know the SmokeStack twins?” He asked, eyes shimmering in the restaurant’s dim lighting.

“Yeah, I heard of em’. What that gotta do with a Juke Joint?”

“We openin’ one. Right here in the Delta.” He said proudly.

You folded your arms, not responding.

“So? What you say, huh?” His voice lowered, his words only heard between you both.

You narrowed your eyes up at him, “I don’t know.. I don’t understand what I would be gettin’ outta this.”

“Well,” he ran his tongue over his lip. “Thirty cents an hour. And a front-row seat to this here pretty face. Can’t beat that.”

Something about his little comment made your stomach tumble, but you straightened your stance.

“Still not hearin’ what this’ll do for me.”

He sighed, looking around for a moment before turning back to you.

“I meant it when I said you got a voice on ya, pea. Voice like that don’t come ‘round often. Why don’t you come on out? Show folks what the blues s’posed to feel like?”

You kept your eyes on him, thinking for a moment. You didn’t know if this was just a way for him to keep persuading you to come so he could try and take you home—or what. But he had a point. How would you ever get to where you wanna be in life, with your gift, if you don’t show it to folks outside the restaurant?

You tapped your foot, trying to make a decision.

“I…” you started, looking down at your scuffed shoes.

He hummed, waiting for your response, leaning down to follow your gaze.

“You in or what?”

“Lemme talk to my Mama. See what she says, she might—“

“You a grown-ass woman, what you talkin’ bout’, askin’ your mama?” His eyes scanned you again, lips twitching like he was holding back a grin.

“She might need my help,” you finish your sentence, cutting your eyes at him. “It ain’t easy runnin’ a restaurant all by yourself, now.”

Stack gave a short nod, hand coming to his pocket, shifting around it. He pulled out some cash—real dollars, not just coins. He grabbed your hand from your side, placing the paper right in your palm.

“That gon’ cover one night for y’all?” He asked, already knowing the answer as you stared down at the money, mouth agape.

“I— You—“

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then? Bring some of your mama’s platters, hear?”

And with that, he tipped his hat, showing off the gold in his mouth before turning to the door.

꒰ ≧ ̫ ≦ ꒱ྀི : decided to split this in two parts !! :) first sinners fic.. kinda nervy tho.

[shadowyfigure1207]

So how fucked would everyone would've been if instead of stack and Mary turning into vampires, it was smoke and annie?

[sukibenders]

So, while I am happy that Sinners is/has been receiving so much love and acclaim, drawing in a big fanbase and such, a discussion needs to be had. While I normally don't go telling people what to write, there's something deeply unsettling about how certain fics for Sinners are being made. While I don't necessarily mind Remmick fics, as I see the appeal, it's deeply uncomfortable to hear about some writers creating a Remmick x reader, who is the daughter of a slave owner, or having the reader be a part of the Klan (this is wild just to say alone). Sinners features a predominantly Black cast and has a large Black fanbase, some of whom can be found on Tumblr, so imagine this being the case and coming on to this app and seeing someone write such a thing. That, on top of how many instances there are with the Black characters, who are the main characters, being pushed out or written in ways that go past mischaracterization to borderline dehumanizing/stereotypical (the Sammie/Remmick fics being in more abundance than Sammie/Pearline, who often gets ignored or is villainize....tale old as time, but disheartening none the less). Don't even get me started on the incest fics. There's something deeply disturbing about, again, a predominantly Black movie with majority Black characters, being, not only, misinterpreted but also sidelined for the minor white characters, especially when Black people already struggle with attempting to get representation as a community in fandom spaces, let alone on the big screen. And for a movie like Sinners, which holds deep historical ties within the narrative, it makes it even worse to see.

[whisperreed]

So I'm gonna need the Pinterest girlies to get started on making Smoke and Stack wallpapers immediately. Please and thank you.

[trailerparkvampire]

what the fuck is going on with all those takes how stack cares about money SOOO MUCH more than smoke. stack's the one who defends the plantation worker not being able to pay in full, it's smoke who's ready to throw him out for paying with credits, it's smoke who tallies the till and tells stack they're going under and it's smoke who equates money with power*. i'd argue that the foreshadowing for stack getting turned is actually that he's the one who constantly pushes boundaries of what's allowed - it's strongly implied the juke joint is his idea, smoke says how when they ran away from home he just wanted to go to the next plantation over but stack had other plans. stack is the one that keeps offering to go outside (and it's poverty that's pushing everyone outside)...that's foreshadowing. not some weird greed people seem to be assigning to him now.

i think a lot of people don't seem to understand that as well as a horror this is a tragedy and that these characters can do everything right, can navigate the existing structures the best they can but the rules of the game keep shifting and even before that, they are doomed from the start!

*) now i think there's a whole other conversation about how smoke tries to put REAL ACTUAL money into the hands of his community - the way he's with annie, the way he's with the little girl - because that's a way of empowering your community, he's well aware that keeping people in poverty is a way of upholding status quo etc.

[endeavornetwork]

Ya'll please help bc I couldn't hear that well in the theatre...

When Smoke was talking about Stack "selling ass in the Delta," was Stack selling other people's asses or his own?

[the-everqueen]

re: lrb, so much of Sinners is about Blackness as generative - Black laborers work the vital crops, Black entrepreneurs create jobs, Black artists inspire new modes of thought. Remmick literally wants to drain the life out of a Black community for himself: Black life is tantalizing, intoxicating, but also he can't imagine any relationship to it besides possession. and in the final scene Stack and Mary are also hungering for that Black life, but it's not literal blood, it's the art, it's the music. Stack asks, "you still got the real in you," and his eyes gleam with wanting, but it's not for Sammie to die - if anything, it's for Sammie to keep on living, as a vessel for the music, because that connection to the same music that set him and the others free (just for a night! just for a moment!) is the thing that's sustained him through his whole undeath. whiteness wants to wring Black labor of every drop until it's gone, but Blackness sees its generative power and wants it to keep on living, will do anything to kindle that fire just a little brighter.