im so obsessed with sinners right now and i’ve had a couple of ideas floating around! one specifically has been driving me NUTS
reader being in a committed relationship with smoke, but sometimes her eyes drift to stack. smoke isn’t oblivious, but he also isn’t mad. maybe he arranges a little blindfolded “who’s touching you right now” with stack for his lady, just a one (or two) time thing!
Dude, YES SAME, I have been going nutso for sinners since it came out and I need to gush!!! I cannot, will not shut up LOL. I loooved this ask, thank you thank you, keep em coming hehe 😈
Smoke x Reader... x (Stack)
Warnings: Spice, blindfolds, wandering eyes, committed relationship with Smoke, ambiguous relationship with Stack
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Being with Smoke is everything you’ve wanted and more in a relationship. He’s dependable, calm and collected, and follows through time and time again. When he commits, he commits. You feel lucky every night you get to share your bed with him.
He makes you feel secure and safe in your relationship, and you trust him entirely.
And yet, despite how perfect and content you feel in your relationship with Smoke, every now and then you can’t seem to keep yours eyes off of his brother
They’re equal parts handsome in a literal, identical sense, so it’s unsurprising that you’d also find Stack attractive. However, that small fact does little to ease your guilty conscience
A night of dancing with your front pressed against Smoke’s firm chest, and all the while you’re staring over his shoulder to where Stack is grinding with some girl
Sitting on Smoke’s lap while both twins play cards at a table, and your eyes can’t help but track the way Stack’s throat bobs when he swallows his whiskey neat
Waiting in the car while Smoke and Stack handle business with Bo, unable to keep your eyes from glancing between both their asses
You tried your best to keep your eyes away from Smoke’s equally attractive brother, and yet at every opportunity you drifted them in Stack’s direction without meaning to
The worst part of it is…Smoke knew. He had to.
Smoke was not a foolish man—he kept tabs on every situation. You need to be vigilant when you work with risky money. He read social cues, picked up on subtle body language, and watched for signs of shady business. It’s what allowed him to command a room.
All this is to say, you knew that he knew.
And, if you weren’t convinced before, you definitely were after you caught Smoke staring right towards you… Caught in the act while you eyed the bulging veins on his brother’s forearm, lining up a shot at the pool table
You expected Smoke to have confronted you about it earlier. You expected him to get angry, defensive, accusatory, and jealous even.
It was no small stressor as you waited for him to bring it up in the following days
Yet, your reckoning did not come to you in angry words, but in the anticipation of them.
“Close your eyes darlin’,” Smoke spoke in that familiar, even tone—calm and collected as ever. But you knew he knew, and it unnerved you. You watched him loosen his tie, swallowing nervously.
His eyes narrowed at you, and with a twitch you realized he meant business.
“I said, close your eyes.”
You had little choice but to obey. Your nerves were firing off as your eyelashes fluttered closed. You heard the click of his shoes on the wooden floorboards, stepping closer in your direction.
You jumped slightly as you felt his fingertips against your throat—a ghost of a touch, so light that it brought goosebumps to your flesh.
Your breathing became shallower and more labored as you felt his knuckles trace delicately up to your jaw…and then the gentle brush of fabric as he used his tie to blindfold you.
“Can’t have your eyes wandering,” his voice was husky in your ear, and you knew without a doubt that your moment of reckoning had come. He knew.
Being unable to see brought with it an elevated level of sensitivity—the gentle, yet firm, feeling of his hands leading you to the center of the room. The warm fanning of his breath against the back of your neck. The sound of a door across the room opening and softly clicking shut.
A second pair of footsteps approached you, and you realized with a growing sense of anxiety and exhilaration that another had joined your company.
And then, another pair of work-worn hands touched against your arm, and you audibly gasped.
“My,” you heard Stack’s breathy laugh, recognizing it immediately. “Sensitive, aren't they?”
“Mm hmm,” Smoke agreed gruffly, his voice strong and poised. He had complete control over you and the situation at hand.
For a moment, no one spoke. You waited with baited breath as you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Someone was moving. Who?
You felt a large hand grab at your hip, and you jolted, startled. The hand coaxed you as if soothing a spooked animal, trailing up your side and stopping along your ribcage.
“Who’s touching you right now?” you heard Smoke’s deep and commanding voice ask from behind you. You were certain if you leaned a few inches back you would bump into his broad chest.
“I d-don’t…” you stuttered out, unsure of how to answer, too tightly wound and agitated to risk a guess. What would happen if you were incorrect?
The hand on your ribcage disappeared, leaving behind a warmth that made the air in its absence feel cold. Then, a sharp nip at your earlobe…a punishment for taking too long.
“Smoke!” you yelped, knowing that had been him.
His dark chuckle sounded so close to your ear that a shiver ran up your spine. Something molten was already beginning to form in your chest. “Very good,” he praised.
You heard a low whistle directly in front of you—Stack, enjoying the scene in front of him.
You didn’t dare reach out for him. You didn’t have to, because within a moment he was pawing at your thigh, squeezing the plush flesh there. Bold, explorative, eager.
“S-Stack,” you choked on his name, and you didn’t need to see to know that his typical devilish smile was spread across his face.
“Don’t think you’ll need to train 'em for too long,” Stack spoke lowly to his brother. “Seems like they learn better when their eyes are closed.”
And Smoke mumbled his assent with his teeth against the nape of your neck.
The Smokestack Twins & The Clarksdale Bank Robbery.
I re-read the Clarksdale Herald article about the twins robbing the bank. I've been wondering about which twin did what.
“Two masked men, both Black, stormed the bank—one took charge with smooth, calculated commands, while the other used violent force to control the room.”
When I read this after I first saw the movie, the words “smooth”, “calculated”, and “commanding” stood out. At first, I assumed it was Smoke, because of his serious, practical, and no-nonsense disposition, and thought Stack was the latter, because he seemed more impulsive, and just likes to wing it, but I couldn’t really picture it.
Upon several views, I think that it may have been Stack who smoothly commanded the room. Throughout the film Smoke inflicted most of the violence. He committed patricide, killed the snake, shot the thieves, threatened to shoot Pearline, pulled a gun on Sammie, and whacked him in the face, etc.
Stack was a charmer, personable and charismatic. He persuaded Delta Slim and Cornbread out of their reluctance to take a job at Club Juke. It’s not that Stack is incapable of violence (he’s a WWI veteran and a gangster), it just doesn’t seem like his first resort. The most aggressive behavior we’ve seen Stack display was when he was locked in the room, under the influence of Remmick’s hivemind, and may have taken on some of his characteristics.
Basically, during the armed robberies, I just picture Stack smoothly demanding tellers to give him the money, with the implication of violence, while Smoke is watching his back, looming with the certainty of violence.
I love the little idiosyncrasies between the twins; Michael B. Jordan is fantastic.
Coogler’s lore for Remmick is probably him being offered vampirism by a vampire traveller with the same rules of fae - he was promised he would never go hungry again @huntingformarrow
I somehow turned this into political commentary on Ireland, but yknow…I’m Irish so that’ll happen sometimes…Not a full fledged fic, more of a headcanon or a drabble on my thoughts of Remmick’s origin story.
Ao3 Link
Word count : 2.1k
There’s no hunger like the one that rumbles when your life is turned upside down. A thunderous bass note that feeds on pain and weakness, that robs you of energy and saps all joy from life.
Hunger pangs wracked young Remmick’s body, and left only a man clinging to a tenuous will to live in their wake. His hunger, his emptiness of spirit all stemmed from the systematic theft of his family land by men who saw his people not as humans, not as a nation of intelligent, creative beings with families and loved ones. No, they saw the Irish as pests, the lowest form of life. And relished in treating them as such. His hunger was not only physical, but held the pain of a drained soul, of a culture bleached and sanitised for power, for a foothold in a foreign land.
These vermin saw the extermination of the Irish as little more than cleaning up an inconvenience. These same men sought to bring a whole population to their knees, taking what little was on the table, leaving nought in store for the harsh winters. Who systematically starved an entire nation, yet continued taking more. They drained the well dry, and came back for not only the supplies, but the heart of a culture. Their cruel influence would last for generations, the effects of their abject cruelty echoing through time.
When Remmick had everything taken from him, when his family’s land was ripped from their grasp and they were thrown onto the road like vermin, when they died in his arms, old and young alike, their bodies frail and weak, riddled with disease, his life was changed irreparably. With nothing left, he took to wandering the lonesome roads. With nothing to live for, Remmick let his feet guide him - towards a new beginning, or similarly down the path of destruction.
Hatred took root in his heart and only grew with each plodding step. With each rumble of his stomach, each gust of wind that rattled his bones, Remmick’s fury took hold and grew exponentially. With each stride, a burgeoning desire to punish those who stole everything from his people grew.
It takes a soul without purpose to let evil take hold, and that night, Remmick's soul was ripe for the taking.
He could barely see his feet beneath him, as his feet tramped the lonely blackened road outstretched before him, only illuminated by the dim glow of a pale moon. Hidden behind thick cloud, this celestial being provided little comfort or aid to his journey. This road, built by men in a similar position to himself, destitute and desperate, now supported his aimless trudgery. These roads,built by discontent, carried each step, taking the weight of the man and his burdens onwards. Remmick never expected such a road to carry the weight of pure evil right into his path.
In the dark, he stumbled across a stranger, a man shrouded in mystery and yet, he seemed intimately familiar. The moon cut a halo around his imposing form, highlighting his silhouette in the dark. It was as if the moon was his accomplice, aiding in his dastardly deeds. Yet as Remmick drew closer, as he approached this enigma in the night, a strange emotion settled in his chest. It was a familiar numbness, an acceptance of this new person as one of his own.
This mysterious stranger was no more than a traveller, a wanderer, a man of flesh and blood, yet he stood in that lonesome road with no beating heart beneath his skin.
He was a man of story and song, who shared in culture and art, a vagabond with only a few gold coins and a bible to his name. Yet he stood before Remmick, soundlessly existing. He was a pilgrim of knowledge and history, a collector of culture and memory, with a mystifying secret.
He promised the world, each word dripping with honey and hope. Yet when Remmick looked into his eyes, he was met with only his own reflection. A void sat behind a pool of gold and crimson smoke. It both terrified and intrigued him.
This inhuman being communicated without making a sound. His words seemed to vanish on the crest of his lips, evaporating into the ether, into the darkness that surrounded them both.
Remmick was entranced, both by his seemingly ethereal beauty and his silent yet intensely captivating promises of something new. He whispered sweet promises of a world freshly born, where Remmick would no longer feel the sting of loss or starvation. Where he'd be free of those human plights, yet he was not told of the devastating repercussions of such a tradeoff. And there were always downsides to a promise so grand.
There were always hidden clauses to a contract with a being not of this realm, whether magic or evil, they operated the same. There was always a trick, or a hidden consequence in dealing with such beings, always a price to pay for luxuries beyond man’s means.
Remmick had been wandering, his mind and ultimately his sanity lost to a dense fog since men who served a foreign king across the sea wiped out his family. They surreptitiously stole the land from under his feet, and left him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the tune in his head. Not content with taking what little he and his family possessed, the English men threatened their very existence, their culture and way of life quickly fading into obscurity. The island had long felt the effects of cretins like Cromwell, who served their masters at the expense of a whole nation. Who were apathetic to the suffering and needs of a people, and let them perish to a man made plight, under their rule. Although it had been several years, and the great hunger had long taken root, young men like Remmick felt the ripple effect. They still felt the iron fist of the British government, the heel of the boot pressing against their cheek. They still felt the loss and the lasting effects of a cultural identity cleansed from a land steeped in heritage and history.
Eventually hunger would subside, fade into an overwhelming emptiness, a resignation to his fate as he wandered the long and lonesome roads. The darkness could’ve swallowed him whole, the ground could have opened up beneath him, and there’d be nobody left to mourn.
Evil lurked in every corner of this island, infecting his once perfect home like a pox. A man made blight and a hand crafted famine stole all vitality, forced people to flee this great land, or stay in abject poverty and die on its soil. It leeched the colour and joy from this land, ripped the heart out of the country and replaced it with religion, injected the creed of the colonisers into a crumbling society, and threatened those left with death and destruction if they didn’t give their souls to something they didn’t believe in. It was a genocide of a peaceful people, a true war against nature and all those who worshipped it rather than the man made ideals of a crown.
He grew up hating those that brought such devastation to his country, detesting those that forced them from their home, yet somehow those hollow words of prayer brought him comfort, the religion forced upon him gave him something to cling to in the darkest times.
Such loss gave rise to a new wave of beings, ready and willing to further exploit the downtrodden under the guise of benevolence. Under the promise of something better. It was a wonder there were any humans left - who wouldn’t accept the opportunity at a life more grand, a life where your stomach never rattled, and you didn’t have to scrounge for your next meal. A life of comfort and fulfilment, where sorrow never took root. It was an enticing prospect for any man, and Remmick was only the next in their long line of victims.
When he was approached by this spectre on dark and winding country roads, when he was so graciously held in the arms of a stranger, Remmick once more meditated on the lord's prayer, hoping that they would once more bring him comfort in an uncertain time.
With his stomach hungry for more than food, Remmick couldn’t help but give in to temptation, giving himself over to the enticing offer of a new life, of companionship and love and a promise that he would never go hungry again.
When that wandering stranger offered something irresistible, something akin to a miracle, Remmick couldn't help but give in, surrender to a force far beyond his control.
Little did he know, this stranger would subject him to a world of pain in a single moment.
“I could feel your pain…I knew it once. I too knew the rumbling of hunger. You stand in my shoes, for I once was you.”
His sweet words drew in the soul of a poet, lured Remmick to an existence not much different to the one he currently lived - instead of facing imminent death, Remmick was faced with immortality and a life eternally searching for something more, veiled as his escape. Imprisonment under the guise of emancipation. He was given false hope, honeyed whispers from a drifter in the night lured him into a subsistence, far from the liberation he was promised.
All it took was one bite, the venom of one creature to trap his soul for eternity. Though he knew he would have to sacrifice something, he never reckoned on giving up his mortality. Remmick never banked on losing so much of himself. The very things that make a man - his soul, his culture, his history. All the experiences of a flawed human existence, and the connections that are made along the way. All lost in one bite.
As sharpened fangs pierced his flesh, a curtain fell over his eyes, plunging his world into darkness. On a lonesome country road, Remmick was reborn, but first his body was broken, each cell destroyed by the very thing that would save him. Venom coursed through his veins, burning its way through his body and leaving only destruction in its wake.
As with all things that seem too good to be true, this offer came with its own caveats and downfalls. It was a gift presented as his salvation, yet it came with the most dire repercussions, the largest sacrifice a man can make. In one swift motion, his mortality was wrenched from his reach, replaced by an eternal longing for something more. There would be no end to his search for beauty and connection, no end to his thirst for culture and song. Never again would he feel the warmth of a sunrise, never again would he connect with a people beyond his own mind.
Along with an emptiness he would seek to fill, Remmick felt the familiar pangs of physical hunger. Yet it wasn't the comfort of food his body craved, no morsel would satisfy his needs.
As with all things in the world of tricksters and charlatans, this contract came with fine print, caveats that Remmick never saw coming. He was promised a life free of hunger, but this stranger failed to mention the inescapable thirst that would drive him forward, controlling his every move. From that night on, it would be at the forefront of his mind, always the motivation for his unthinkable actions.
It would drive him to become a murderer, a thief of life and joy. A destroyer of worlds and harbinger of pain.
Like the stranger who had inflicted this terrible curse upon him, Remmick had become everything he hated. He had become a leech on the world of hard working men, a specter in the dark they would come to fear. He had changed into a soulless creature, devoid of love and light, like the vermin who stripped his land of everything worth living for. He no longer had a tie to his history, his connection with his ancestors untimely severed.
Despite the initial shock and the pain of losing so much of himself, Remmick accepted this fate in the hopes of escaping the looming spectre of death, yet now he had no escape. No way out of this hell he was living in.
He was given reprieve from his weaknesses, from his base human needs, from a life of poverty and destitution. From that point onward, he was ruled by a different type of hunger. An agonising thirst, which could never be sated. Even when he gave in to the pangs, even when he satisfied those urges in the most monstrous of ways, they always came back.
This was the origin story of a monster, this was his turning point.
Hi sorry if this is real late i have a request for sinners where its the reader/oc(whatever your more comfortable with) is the daughter of annie and smoke (daughter!reader/oc dies like annie and smoke and reunites with the cute little family in the after life) or stack and mary (daughter!reader/oc ends up getting turned and lives with her parents after shes turned) and how it would progress through the night at the juke joint
Aww this is such a cute ask 🥺❤️ Familial bonds can be so, so special, I hope I did this justice...
Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, horror, death, vampires, and violence... It follows the beats of the movie, so spoilers if you haven't watched it
Parental! Annie & Smoke:
The last time you’d seen your father, you’d been a child. You were old enough to vaguely remember his face, but young enough to feel robbed when he left for Chicago. You tried to make sense of his leaving, but struggled to. Your mother tried to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault he left…but that he’d loved too deeply and lost too much.
You didn’t fully believe her until the day Smoke returned, bearing flowers for the grave of your baby sibling and whispering tender things into Annie’s ear.
You wanted to be angry with him…but you were just so happy to have your father back. You loved him infinitely more than you resented him for leaving.
And so, you go along with your mother and help him prepare for the opening of the Juke Joint. You enjoyed getting to spend time together as a family, setting up the glasses at the bar and making up for lost time.
You’d never seen Annie smile so wide as she and your father danced to the sweet music. You felt giddy to have your family whole again.
It had been the happiest day of your life—until it wasn’t.
The white strangers on the doorstep of the Juke Joint soured the mood with their eerie uncanniness. Your parents were rightfully wary…for after not much longer, the carnage had begun.
As Annie took charge and went about arming the party with garlic water and wooden table legs sharpened into stakes, you dutifully obeyed her every order. You were well-aware of your mother’s capable and experienced work in hoodoo, and were more than able to aid her however she needed you.
But the night unfolded into a bloodbath.
Good friends died. Hideous monsters, mere echoes of the human form, swarmed you in teeth, claws, and bloody gore.
You felt the earth freeze over into an eternal darkness the moment your mother’s spirit left it. You screamed in pure agony, clawing your way across the wooden floorboards to where your father had a stake plunged through her chest. Tears streamed down Smoke’s face, the expression of a broken man.
You didn’t make it more than a few feet before you were swept up into the jaws of a vicious creature, all torn flesh and bloodied fangs. You scratched at the beast who had once been a man, trying to tear free where he’d swallowed a chunk of your shoulder.
You wrestled it to the floor, and felt a glass shatter under your weight. The beast writhed and screamed as its skin burst into blisters and violent boils, before it finally released you and ran, scratching chunks out of its own burnt flesh.
You gasped and gurgled as you laid in the puddle of blood, glass, and garlic water. Your hand trembled violently as you felt the missing chunk of flesh at your neck, and it came away drenched in scarlet. You were dying…
Your father, god where was Smoke? You cried out for him, cried out for your dead mother, but you were alone in chaos around you.
You didn’t have much time…you could feel the dizziness overcoming you as you rapidly bled out. You found in that moment you were not scared of dying…but you were terrified of never seeing Annie again.
And so, with your last bit of strength, you wrestled the gnarled, sharpened piece of wood from your belt. You lacked the energy to stake yourself, so you let gravity do the work for you. You held it straight up against the floorboards and rolled yourself onto it, piercing yourself through the chest as your weight bore you down, an agonizingly slow descent.
Time fell away from you. Pain became numbness before even that too disappeared. You were weightless. You were nonexistent. Just a dim flicker of consciousness in the wide expanse of nothingness.
But then you felt a hand enclose around your own, and your eyes opened once more. Sunlight and warmth kissed along your skin, now unmarred and clean. You felt incandescent joy as you beheld the soft brown eyes of your mother.
You clung to her in a tearful embrace, whispering over and over how you loved her. You wept at the sight of the baby at her breast.
You welcomed your father come morning. And for the first time, you were a family, entirely whole and together again.
And love was all that remained.
Parental! Mary & Stack:
You always shared your mother’s anger towards the man who’d left you both behind. He had abandoned you, discarded you like pieces of trash to escape north to Chicago.
And then he had the nerve to show his face again, many years later, when you’d already grown up without any help from him.
Mary had come home from the train station raving about Stack, about how she’d seen him and how they’d fought. It was your idea to go to the Juke Joint together to confront him.
You needed to see his face, just once—the face of the man who’d left you and your mother behind.
Little did you know, this entire time he’d been trying to protect you both from the cruelties of a world that would never understand. The way he looked at you when he first saw you—he recognized his features upon your face. His expression was one of unbridled affection, and it was as if you’d hung the moon and stars.
And so, despite wanting to hold onto that ugly resentment for a little longer…you forgave him. For the first, and possibly only, night of your life, you could laugh and dance freely together as a family.
You let him twirl you as you giggled, watched him love your mother openly—knowing that with the dawn, this would all be gone.
Only, it wasn’t…for the three white strangers had come a-knocking at the door…
They’d been dismissed by your uncle, but your parents felt there had been an opportunity missed. So, Mary kissed you on the cheek and left the Juke Joint to go speak to them outside.
Only, she’d been gone an awfully long while… So, you went looking for her.
The air was cool and humid as you stepped outside. The sound of music spilled out from the Juke Joint, adding to the ambience of the night. You called for Mary, hoping to find your mother somewhere nearby.
But as you rounded the last row of parked cars, you saw her face down in the gravel, a pool of blood around her head and shoulders. You screamed, careless as you ran to her side. You fell to your knees and the sharp rocks bit into the skin there.
You sobbed, cradling her head to your breast as you tried to tuck the blood-matted hair away from her face. She was dead, you knew it deep in your soul.
But then her eyelids fluttered, and she stirred with a soft mumble. You held your breath, sobs still wracking through your body as you leaned in, trying to hear her faint breathing… and suddenly her jaws were around your throat and your cries were cut short.
You enjoyed sharing everything with your mother—there was a brand-new intimacy as you shared one heart, mind, and soul. You would never have been able to live happily as a family come dawn…but now you had an unimaginable opportunity. You could all be together, forever, without the heartache and suffering of society’s ire…
All you had to do was save your father… and how could he resist Mary, when she was invited back inside, looking so pretty? When she coaxed him into the backroom, promising one last night worth remembering?
It was pure bliss to be of one heart, knowing that your time together never had to end…
You escaped into the night amidst the chaos and bloodshed that soon overtook the Juke Joint.
Doomed to live forever in the shadows of the night without the promise of another sunrise…but even the darkest existence sounded like paradise so long as you could be a family.
I’m cooking up some Remmick fic ideas, but first lets talk about the vampire hive mind in Sinners… 👀🥵
Remmick’s Hive Mind Takes:
Hive mind where you essentially share a mental phone-line, which directly connects a stream of consciousness between entities.
Emotions, thoughts, memories, pain, pleasure, and bonds are all communicated and shared through the hive mind.
Drones can choose when to share their mental faculties with one another, but the head of the hive has unbridled access to those vampires he fathers via bitten transformation.
Drones are naturally subdued, obedient, pleasant, and loyal to their head so long as they exist within the chain of command. Drones break free of the hive mind when the head is killed.
Drones naturally share a feeling of camaraderie and emotional intimacy to others within the same hive.
Drones can be compelled via the hive mind to act or speak a certain way. They can even be compelled to injure another vampire within the hive mind, but will resist a compulsion of self destruction.
The more powerful vampire heads can override the individual mind entirely and speak/act directly through their drones.
Vampire heads can host a large encompassing hive mind, multiple smaller circles, or individual bonds.
The smallest form of hive mind can be described as a mental thread linking two vampires which allows for the sharing of thoughts and feelings, but without the power imbalance of compulsion over the other. This relationship is called a bond.
Any vampire can host their own hive, but if you already belong to a head, the hive you cultivate risks falling under their command via the mental hierarchy
Some heads will eradicate drones in their hive if they are beginning to show signs of mental resistance to hive compulsion. Resistance can be built via prolonged, physical distance from the host or by building mental fortitude via a large hive of their own drones.
It is nearly impossible to transform someone into a vampire without imparting the hive mind to some extent. Therefore, most vampires will choose to feed without the commitment of transforming their victim.
A/N: Many in the fandom noticed that Pale, Pale Moon is werewolf coded, so I threw my hat in the ring, and made these Sinners AU headcanons, where Pearline is a werewolf. I have more AU headcanons planned for spooky season with other characters. This is my first time doing something like this, so it may not be my best.
CW: 18+, Implications and references to body horror, cannibalism, and gore.
Werewolf!Pearline Headcanons
“I wanna howl to the moon.”
🌕On the surface, Pearline is a beautiful, composed and stylish woman. She’s a hardworking sharecropper by day, and spends her time dancing, singing, and performing in Juke Joints by night, all the while being cursed with a mysterious affliction. When the full moon shines in the night sky, she transforms and embodies red nature tooth and claw.
🌕The closer it gets to a full moon, the more her hunger and desire become intertwined. Her longing for sex, freedom, novelty, increases tenfold, but she also craves something pure and raw. Sometimes, after a performance, when she takes Sammie into a room in the back of a Juke Joint, she has to resist sinking her teeth into her sweet little Preacher boy.
🌕On nights of the full moon, when it’s time, she makes her way into the woodlands of the Delta, strips and bathes her bare skin in moonlight. She remembers every aching part of the transformation. Every crack of her joint, stretch of her limbs and flesh, is pure agony. Her only solace from pain is that she lets her mind succumb to sweet darkness.
🌕Sometimes, she wakes up naked, covered in blood and viscera, with the faint aftertaste of blood and flesh lingering in her mouth. She doesn’t remember her time as a werewolf, but the memories of mauling, feasting and killing, come back to her like remnants of a bloody, violent nightmare.
🌕After several gruesome discoveries of bodies mauled, half-eaten, or meat devoured clean from the bone. Terror began growing around Mississippi, there was a werewolf in the Delta.
🌕As Hysteria spread, some people were foolish enough to go looking for her with pitchforks and torches. Most never returned or were found, and if they were found, they were torn limb from limb.
🌕Pearline is not completely invulnerable, she has her weaknesses, she has scars on her body from more savvy hunters, nicked by a silver weapon here and there. Luckily, she hasn’t encountered any arrows dipped in Wolfsbane, that’s fatal.
🌕When the people along the Mississippi Delta look up at the full moon, they know the echoes of an eerie howl are soon to follow.
