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.
I DID THIS LAST SATURDAY!!! Ya know I'm a damn sucker for Western/Midwestern/Southern/Appalachian Vampires! (All the great sybolism for assimilation, racism, appropriation etc; I LOVE THE EYES SO MUCH IT'S LIKE A REFLECTIVE CAT EYE FOR NIGHT VISION AND SO MUCH BETTER THAN RED CONTACTS; FUCKIN GENUIS-)
And now, yall are getting Remmick and maybe some Stack content in ur future whether u like it or not.... Especially Remmick. I see a tragic unhinged vampire that looks similar to Bo Sinclair or Severen Van Sickle and I simp ♡ Like, I have A TYPE now! They got that face and lore and personality? I'm done for lol (I dont rlly crave Smoke and Sammie in a non PG way; they aren't my type. I like my messy loser boys and dangerously reckless charming men)
My Remmick HC:
To start...
- This is our man's energy he brings to the function
Yall have to accept this about him.
Spoilers ahead!!
- He thinks he's the funniest person ever. He just says shit to make himself giggle atp. The type to laugh at his own jokes before anyone else does
- More a hc of the vamps in general; like Near Dark vampires that after feeding they're euphoric. It's why he acts so unhinged everytime he just bit someone or is about to; It's not as much 'his true self' as much as 'that boy is high/drunk' and its so often it might as well be his real self lmfao
- Also thinks he's so suave, charming and cool like CLEARLY why WOULDN'T the Juke Joint catch his vibe and let him in? 😒🤔 (Pretty Fly for a White Guy ass vampire) He's the embodiment of a dorky cool loser in the best way because he's so bad it looks good.
- Wipes out all the time when he's landing from flying especially near sunrise. He just makes it look like it was 'on purpose' like 'Oh, I rolled because that looks neat'...No. He missed.
- Has a really old, dark, sadistic fucked up sense of humor
- My hc is he's Fae. Fae and vampires are actually pretty damn similar in a lot of folklore and so many Fae rules were in this movie! (Don't take gold, don't tell them your name, don't dance in a fairy ring/circle they create are just a few of the rules I saw broken in the film)...And that means he can't lie! Now, idk if this is Canon or just fun HC bc I highly highly doubt the Choctaw killed his wife (Unless he was truly being vague and if you pressed he'd have to admit 'English' rather than 'Choctaw' like he's trying to manipulate with...Like he's not lying just being so vague it is a lie.)
- If there ever WAS a wife with that ring he wears while human; he did love her and wears that ring to remember not only her but their heritage ♡ Might even have immense guilt over how she died.
- His most 'true' songs that are HIS were *Rocky Road to Dublin* and *Will ye go, Lassie go?*
- Hot-take: He did not want Sammie as solely a tool like I've seen so many say. He wanted Sammie as a forced friend with benefits to ancestor connection after so much loneliness. He wanted forced kinship both with his ancestors and other vampires. He says "I want your stories, I want your songs...And you gonna have mine." That's a union of two people even if it's toxic, power imbalanced, etc It's like a friend that's also using you while being friends. Man wanted VIP access to the spirit world/his ancestors and Sammie was the cool rockstar he wanted to be friends with.
- He doesn't do this for power. His whole shtick is he's lonely even if he goes about it wrong. For roughly 1300 years he's been utterly alone and separated from his heritage, culture, people and modern Irish don't count as we see with the 1911 ship incident. He did NOT create the Hivemind vampires for power. He truly wanted 'family' and failed over and over from the ship in 1911 with Irish Immigrants to God knows how many more times before and after.
- He is/was Pagan and they really do believe, especially during times of druids, in nature and spirits and love and unity. So again, he TRULY THINKS the hivemind is natural and all 'one love'...He says "They told stories of a God above and a devil below, and lies of a dominion of man over beast and Earth. We are Earth and beast of God. We are woman and man. We are connected, you and I, to everything."....Why? Because he's saying people and animals and nature are connected and no one race of man rules all. That man and woman are connected and all people are as well. He genuinely believes that his 'gift' is a way to bring people together how they 'should be'. That wasn't a lie. When a hivemind Mary says 'we're gon' kill every last one of you'...Well yes, because to die is to become them. It wasn't a threat but a fact. And Remmick even calls it 'sweet merciful death' or something along those lines....He's not killing them for fun or power even if it does come off that way. He's killing them to offer his 'gift' and to have a better world (He literally says this and I truly do not think he's lying there) even if that better world is just HIS world and he has a damn God Complex.
- His spit is toxic. It's thick af and venomous and probably will kill you, subdue you, or is part of the turning process (Bc there was no reason for it to be that goopey; I gagged lol)
- He code switches to get whatever he wants. Aka the fake Southern accent and using whatever words or stories will get him in (Switching from the Tribes proper name to the slur of the time bc he realized it's what that couple wanted to hear)....Not necessarily lies but definitely switching word useage or tone. We see him switch up to what he knew would gain sympathy from racist. (I mean it was that or be killed out in the sun lol)
- Hot-Takeish: He's so old, from a time period where heritage was discriminated as much or more than skintone, that he is ignorant and gets mistaken for outright racist especially in the area and time he's in. Even by a modern lens take, when he really is not. Probably first learned American segregation and racism through skintone from the Klans couples minds as well as Smoke and them at the Juke Joint. Because he was in Europe UNTIL 1911: That's canon. So he wasn't here during Civil War era or the Height of Slavery and who knows how present he even was for over a millennia in Europe. That "Oh, because we're ✋🏻" while pointing to his skin was genuine; like a relic learning a modern take that probably dumbfounds him for a hot minute. (Then he sings his lil appropriated song and Smoke stops him before the slurs and now I'm wondering if he rolled with it so they'd come out to beat his ass bc he knew it would be irksome OR if he was just going by what the Couples minds knew and used it without context?)
- He HATES Christianity with a passion even if he reluctantly memorized verses!!! He might even be violent if he met an Irishman who was Catholic, or even worse, Protestant because for him it's like seeing the damage the opressors did and seeing your own ppl erase themselves. Would go into a passionate angry rant about Christianity like Lestat did at Louis house in IWTV. Eyes glowing, fangs lengthening, accent coming out-
- Drools easily. Like, maybe when his teeth lengthen it hurts the gums and he can't help it but...Turned on? Drool. Hungry? Drool. Angry? Drool. Excited? Drool. He's like a wet mouth dog istg
- He is the embodiment of nothing else to lose AND hurt people, hurt people. He feels lonely, rejected, isolated, for CENTURIES...Centuries. He hears Sammie play and he is one track minded and messy to get to see his ancestors/people no matter who it hurts
- Is 100% faking that southern accent and can fake most accents but his Irish brogue comes out at times
- Used Cantonese and the Travelin' song JUST to freak the living out bc he knew they'd know 'Hey, I'm so powerful I used Bo amd Stack's memory so you might as well join me'.
- His true form is similar to the bat form of Dracula's in the 1992 film...Some ppl swear they hear wings flapping in the final scene AND we see his ears pointing a tad, nails lengthening, teeth sharpening and as old and powerful as he is ESPECIALLY if he's based on Abhartach;....Oh yeah, that creature is grotesque under his boyish human face and we ALMOST saw it when Sammie hits him with the guitar
- Remmick shows he is musically inclined himself and it's my HC he himself was a Filídh as a human. Turned by being tricked by the Fae, turned by losing hope/being consumed with grief or turned by being bitten. And that Sammie, as a Griot, would've turned into a Remmick and not part of the hivemind OR one step above them somehow had he been bit.
- Can control who is part of the hivemind and who isn't. Joan and Bert? He had complete control with how much they had to put their prejudice aside to be near Black ppl. Oh yep, he had those two on one helluva tight leash. Bo? Pretty much complete or close to it control to lure Grace. Mary? Controlled but not completely because she still picked Stack on her own as her first victim (...Was that Remmick in Mary's mind riding Stack- 😦👀) Stack? I actually think he was the least controlled and that being turned really is like euphoria/drug that clouds the mind and he saw 'vision' / opportunity to use vampirism to their advantage. No different than opportunities they took in Chicago. And we saw Mary lost the hivemind over Annie's death so either he ONLY has control when they're freshly turned/young and weak willed against the venom in their veins OR he picks and chooses based on who bucks him the most.
- Can read minds, read moods, smell fear, smell death, smell disease, smell sex/horniness (FUCK...I would've died.) sees spirits, sees the thinning viel, see the past, might even see the future (Even if he missed ya know getting killed by the sun lol)
- Speaking of, he might sleep normal like Near Dark vampires, might burrow underground...Or he might sleep like The Lost Boy vampires by his batfeets from a ceiling 🦇
Romantic + Some NSFW HC:
- Wants to merge with you. Wants to be you and you him. Wants to become one soul to fuse and be chained to walk the Earth together forever. To move through the world as each others other halves...THERE IS NO HALF-ASSED COURTSHIP! Nope, if he truly wants you, he WILL move with conviction
- He is HORNY. Idc his offer to Grace was outta pocket lmfao he is down bad. He'd probably shudder violently and moan if you jerked him by the hair or slapped him
- Codependency and possessiveness soooo bad in a relationship...ANY RELATIONSHIP! Even platonic he seems like he'd be the 'we gotta do everything together' type
- He only dominates at first when you're still hesitant with him or if you want him to but at his darkened rotten heart he is obedient for his loves
- He is needy and clingy and desperate to please. He may act on top of things but if he thought someone he shared a connection with was mad or upset with him? Que the big blue (Red?) puppy eyes and doing anything to change their mind
- Would be a toxic ass and use his hivemind abilities on a vampiric partner to 'persuade them' to not be in a mood/angry/hurt. Just for minor annoyances/them ignoring him... Almost cheeky in a way even if his partner/mate glares afterwards similar to Jasper in New Moon with Bella in the hallway
- If you asked him not to control you? Done. I'm so serious, he really is not some egomaniac in my HC he's just so damn weird and use to rejection he forces things to be loved. Like, his ego is he thinks he's helping not that he's above anyone. He is so lonely and he'd be like a Gomez Addams to a partner. Just express discomfort with the idea of him controlling your mind before turning (or after maybe?) and he won't.
- Praise kink. Has dog energy like you tell him he's 'good' and his preening (might drool) like some dumb happy dog you just called a 'good boy'. Tell him he's good during sex and he moans loudly. Eager to please.
- Is a switch with a sub lean. If he doesn't love you; he'll dom you. He'll push your legs back, mock you, pound into you. If he adores you though it's over for that creature. He will let you do just about whatever you please so long as you love him
- Traditional old-fashioned courting. Even after you turn; flowers, poems, serenading you, getting you meals/blood.
- FREAK. Drooling freak that would lowkey get off on pain and most kinks.
- Nuzzling. Nuzzles more than he kisses; almost like a creature (Technically is one)
- Idk how he sleeps but you gotta be wrapped up in his arms.
- Is so protective of you it's borderline possessive and controlling in a mother-hen way. You're his only true person, hivemind or not, and he CANNOT live without you. If something happened to you he'd be devastated and he cannot lose his people twice. He just can't.
- Sings Gaeilge to you all the time. Letting your head rest in his lap after a long night. Running his clawed fingertips over your scalp after a feeding and sings a song only he knows in his old mother's tongue that brings you both comfort
- Your pleasure is his pleasure. He could give you sexual/physical pleasure and get nothing in return and still be satisfied seeing you unravel beneath him from oral to a massage; as long as your sated
- Purrs (It's more like a growling groan that vibrates his chest) when you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his back or massage his shoulders.
- Picks you up to fly short distances with you; even if sometimes that's grabbing you by the shirt or arm in an emergency and him complaining you're deadweight in that position (He made you hit multiple branches on the way lol)
- If you're turned, he shields you from the sun with his own body out of pure instinct. You're the first one he grabs and tries to find shelter for; his own hide be damned.
- Gives you humans to drink with a proud look of a provider and predator.
- If you're human, you won't be for long lets be real. But if you are? He's extremely careful with you. Going easy on you and drooling at how damn good you smell to him. (Might graze his fangs teasingly over your flesh as a 'things to come' type of gesture)
🩸 Bloodlines & Blues
Stack × Reader Fem (OC Vampire, sister of Remmick)
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🔥 Blood and Blues
Stack and Smoke × Reader Fem (poly relationship)
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🌑 The Long Night
Remmick × Reader Fem (dark romance)
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🕯 The One Who Asked
Remmick × Reader Fem
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🧛 Crimson Pact
Smoke and Stack × Reader Fem (vampire AU)
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🌫 Salt and Smoke
Smoke and Stack × Reader Fem
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.ᐟ.ᐟ if a character you would like to see isn't on the list yet you want to request them, feel free to ask me if i'd write for them! more often than not, i'll say yes
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challengers ˚. ᵎᵎ art donaldson ; patrick zweig ;
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the 100 ˚. ᵎᵎ octavia blake ; bellamy blake ; john murphy ; lexa ; clarke griffin ; jasper jordan ; raven reyes ; monty green ; lincoln ;
the maze runner ˚. ᵎᵎ teresa ; brenda ; thomas ; minho ; newt ; gally ; alby ; frypan ; winston ; aris ; sonya ; harriet ;
the raven cycle ˚. ᵎᵎ adam parrish ; declan lynch ; richard gansey ; ronan lynch ; joseph kavinsky ; blue sergeant ;
devil's night ˚. ᵎᵎ micheal crist ; kai mori ; damon torrance ; will grayson iii ;
Smoke most definitely has PTSD from his time serving in WWI, but also from his history with violent men—his father, the mobsters in Chicago, and even himself to some extent
He’s hyperviligant, constantly on high-alert and in a state of anxiety. Keen observation is as much of a defense mechanism as it is good for business. He picks up the subtle details and social cues most wouldn’t—like the twitch of a finger towards a gun holster, or the sound of anger in someone’s steps.
His trauma response is triggered by any sort of conflict—including even small doses of healthy confrontation. His brain associates conflict with anger, and anger with violence.
Before and after moments of conflict, his hands tremble violently. The only thing that seems to stop the shakes is tobacco. Stack usually rolls the cigarettes due to his shaking hands.
Despite the trembles, his muscle-memory overrides his trauma response and enables him to shoot a gun with perfect precision and mental fortitude. But it comes at a cost.
He distances himself mentally for his work, shutting off his emotions in lieu of a controlled, icy vacancy. He becomes a machine, burying the man so deep under frigid apathy that it is frightening.
It can be hard to bring him out of it and back into himself, and he may be distant for days after a job. So while effective for business, it is detrimental to his condition.
The smell of gunpowder and antiseptic can occasionally trigger episodes on a bad day, as well as sounds that imitate gunfire.
Episodes include trembling, flashbacks, sweating, heart palpitations, numbness and tingling in the hands and feet, and trouble breathing.
During an episode, he’s silent, and his expression goes vacant… Only those closest to him recognize his tells—body gone rigid, clenched jaw, and distracted by the onslaught of memories behind his eyes
Smoking is the only thing that steadies him. He never goes anywhere without his tobacco or his gun tucked into his belt. They are the guard rails that keep him from plummeting over into the abyss
Sometimes he has nightmares, and he’ll wake up gasping for air in a cold sweat. His nightmares are almost always of his father, and it takes a lot of hushed words and soft touches to convince him he’s not in that evil house anymore.
One of his biggest fears is that he’s grown to be exactly the kind of violent man his father was… Flashbacks of his father are the most brutal on his psyche, because he hates being reminded that he was glad to kill him.
Smoke will likely go his whole life thinking he’s violent and unwell man—that his ptsd is a sickness he inherited from his father. Ptsd was not formerly recognized as a mental health condition until the 1980s, and so his substance abuse is his only way of managing his hyperactive stress response.
Part of the reason he is so adamant about keeping up the appearance of a calculated, strong, and unaffected man is because he doesn’t want to be labeled as one of those WWI veterans who have ‘shell shock,’ as these folks were often dismissed as lunatics, labeled as cowards, or of possessing a weakness of the mind.
So he smokes like a chimney, and keeps the worst of his demons hidden away in the recesses of his mind, silently suffering while the worst moments of his life replay like a skipping record in his head.
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.
Words: 1201
Warnings: Some descriptions of church / religion
You look forward to church on Sundays, partly for the pretty clothes you wear, but mostly because you have a crush on the pastor's son.
You bounced your leg softly as you sat in the wooden pew, your fingers smoothing out the soft fabric of your white dress. The paint had long been chipped off in certain spots of the bench, and your stockings occasionally caught and snagged on the uneven surface. Your hair was styled tidily under your white church crown, passed down to you from your ma.
It was easily one of the nicest hats you owned, no wider than your shoulders and a pristine white color—your favorite part was the lace doily adornment that was lovingly sewn into the fabric by your late grandmother. Getting to wear the pretty piece every Sunday was one of the reasons you loved going to service each week.
That, and the preacher boy.
Pastor Moore was standing at the front of the old church, giving his sermon with typical vitality. “For weeping may endure for a night,” his strong voice called out, “but joy cometh in the morning!” The congregation assented their praise aloud, for the Spirit was alive within them.
You did your best to focus on the message of Psalm 30:5, but your eyes seemed to naturally shift from Pastor Moore to the man who stood behind him. There was preacher boy, dressed up in a clean, white collared shirt with his hands clasped together in front of him. His eyes gazed out over the heads of the gathered folk—fixed on the open barn doors in the back, as if he might be able to leave through them by the intensity of his stare alone.
You knew this look well enough to know he was already miles away, his thoughts far from this little rural church and traveling upstate towards St. Louis…maybe even further north.
You watched the preacher boy with rapt attention, your own mind beginning to wander and trail after his own. Was he thinking about picking up that ol’ guitar again? Would he bring it with him to wherever his mind had escaped to? Would he let you come along?
You felt your cheeks warm into a modest flush, and realizing you were pining during a time of worship, tilted your head down to stare at where your gloves rested on your lap. May God forgive you for your covetous thoughts…
At the end of the service, you stayed afterwards, hoping for a chance to speak to the quiet son of Pastor Moore. A few older women were crowding the pastor to ask for blessings and prayers, and you had to stand on the tips of your toes to try and look around them.
You chewed your bottom lip as you scanned the lingering crowd. You’d lost sight of the preacher boy, but when you turned your eyes to the back wall, you noticed that ol’ guitar he brought with him everywhere was missing.
Certain he had left, you exit the old wooden church. Folks were already getting into their cars to drive away down the dusty road, but you paid them no mind. You spotted him then, guitar in hand, as he walked towards the old grandfather tree that shaded the earth a little ways to the side.
You reached your gloved hands down to bunch your dress, raising it so you might follow after him through any tall grass without ruining your pretty Sunday garments. Your shoes sunk slightly as you walked after him on the unpaved grass trail.
You watched the ground so you wouldn’t stumble, but you would lift your eyes every now and then to glance at his back. He reached the trunk of the grandfather tree, and leaned his guitar against it with a tender intimacy.
You were quiet as you neared, but cleared your throat politely so as not to startle him. He turned at the sound, and you felt your flush once again as his eyes fell upon you. No longer was he staring absently at the church doors…he was staring at you.
What a sight you must have been, walking through the long grass in your best pair of shoes. You hoped you had not scuffed them.
“Miss,” the preacher boy said, jutting his chin down in a polite nod—a bow of sorts. You return the gesture, a shy smile gracing your lips.
“Hi Sammie,” you hummed, and his own mouth seemed to quirk up just a tad at the sound of his name. “Sorry you couldn’t join us this morning.” You stopped a few paces from where he stood at the base of the tree and released your dress. It felt gracefully down to hang by your ankles.
Sammie raised an eyebrow at you, and the perplexed look on his face made you feel as giddy as a school girl. “Miss?” he asked again, no doubt confused.
“Well, with your mind out and gone from here to Timbuktu,” you clarified, mirth in your tone. Sammie’s shoulders relaxed, and he rubbed a hand sheepishly along the back of his neck.
“Not quite so far as that,” he drawled, and you dared to inch another step closer. You felt pleased with yourself for initiating the pleasant conversation, but just as quickly you noticed it beginning to fizzle out.
“No need to worry your head none, preacher boy,” you reassured him with a wave of your hand. “I won’t tell your pa you’ve been distracted, no more than you’ll tell my own.” It was a sure enough bargain, considering your father stopped going to Pastor Moore’s church services after he switched denominations.
Sammie didn’t respond verbally, but simply nodded his head and leaned against the tree. “You ever going to play that thing for us in service?” you asked after a moment, nodding to the instrument beside him. You felt yourself wanting to fill the silence that threatened to fall over you both.
Sammie lifted his shoulders in a heavy shrug, followed by some noncommittal answer. “Think he’d rather me lead a sermon than a choir,” he muttered, a serious line forming between his brows as he stared down at the ground.
“And you?” you prompted quietly. “What’d you rather do?”
He looked up at you then, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat, because he was looking at you with the same intensity as he had those old church doors.
“I’d rather play,” he spoke as if it were the most honest and real thing in the world. “I’d play, and people would listen. And they won’t even need to hear nothing from the Book to worship.” He quieted for a moment, and rubbed a knuckle against the center of his chest. “They’ll just hear that guitar, and they’ll already feel it, right here.”
You felt breathless as he spoke, and vaguely you heard the sound of your pulse steadily beating in your ears. It was rhythmic, naturally musical by design—and you knew you would never know a sweeter song than the one your heart sang for the preacher’s son.
“Sammie,” your voice sounded, hushed.
“Miss?”
You swallowed the rising feeling in your throat. Raising your hand, you touched your pulse there, trying to feel the beat through your glove.
