#stack moore

[jodetesuciaperra]

"It was the last time I saw my brother... The last time I saw the Sun"

This line from Stack, at the end of Sinners, made me thing about the possibility that Stack cannot see himself in the mirror because he's vampire.

It must hurt to know that him cannot even see Smoke in a reflection.

[jazziejax]

Chapter Two!!

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which two twin gangsters return home after years in Chicago, to 2003 Jackson, Mississippi. Only to find that the chubby, brace-faced tomboy from across the street has grown into a woman they can’t ignore.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - drug use, swearing

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - something short because I literally have five other Smoke and Stack fics cooking in my drafts

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,178+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢

It always started with noise. Summer in Mississippi wasn’t just heat and humidity—it was loud. Between the swatting screen doors, the bugs flying, kids playing double dutch with mismatched ropes, and the rickety hum of box fans, it was hard to hear yourself think. But for young Juicy, the noise was a comfort… until it wasn’t.

Back in ‘95, Juicy was about eleven, braces still fresh, glasses sliding down her nose every five minutes, and dressed in a floral pattered dress that matches her sisters, though hers fit her more boxier than it did on the older girl. But she didn’t care much about appearances, and it didn’t help that her mama always compared her to her older sister, Sinclair, thin and pretty like the girls in those Jet beauty ads or the ones on the perm boxes. “If only you laid off them pork chops,” was her mama’s idea of encouragement. Her daddy didn’t say much at all.

Juicy found her peace elsewhere—mainly across the street.

The Moore twins, Elias and Elijah—known as Smoke and Stack to others—were about six years older, fast-mouthed, sharp-eyed boys sly grins and problems they never spoke too loudly about. Their father was known around the neighborhood for being the kind of man who left bruises instead of blessings, and their mother was long gone. But the Hall’s took to them like family. Martin, Juicy’s older brother, clicked with them right away over cassette tapes and corner store hustles. Sinclair even crushed on Stack for a while, though he never acted on it.

But it was Juicy—a little awkward, big-bodied, and always scribbling in her notebook—who lingered in the background. She wasn’t really friends with the boys, not like her siblings were. But some days, when things were too loud at her house and Mary, her only friend, couldn’t come out, Smoke would let her sit on the porch with them, passing her a freeze cup and tossing her lazy jokes that made her laugh until her gums showed. Or when Stack would let her old onto him as she rode on back of his bike as he made stops around the neighborhood.

Those little moments were enough. They made her feel seen.

And then, they were gone. Moved up to Chicago when she was fifteen, chasing something bigger—money, maybe, or just a way out. Life moved on. And the city was still as loud as ever.

But in 2003, the block got loud again in their return.

They came back in a long black Lincoln, rolling slow like they owned the pavement. Elias drove, toothpick between his teeth, silver chains glinting in the sun as she rubbed down his waves. Elijah was in the passenger seat, shades low on his nose, hair in tight cornrows. They’d filled out—solid, broad-shouldered men now, still dressed in dark clothes with just enough shine to show they had money. Word spread fast.

Smoke and Stack were home.

First stop was the gas station—for fuel and the liquor store next to it, then the old park where half the benches were gone and the other half were tagged up in Sharpie and knife scratches, looking for their homeboy in his usual spot. A few heads turned, so they dapped up old friends, nodded at familiar faces.

But the real reunion happened on Vernon Street.

Martin Hall was leaned up against his Impala, blunt behind his ear, gold ring glinting. He caught sight of the car before it even parked at the house across the street, and when he caught sight of the men in the car, he instantly grinned.

“Nahhh, I know this ain’t who I think it is.” He shouted, arms already wide open.

Stack stepped out first, grinning, and then Smoke followed. The three embraced like no time had passed at all, Martin falling the men up. Loud laughs, back slaps, the kind of reunion that made neighbors peek through blinds.

“Man, what the hell are yall doing back? And ain’t told a nigga?” Marin asked as he leaned backed against his hood, taking the blunt his girlfriend passed him from her place in his serving seat.

“It was quick to us too, man.” Smoke said, shaking his head a bit. “Them Chiraq niggas different, too much shit going on up there.” He said, placing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, his baggy white tee hanging from underneath a bit.

“Money was good, though.” Stack smirked, moving his gaze away from the woman in the car that was eyeing him with a lustful glint in her, to look at the against the hood.

“I bet.” Martin smirked. “I could only imagine what you niggas got up to up there. Especially to come back as fly as that.” He said, nodding over to the cars in front of the boys old home as he blew away the smoke from the blunt.

“Shit, us?” Stack questioned. “Look at you. The jewelry, new whip. Seems money down here moving smooth.”

“Mmm…it’s aight.” Martin shrugged, causing the twins to chuckle with a shake of their heads.

“You know we gotta celebrate.”Martin said, standing from the car a bit as he handed the blunt to his shorty in the car. “Whole block been a bit dry without y’all. Let me throw something together for tonight.” He suggested. “Plus, I gotta clean some paper anyway.” He shrugged, trying to ease the blow of an unexpected gathering upon the men.

Smoke and Stack exchanged a glance before both men looked back at their old friend and shrugged Martin clapped his hands with a smirk. “Aight.” He nodded. “Tracy, go call yo homegirls and shit, tell ‘em to come through while I get shit situated.” He said to the girl in his drivers seat. Tracy didn’t even say anything, she simply got out the car and made her at into the house, bit before making a bit of a show of pulling down her booty shorts. Stack and Smoke exchanged another look at that, but nothing was said further.

Plans were made fast. A block party. Speakers, coolers, grills were pulled out faster than the men could think. Now they just had to get everything jumpin’.

The men sat around Martin’s car catching up, reminiscing on old scams, and laughing at things they never got caught for. Smoke lit a cigarette while Stack leaned back, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.

That’s when they saw her.

Juicy.

She came walking up the sidewalk with Mary next to her, both of them laughing at something too far to hear. Juicy was still thick, but this time, she wore it like armor. Curves hugged up in a baby pink Juicy Couture set, midriff peeking under the hoodie. Her wedged flip flops clicked against the concrete with purpose. Her acrylics—French tips—glinted when she lifted her lollipop to her lips. Lips lined and glossy, brown skin smooth and glowing, gold hoops in her ears catching sun. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, the blonde highlighted tresses in a bun, looking like it just came out of a fresh roller set. It was only when she got closer that they could see that she still had the tiniest gap when she smiled, but now it looked like part of the charm.

Mary had her own vibe—low-rise jeans, rhinestone tank and a high pony—but no one was looking at her. Not the twins at least.

It was Juicy who had the street paused.

Smoke sat up a little straighter. Stack cocked his head. “Lil’ Juicy?” He mumbled.

And just like that, the heat of Mississippi summer wasn’t the loudest thing on the block anymore.

The heat clung to the air, and the bass from someone’s backyard radio pulsed low in the distance. Juicy walked like she owned the sidewalk, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the click of her heels. She was curvy in all the right places—thicker than the girls on TV, but built with softness and strength that couldn’t be ignored.

Smoke and Stack hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone still the second they saw her. Not obviously—nothing as sloppy as ogling—but they noticed everything. The gloss, the tips, the squinting, whenever from the sun or her needing her prescription. They both could remember how they used to slide down her nose every few seconds.

She no longer looked like the quiet girl who used to sit on the porch with a notebook. She looked like a woman now. A whole one.

Martin lifted a hand. “Juice! Come say what’s up.” He called out, waving the girl over.

Juicy raised a brow as she stopped at the curb, Mary lingering just behind her. “You actin’ like I don’t live here.”he caused, causing Martin to smack his lips. “You know what I mean.”

Juicy clocked the twins as soon as she approached. But her eyes didn’t widen, she didn’t blink. She just popped that lollipop out her mouth slow, head tilted, and said—

“Well, well. Look who finally came home.” All soft like.

Smoke stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. “Ain’t seen you in years, Juicy.” He said, voice a little lower than usual.

Stack nodded. “You done grown all up now.” He said, his eyes subconsciously giving the girl before him a quick once over, one that had him wanting to trace his eyes over her body again.

Juicy didn’t blush—she never did. She just looked between them, slow and deliberate, then popped the lollipop from her mouth and smiled, tiny gap and all. “Y’all look the same.�� She said, though they really didn’t. “Maybe taller. Maybe.” She shrugged, not hiding the way she analyzed the men from head to toe, taking in their otherwise plain street wear, which she knew had to still be a decent penny for.

Martin chuckled. “They back for good. Figured I’d throw a little somethin’ tonight. Let the block know.”

Juicy nodded, barely glancing back at the twins. “That’s cute. I’ll see what’s up.” Then to Mary, “Come on.”

She turned without another word, strutting toward the house, and the two men made it their mission to not look at the rhinestones bedazzled on her booty, reading ‘Juicy’ across the span of the area. Mary, however, lingered just a second longer. Her eyes locked on Stack like she was sizing him up for dessert. No shame at all. She flashed a grin that was all teeth and trouble before jogging up the steps behind Juicy.

When they were gone, Martin lit his blunt, shaking his head. “Y’all look like you saw a ghost.” He said as he blew the smoke out. “Was it Mary? Yeah, I know, still freaks me out a bit to see her down here.” He added, not even waiting for an explanation from them.

Smoke leaned against the hood, eyes still on the porch. “Nah.” He muttered, voice tight. “Yeah, you right. Just didn’t expect that.” He said, though he was simply agreeing to save face.

A few minutes later, it seemed as though this party was about to take off as people began to show up, their drinks of chose and blunts in their clutches. This made Martin head inside to grab more beers while the twins stayed posted at the car, quiet now that the noise of the street settled down.

It was silent between them for a bit before Stack spoke up, not even looking at his brother. “Juicy is far from the girl we left them heard back.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck, internally questioning himself over the quick flashes of ‘not so pure’ thoughts he had about the girl he grew up with.

“Yeah.” Smoke replied. “She is.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment, both thinking the same thing—how time had a funny way of flipping the script. How the girl who used to scribble doodles on everything and watch them from the corner of the porch now walked like she didn’t owe anybody her attention.

Smoke remembered the way she used to listen when he talked—really listen—without judgment or noise. How he used to feel stupid for sharing some of his serpent moments with someone so young. How at first he just needed her for an ear, and she levered that, and when he needed some answers, she was quick to help as well. And she had those same eyes. Soft but knowing. That hadn’t changed.

Stack was still thinking about her walk. The way she didn’t give them a second glance, like she’d seen men like them a thousand times. It didn’t bruise his ego—it just made him curious.

“And I peep she’s got a smart mouth on her now.” He finally said, half a smile on his lips.

Smoke nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave the front door. “Yeah.” He muttered, and that’s all he seemed to be able to say, as if she had rendered him speechless.

Stack’s smirked widen, longing his lips as a thought crossed his mind.

“Wonder who she’s lettin’ have it.”

[liv-spence]

Can we discuss how likely it was Stack was still inside the juke joint and it was the reason why the place had been locked up? So yeah Smoke killed the kkk for revenge but also it was his final act of protecting his brother who would have died had sun light been let in???

Also the fact that Stack could have watched everything and been the one to give Smoke a proper burial in the end? I just hate how they were separated in life and death. So unfair!

[onlymethateverwas]

knowing in my heart that smoke killed remmick bc he knew that if he didn’t, he’d hunt sammie down to the ends of the earth.

versus smoke refusing to kill stack, bc smoke trusted his brother would keep his promise not to turn their little cousin, but he would not, absolutely would NOT, trust a white man not to go back on his word. even if they’d traded sammie in for their lives, remmick would have turned the rest of the juke joint just because he could 😂

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

stack is correct answer btw

The fact that folks are debating which twin is finer than which when they’re the same nigga is proof of MBJ’s acting chops in itself.

[sweetbagel-sticks]

Also there’s something so important to me about Smoke and Stack openly saying they love each other and constantly proving that they love each other

[raysogroovy]

Lead Astray: Elias "Stack" Moore Fanfic - Part 1

Elias "Stack" Moore x Black!Christian!Female!Reader

context: Stack comes to church searching for a sign from God, but instead finds Lula Mae whom is a self proclaimed Child of God.

warnings!: fluff (kinda?), angst(if you squint?), church folk talk, use of n-word (i'm black), cursing, christian religion (i'm a christian myself, so I hope I represent us well!)

...

When Elias Moore left Lula to fend for herself with the mistake of both of their sins, Lula swore she would never lay down with the devil again. She was just twenty years old when they met—innocent and sweet as a Negro girl in the Jim Crow South could be. She barely swore when she first met him, and she never missed a Sunday church service nor a Wednesday Bible study. Looking back on it, Lula could’ve sworn the Lord was playing some kind of joke on her the Sunday she first saw Elias in church.

She was the lead singer in the choir, and that particular Sunday, one of the mothers in the congregation had requested Lula’s rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Lula was known in Clarksdale for her soulful twist on most hymns. To her, it was funny because all she did was slow the tempo and add a couple of runs—but her voice, paired with the lyrics, was known to wring tears from people’s eyes. That’s exactly what happened to Stack that Sunday morning.

As Lula was singing, she noticed a muscular figure walk through the front double doors of the church. From what her eyes could make out from all the way at the front, the man seemed hesitant and confused. Troubled people came into Clarksdale’s First Baptist Church all the time, looking to find God—but for some reason, Lula couldn’t seem to take her eyes off this one. He sat all the way in the back row, wearing a tank top that looked like he’d slept in it. She could immediately tell he was a first-timer by his clothes and body language. She never judged people who came to church underdressed—the Lord said come as you are, and who was Lula to go against anything the Lord said?

Amazing GraceHow sweet the sound,That saved a wretch like me.I once was lost,But now am found;Was blind, but now I see.

Lula belted the words the only way she knew how. She heard voices in the congregation shout praises to the Lord. The musician on the organ began to play, and the choir followed suit. A true believer would say the Holy Spirit filled the room.

Elias “Stack” Moore didn’t know if he was a believer. All he knew was the trouble he kept up and what he and his brother did last night to their daddy. Something in him felt like he had a reason to be in church that morning—that’s what led him there. He didn’t know anything about church or the God Lula was singing to, but something about that sweet, soulful voice made him feel something deep in his chest. He had never experienced anything like it before, and as the girl kept singing, he couldn’t help but cry—like a baby. Eyes red, shoulders shaking, nose running. He hadn’t cried that hard since he was in Pampers.

As Lula sang, she looked around the congregation, but her eyes kept being drawn to the man in the back. In all her years growing up in the church, she’d seen many come in searching for something but not knowing what they were looking for. She saw some of the toughest folks break down before the Lord. But, something about the young man in the back pew told her that he was troubled and needed a lift from the spirit.

As the hymn came to a close, the whole church was on its feet shouting praises. Some claimed they’d caught the Holy Ghost and began to speak in tongues. Lula Mae loved the Lord with all her heart and soul, but never had she felt the Spirit so strongly that she spoke in tongues. Still, she never judged—everyone experienced God differently. She smiled as the pastor directed the choir back to their seats. As she got ready to sit, she tilted her head to the back of the room. Her eyes scanned left to right beneath the lace of her little church hat. Her full lips tilted into a frown— the distressed man crying in the back was no longer in sight. “Maybe he just ain’t ready. May God bless him,” she thought.

After service, Lula stayed behind, like always, to help a few of the other sisters and mothers clean up. She collected stray church fans while giggling at the gossip the women shared. Eventually, it was just her and Sister Marlene left at the front of the pulpit. Marlene had been talking her ear off about how Sister Pearl’s husband had been cheating with some broad down at the Whiskey and Cigars bar. Honestly, Lula couldn’t care less who was cheating on who—but she didn’t have much better to do before helping her mother with Sunday dinner.

“Yes, girl, Jeffrey told me he’d seen Bobby down there flirting with women plenty of times. I think that’s why we ain’t seen Pearl in a few Sundays—po’ thang, probably embarrassed,” Marlene said, fanning herself with her lace-gloved hand.

“Well, I think we oughta visit her next Saturday. Bring her some baked goods or something. No sister in our congregation should go through something like that alone,” Lula sighed, shaking her head. Her heart went out to Sister Pearl. These men were just no good and ain’t care about nothing but how to satisfy a stiff dick. 

“Ain’t you just sweet as can be. Well, Saturday ain’t gone work for me. I’m getting my hair permed and pressed. But why don’t you check on the gal? She likes you more anyway,” Marlene said, adjusting her suit-skirt jacket.

“Oh, chile, please. That ain’t true and you know—” Lula was about to bite back when a deep country voice cut her off.

“’Scuse me, pardon me ladies, but I wanted to introduce myself to the beautiful voice I witnessed earlier.”

It was the man who had been crying in the back pew. Lula had assumed he’d left hours ago. Maybe he’d stuck around but was too ashamed to be seen crying. He held his hat to his chest and reached out to shake Lula Mae’s smaller, chubby hand.

“I appreciate it, sir. I’m Lula Mae—but Lula is just fine. And you?” she smiled kindly, taking in his face. Good God, he was a fine as hell.

He looked to be in his mid-twenties, tall—easily somewhere in the six foot somethings. His hair was perfectly slicked, shaved on the sides; he was clearly no stranger to a perm. As he smiled, Lula noticed the gold adorning his front teeth. She raised an eyebrow. Her mama had always warned her not to trust a sly man with gold teeth—which seemed crazy to her, given how many men in Mississippi had them.

“Elias Moore. But many know me as Stack,” he smirked, eyeing Lula Mae. She had a beautiful dark skin toned that popped in the yellow church dress she wore. Her body said that she was well-fed, and probably cooked a mean Sunday dinner. Stack was a real southern man that liked his women with some meat on em’, so he ain’t mind at all. She had the cutest little face, full lips seem like they had a clear gloss over em’, and the rosiest cheeks–you could see smiling from a mile away. Her eyes were a dark brown but had a look of softness and innocence. Stack could tell she ain’t even seen half the evil shit that he had.

Marlene stifled a laugh and leaned in toward Lula, fanning her mouth, “Girl, you ain’t never heard of the Smoke-Stack Twins?”

She tried to whisper, but Stack clearly heard her—his smirk widened, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, Marlene, why don’t you put these fans up for me while I chat with Brother Elias hea’, please,” Lula said through pursed lips, side-eyeing her nosy friend. Marlene scoffed and grabbed the pile of fans, walking off with a switch in her hips. Lula rolled her eyes. Marlene—preacher’s daughter or not—was such a damn gossip.

Turning back to Stack, she smiled. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she shook her head at the girl she called her “friend”. Marlene really wasn’t much of a friend to her but she was one of the few people that consistently stuck around.

“Ain’t no problem, darlin’. Me and my twin got quite the name ‘round here,” Stack said, cockily placing his fedora back on his head.

“Oh, you got a twin? He come to service with you today?” Lula asked.

“Nawl, this ain’t his type of thang. Really ain’t mine neither. But I came lookin’ for the Lord. And then... I heard yo’ voice.”

“Well, we’re sure glad you came. Is there anything I can do for you?” Lula asked, eyes locked with his.

“Well—uh, shit. I mean, excuse me, Lord Father—” Stack stammered, looking skyward in repentance. Lula giggled. He wasn’t used to the house of the Lord—but she was okay with that. She was just happy to see someone trying to get to know her Lord and Savior like she did.

“Um, I was just wonderin’ if you could pray for me or somethin’. Trouble always seem to find me lately,” Stack admitted, avoiding eye contact.

“Of course, Elias. The good news is the first step to change is giving it to God,” Lula smiled, reaching for his callused hands. “Now let us bow our heads in prayer…”

“Dear Heavenly Father, We come before you on this glorious Sunday, thanking you for the day. You have blessed us with the ability to praise you, and we are most certainly thankful. Lord, we thank you for sending your Holy Spirit to lead your son Elias Moore to the house of God today. Jesus, we ask that you cover him and help guide him away from the temptations and evils of this world. Thank you for bringing him just as he is. Today, we ask that you clean his feet of his sins and bless him with the strength to walk boldly in his faith. In Jesus’ name we seal this prayer, Amen.”

“A-men,” Stack whispered, opening his eyes to meet hers.

That warm feeling grew in his chest again. Something told him this wouldn’t be his last time in church. He didn’t know if it was for God—but he knew for sure it was for the child of God standing right in front of him.

[creaturefeaturecommando]

Going home and watching Idlewild after watching Sinners to cleanse myself because Idlewild feels like what would have happened if Smoke and Stack did successfully run the club but in the end went their separate ways and vampires or the klan weren’t a threat

I see similarities in PJ and Sammie and Rooster is like if Smoke and Stack were one person so to me at the end it felt like it could have been the “what if” happy ending for all of them even if it’s still bittersweet

Idlewild is basically Sinners if it was a regular crime movie and didn’t have vampires and imagining the Sinners characters in Idlewild makes me feel better.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Elias “Stack” Moore nsfw alphabet. 

this is me replying to a request that asked for both Stack and Smoke, but i wanted to post them seperately, so here yall go.

you can find the Smoke alphabet here

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Depends a lot on who you are and what your guy's relationship is, and where you guys are like physically. If you two are somewhere safe, and you mean something to him, then I get the feeling that Stack can be quite affectionate and sweet when it comes to aftercare. I do see him struggling to get aftercare in return though, cuz he isnt used to being vulnerable. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

On himself, I think it would be his arms and torso, maybe his teeth and smile, cuz he knows its a moneymaker. On his partner, its their eyes, neck, shoulders and thighs. (kinda foreshadowing, ya know?) 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

Isn't the type to find it gross or anything, so if you want too, you can get it all over him. Will snowball you though, so be prepared for that.  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

Has a bit of a blood kink, but he thinks it's a result of all the messed-up shit he's seen and done in his life, that it's kinda messed with his head a little too much in some areas. During this period, having attraction to men would most likely also be a real dirty secret, so theres that. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Very experienced, with women at least. With men, you might be one of his first, if not the first that he actually acknowledges as something intimate. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

Like to ride, or be ridden. When hes feeling extra affectionate he does missionary. He groans about not being flexible enough, but you throwing his legs over your shoulders gets him going too. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Hes the goofier of the twins, so you can expect some jokes to be cracked. Hes made too many cowboy jokes to count, especially if you are one, or at least wear a hat like one. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

I don't think most guys are as well groomed during that period as now, but I could imagine Stack still keeping himself neater than most. He won't use hours on it or anything, but he likes being presentable at least. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Again, depends on your guy's relationship. I can see it getting really emotional and intimate if you are both guys though, since it has to be kept a secret unless you guys wanna get killed. The kinda guy to kiss you like he wants to be one with you, like he can express it all through his lips instead of words. (I can imagine Remmick using this to manipulate him as well) 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

Does it a healthy amount, not too much and not too little. Doesnt see it as taboo or anything, and has probably used it as stress relief multiple times. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

Blood kink 

Knife kink 

Likes it when it hurts a little, so he's also the type not to prep himself fully 

Spit and drool, spit in his mouth please 

Bondage 

Risky locations, the danger of it gets his rocks off so fast 

Major praise kink, but wont admit it 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

He could do it anywhere, but his favorite is just somewhere where you guys can be alone and intimate. That, and has probably done it once or twice in the back of the car, when you guys can get away with it. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

Hes pretty easy to get going, but that also comes from you guys having to deny yourselves so much, so you probably aren't much better. After some time, you guys are able to communicate through your eyes, since you can't really touch on each other and all that. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Share, unless it's like, with Smoke I think. You would be the only one receiving though, and he gets jealous quickly. He acts all sweet and charming, but you know how possessive he can get. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

Has a bit of a gag reflex, but it's not so bad that he can't deepthroat you every now and then. He starts coughing and tearing up though. Prefers giving, and will also eat out the back if you allow it. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Most of the time you guys have a very fast pace, rutting in some dark room or hidden area as you clamp a hand over his mouth. But when the chance presents itself, you guys will take your time and truly feel one another. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

Its most of what you guys do, since its really all you can get. But you and Stack like “going for rides” and doing stuff that “isn't anyone's business” to spend time together. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

A risk taker, sometimes too much of a risk taker with where you guys do it and how loud he lets himself be. Can also get pretty risky with that knife of his, especially when he wants you to use it on him. Theres been a time or two where Smoke thought someone attacked Stack because there was a cut on his neck, never too deep, but enough to be noticeable. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

Has pretty great stamina when you guys get the chance to actually use it. All your quickies has made both of you kind of quick shots though. Doesn't mean you guys can't draw it out though, it just doesn't happen a lot. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

I don't think he owns any toys of any kind, and neither do you. Closest you guys get to that has to be some ropes or a tie or two. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

A real tease when he can get away with it. I imagine he used the full party at the juke joint you get to touch you when nobody would notice in the huge crowd. Would say the raunchiest stuff too. Will whisper in your ear, to everyone else it just looks like he's sharing something personal, maybe business, but it's him saying how bad he needs you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Could get really loud if you let him, but he rarely gets the chance. Has a hard time controlling his volume when it gets really good, so you always end up having to cover his mouth, which just drives him even more wild. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

I like to think he wears a ring you gave him before he left. He will claim it's just one he picked up that he likes, even if it's pretty ugly, or low quality compared to all the other high-quality stuff he gets over the years. Won't wear it on his ring finger, but its either on his pinkie or middle finger, cuz that's all he can give you. 

Smoke knows what is going on between you two, but assuming you've known them for a long time, then hes known for just as long. It would be why he's so intense when there are signs of your relationship though, cuz he wants to keep Stack safe. He won't stop you guys though. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Above average in length, but just average in thickness. Cut, cuz I read somewhere that he might have been, so. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

Pretty damn high, but he's just a yearner in general. You guys not getting to kiss on each other and be together whenever you want only adds to this. Gets so bad that Stack will keep a handkerchief or something similar with your cologne on so he can smell it when he's alone.  

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Neither of you guys get to sleep much after your time together, cuz it has to be quick and quiet. But when you guys are able, Stack will lay awake for as long as possible so you guys can just hold each other and talk.  

[jazziejax]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x Black!OC & Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In the underbelly of Prohibition Chicago, a quiet bartender begins to suspect a dangerous secret about a man who might not be just one man after all.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Violence, implied abuse, trauma, period-accurate sexism, organized crime elements

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - another one.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,511+

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐈. 𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐕. 𝐕. 𝐕𝐈

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟕

To the people of Chicago, Odessa Ripley was a simple woman. All they knew about her was that she worked at Gertie’s Fine Dining, was born and raised in Clarksdale, Mississippi, and the second wife to Laurence Ripley, who they only assumed could be the on putting those bruises on her skin that she tried to hide with makeup and a beaming smile. And that was all true. She was born and raised in Clarksdale Mississippi, far out from the small city life the place did have. She lived a small plantation where her family did a little well, though they were still slaves to the money they only could dream of. The eldest girl of four kids.

But she wasn’t the ideal child, not to her father at least. She was so focused on doing her work, making as much money as she could to take care of her family, but the time she was sixteen, she had no prospects. And that didn’t sit right with him. He spent the next two years, trying to turn the field girl into a suitable wife. And she knew the basics, cooking, cleaning, sowing, all that. And though her beauty was there, men didn’t want a girl who worked her whole life doing labor. They wanted a lady. And that was something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t soft spoken, and she wasn’t stupid and naive as most men wanted her to be. She was reserved, didn’t talk much, but when she did it meant something. She was an observer, so she started a lot, and she resting face gave off an unwelcoming feeling to most. And Carl Coulter had lost hope.

That was until he caught word from some white men speaking about their daughters during work, and how they’d send their girls off to marry suitable men.

And then all hope didn’t seem to be lost, and he also saw extra money in his future.

And next thing Odessa knew was that five years ago years ago, she’d been Odessa Maree Coulter of Mississippi, a barefoot girl with callused hands and no prospects. And then her father had sold her off like a debt, packed her onto a train with a suitcase and a scrap of paper: Laurence Ripley, Chicago. And she wasn’t even sure how much she was sold for.

She just hoped it made her family happy, and now they could live a bit better.

And now, by day, Odessa Ripley served fried meats and bootlegged coffee at Gertie’s Fine Dining, a “restaurant” so polite you could bring your elderly mother after church. And by night, she ghosted through the real heart of the place — a speakeasy buried under the floorboards, lit dimly by candles, cigarette smoke and broken dreams.

She wasn’t loud, wasn’t showy. She never was but it was something she grew not to be after years in the bustling city of Chicago. She minded her business, kept her eyes low and her hands busy. In a place like Gertie’s, it was safer not to see too much, though nothing could go down in the designated safe zone.

But even a reserved woman could notice patterns.

There was him. This one man. He was tall, dark, well built and sharp at the edges. Everyone that was anyone seemed to know him. The Italians bragged about him, and the Irish laughed with him over glasses of rotten whiskey.

Same man.

Only… he wasn’t the same man. At least, that’s what Odessa gathered.

She caught it in the smallest things. When he came with the Italians, he wore polished shoes, a perfectly pressed suit, a gold pinky ring flashing under the low lights. His hair slicked hard and smooth when he took off his fedora. The gold outlining the teeth of his canines when he laughed loudly with the men and he kissed cheeks like he was born in Naples.

But when he rolled in with the Irish, he wore scuffed boots, a crooked tie, a rough grin that didn’t stretch far but signaled trouble. His hair tucked under a flat cap, and he laughed easy, slapping backs like he grew up tossing stones at windows in Dublin.

From the inattentive men of the mobs to the unassuming bystanders, it was just one man. A man like no other that gained them more power and money than some of them could ever think of.

But to Odessa, it was two. It had to be. It didn’t make any sense to her. Unless her lack of communication to people besides her children was staring to get to her.

She noticed things about them—him. Some nights, he drank bourbon neat. Other nights, he asked for gin with a twist. Some nights, he limped on his right leg. Other nights, his left shoulder hung low. Some nights, he spoke sharp and clipped, like he’d been raised in Chicago proper. Other nights, there was a soft, creeping drawl that curled the edges of his words.

Most folks would’ve chalked it up to exhaustion, to drinks, or to the weight of the life. But Odessa had lived enough of a double-life herself to recognize a crack in the mask.

But she wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

Lord knew she had enough troubles stitched into the seams of her life already. But she did have the ones she grew to love more than she could ever imagine.

Her husband, Laurence Ripley, was a widower. She never knew fully what happened to the woman, and she wasn’t strong enough to ask the little ones or the grieving husband. But from word of mouth, it seemed to everyone that it was simply unexpected. And now Laurence needed help, he said. Needed a wife, he meant.

Odessa learned the difference between the two quick.

She also learned to love his children — Beatrice ‘Beaty’ and Peter ‘Pete’ — who clung to her like barnacles to a sinking ship after the loss of their mother. Nothing but ten and twelve when she first met them, her nothing but eighteen.

Now, she lived with the children, who were closer to her age than she was to their father. She tried her best to keep smiles on their faces, even when they would drop when Laurence came home drunk or angry every night. The three found solace in each other after abruptly loosing the life they once knew.

Still, she couldn’t help but tell the kids her theory late at night, when the dishes were washed and Beaty was playing with her hair while Pete was pretending he wasn’t listening.

“I think there’s two of ’em.” She said, dropping her voice like the walls had ears as she sowed the hole in Laurence’s shirt closed.

“Two what?” Pete asked, looking up from his whittling knife.

“Two men, keep up Pete.” Beaty said said, looking up from the woman’s hair and over to the older boy. Pete simply threw her an annoyed look while Odessa continued. “You don’t know them, but you’ve probably seen them. The one the Italians love and those Irish men laugh with. They look alike, sure, but… they ain’t the same. I swear it.”

Beaty giggled, finishing off the one braid she did with a white ribbon. “Mama Dessa, that has to be the craziest thing I ever heard. Are you making up stories to keep us entertained?” She questioned, causing Pete to snort while Odessa playfully rolled her eyes at the girl. “Ain’t no one slick enough to pull that off.” Peter stated. “’Specially not with those fellas.” He said, before standing up from the table and grabbing his new banjo from the living room, new to him since he saw an old white man throw it out that morning when he was in town getting groceries.

“Ehh.” Beaty chimed back in as she continued with the other half of Odessa head. “It sounds crazy but don’t give those white men too much credit. They ain’t that bright.” She shrugged.

“That ain’t dumb either.” Pete said as she walked back into the small stable that sat in the corner of the kitchen, placing the instrument in his lap. “They just let their egos get in the way of making smart decisions. That’s how they always mess up.” He said, strumming a few strings and letting the soft sounds fill the kitchen. He then paused, looking over at the older woman in the other side of the table. “At least, that’s what you say, right mama?” He asked.

And Odessa smiled into her cup. She then placed it down, offering him her soft look. “Of course.” She said, a bit endeared that he remembered her words. “But don’t go ‘round saying that to other people ‘else word get back to ya and bites. And since you’re in the mood for quoting, also remember—.”

“There ain’t no white man smatter or better than you.” The younger two echoed before the woman could even speak. And hearing their words caused a smile to cross her lips.

“But based on your story, mama Dessa, we may be smarter than you. Cause ain’t no two men posing as one with the mod.” Beaty woke up, her and her brother sharing a laugh while Odessa rolled her eyes at them again as she went back to her sowing.

As they laughed, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself, not really. But deep down, in the place that still had a little fire left, she knew.

She knew.

They never interacted. The man — or men — never said anything to her. Never gave her a wink or a hint. But sometimes, when he passed by her at the bar, shoulder brushing hers, he’d tip his hat just a little lower. And she would nod back. That was it. And it didn’t eat away at her like she thought it would, because even if she was ever right, she knew some things — and some people — were safer left in the shadows.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The night came in heavy, wrapping Gertie’s in smoke and low murmurs as they prepared to close down for the night. Odessa was working her upstairs shift, and as she wiped down the polished wood of the upstairs counter, head bowed like always, but her sharp eyes caught movement near the door.

There he is, she thought.

Tonight, he was dressed crisp. Tweed suit with a dark green color, a matching flat cap, silver cufflinks, and a dark coat slung over his shoulder. Irish side, then.

He moved smooth through the room, parting it like a ship through water, a close-lipped smile that offered no one comfort.

When he reached the bar, Odessa had already poured a whiskey. Neat. No words exchanged.

He smiled wider now, still small, just a touch to show his nice teeth. Enough to make a lesser girl blush.

“Appreciate it, sweetheart.” He said, voice low and syrupy. She gave a small, polite nod, sliding the glass to him across the bar. Her fingers brushed his glove.

He smelled like tobacco and cologne, something expensive.

He drank standing up, surveying the room that was beginning to thin as families closed down to the night and some men headed to the back to enter their downstairs area.

“Busy night?” He asked, kidding his head over to the bereaved curtain that was stationed behind the bar. They both knew he was taking about the speakeasy below their feet, the room buzzing full of boisterous men drunk off illegal drinks and high off gambling.

“Steady,” Odessa said, voice even. She kept her gaze slightly averted, like a good and unsuspecting girl would.

He let out a small chortle under his breath, tossed a coin onto the bar, and tipped his hat. “Save me a spot next time. I’d love to try the food here.”

Then he was gone, vanishing into the back and disappearing into the dark like a shadow.

The next time was about a day later. She really say then in the same day. She was working her speakeasy shift that night and after the Irish had cleared out and the Italians had flooded in with louder laughs and messier boots, he returned.

But different.

Black suit with a matching wide brimmed hat, gold cufflinks, a white pocket square so sharp it could slice you. He moved as smooth as before, though a little less assertive. He flashed that smug smile that had the women swooning, opposed to the close-lipped smile that said everything and nothing at once that she saw yesterday. His accent was smoother now — words rolling looser, more careless.

“Evenin’, darlin’.” He said, dropping onto a stool with a heavy sigh, like he’d been working all day digging graves. “You got anythin’ that’ll kill a man twice?” He asked with a smirk, showing those gold teeth in the corner of his mouth.

Odessa lifted an eyebrow but kept her voice mild. “Could rustle up a gin, maybe some moonshine or a prayer. Whichever you think’ll hit harder.” She deadpanned.

He barked out a full, throaty laugh — none of that tight and taunt smile from before.

“Gin’ll do,” He said, tapping the bar with two fingers.

She poured him one, hand steady even as her mind rattled. Up close, he seemed a bit broader. His knuckles looked less scuffed, but his skin a shade darker from sun or soot. Maybe she’d imagined the roughness earlier.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He threw back the drink and grimaced happily.

“You’re a blessing, you know that?” He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Odessa hummed, taking the glass and pointing him another before moving to the rest of the empty glasses left by men from earlier. “Don’t rightly feel like one some days.” She murmured, surprising herself.

He tilted his head at that, studying her now. The easy humor faded from his face, replaced with something quieter.

Softer.

“You oughta.” He said finally, almost serious before picked a toothpick from the short glass on the bar and put it in his mouth. Then he slid a few coins her way — double what the drink cost — and sauntered back toward the table in the back where a few Italian men were raising hell over dice and cards.

Odessa watched him go, wiping down the already clean bar with slow, careful strokes.

Same man, she thought. Same eyes, same voice.

But…

But not the same weight behind the voice.

Not the same way he wore his own skin.

And no matter how many times Beaty and Pete laughed at her for it, Odessa just knew that those had to be different men. There were two of them. Two faces. Same damn lie stitched up in different suits.

She tucked the extra coins into her apron and said nothing. Some secrets were safer locked behind your teeth.

And she had learned a long time ago. Women like her didn’t survive by speaking the truth.

That is how she got her husband after all.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Lemme go watch that Freaknik documentary... *Spoilers for Sinners ahead*

...there might be a glimpse of Mary and Stack in that Coogi sweater going stupid on a '92 Suzuki Jeep, lol!

[callmestack]

›   ✱ S T A C K .   who's the black sheep ? what's the black sheep ? know not who i am, or when i'm coming so ya sleep. wasn't in ya realm, or wasn't in ya sphere. KNEW NOT who i was, but listen here.

〉 E L I A S. 〈

inspired   by   DARK, gothic   themes,   the supernatural,   divine   rage,  and  spiritual   reclamation,   this   canon   narrative   follows   the   life and legacy of ELIAS MOORE from the work of SINNERS.

told   through   the   lens   of   fractured   devotion,   black power and struggle,   and    rituals   soaked   in   blood and a damn good time.

↪   this   blog   explores   themes   of   supernatural   trauma,  power struggles,   generational   grief,  racial themes / conversations,  and    violence.   content   is   tagged   appropriately.   please   engage   with   that in mind.

open they eyes to the lies history's told foul, but i'm as wis e as the old owl, plus the gold child --

↪  AFFILIATIONS   :  (to be updated)

↪  EXCLUSIVES   :  (to be updated)

𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛 | 𝘈𝘚𝘒 | 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘊𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘚 𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘗𝘛𝘚 | 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘊𝘖𝘙𝘋: MARIACHILLIN

[liv-spence]

Mary and Stack were not some great romance lol. I see a lot of people attempting to romanticize what she did to him. Yes he loved her, but she took away his choice once she turned him into a vampire. He would have given anything to stay with his brother and that was the reason he turned Annie to force Smoke’s hand. He would not have willingly wanted to be a vampire and it was unfair of her to do that to him. One could also argue she was under mind control but if that were the case, she would have attacked others once cornbread allowed her to come inside. She went straight for Stack. What she did was not love. What Smoke did for Annie was love not whatever selfish shit Mary did. Now Stack is cursed to spend eternity without the person he loved most but Mary did not care lol she got the man.

Love Hailee btw and she did amazing in this movie but her character was a villain.

[scarlettwitcher]

I haven’t wanted to write in so long but after watching sinners? That google doc was opened, primed, and ready.

This movie has been living in my head RENT FREE. I have watched it 7 times. I haven’t had the feeling to write so bad as I have right now. Not even as a fan service. I just want to capture these amazing, beautiful characters into words.

This movie has evoked feelings in me I didn’t know I had. As a music fanatic, this movie hit me so deep in my soul with every song, riff, and word sung. And don’t even get me started on everything else this movie has to offer because we will be here for days. Just, this movie, 11/10, best movie of the year.

[my-path-serpentine]

all the little gay white bitches talking about how they'd ride the vampire's dick from Sinners are just proving how all those little straight white bitches date and marry massively racist conservative men because they only care about their own wants and needs, not the real impact of racist dudes because they're literally no different

ooh blood ooh its sexy

yeah he's still a fucking racist character isn't he though

[72crowe89]

Sinners spoilers

Me: I'm so glad that an original property is getting a large positive critical and commercial response. Hopefully, it will encourage studios to invest in more original properties. Luckily, Sinners ended in a way where it will remain a stand-alone movie, so Warner Bros won't be encouraged to make sequels to a movie that doesn't really need it.

Warner Bros: Well...What was Stack and Mary up to during those 60 years?

Me: No.

Warner Bros: And what about those Choctaw vampire hunters?

Me: No!

Warner Bros: And then there's the loose in of the Irish mob and Italian mafia.

Me: Nooooo.

Warner Bros: And what happened to Lisa after the deaths of her parents?

Me: Noooooooooo!

Warner Bros: Hey, how about a movie where Stack and Mary raise Lisa as a surrogate daughter, have her trained with the Choctaw vampire hunters, and fight the mob, the mafia, and other vampires as a family

Me: