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loved your drabble with bo and black reader and him admiring her skin and was wondering if you could make one similar with remmick per chance?
🪽WHISKEY.
summary: remmick loves your skin too much.
warnings: none.
a/n: please send requests. i have no motivation to write lol.
remmick had been admiring you since you walked into the bar in that skin tight dress, flaunting everything you had from back to front. those legs, that body, that face. it’s all too much for him, but it’s a welcome type of too much. one of the few things that brings him any pleasure anymore. remmick couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. his gaze raked over your form, appreciating the curves he could see beneath the dress; that sinful black silk hugged your body in all the right places. every step you took was a tantalizing dance, begging him to watch. it was a show, one that he couldn't get enough of.
a new mixed-race bar had opened a few minutes from where you lived, so you decided to stop by tonight for a cold drink and a soul soothing cigarette. the white owners only let blacks in to increase business, not because they liked them. you assumed remmick's staring was because he didn't want your kind here, so you ignored it at first. but after a few minutes of persistent staring, you said something
"you got a problem, sir?" you asked politely, looking him up and down, noting his ironed shirt and polished shoes. a neatly wrapped cigarette sat between your pointer and middle fingers, the end burning bright red as you tapped the ashes into the glass ashtray in front of you. his gaze flicked up to your face at your words, a smirk playing on his lips. he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he took you in.
"quite the opposite, actually." he let his eyes roam over your figure once more, appreciating every inch of you. "you’re jus' about the prettiest thing i’ve seen all night... ‘specially in that dress."
"... uh huh. there's a white woman over there; you can go look at her. you responded curtly, fiddling with the cigarette between your delicate fingers. "oh, c'mon now," he said, chuckling softly. "you don't really expect me to go stare at some pale imitation when i have the real thing right in front of me, do ya?" he leaned forward, his gaze roaming over you once more, his expression full of admiration. "plus, i've never had much of an interest in pale women anyway."
"pale imitation?" you repeated, almost wanting to smile in response to his comment but holding back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you smile. he nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "yeah, that's right. you, my dear, are the original. the true beauty." he let his eyes trail appreciatively over her skin, his gaze lingering on the rich, dark tone. "your skin is like a work of art,” he mused, the words a low purr in his throat. “smooth and even, with all those subtle undertones of brown. like a well-aged whisky."
he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "you see, i believe that some things are made better with age, just like a fine liquor. just like you, baby. with your rich, dark skin that speaks of experience and time, you're like a fine vintage. you'd go down my throat just as smooth, too," he added with a smirk.
"i've had white men compliment me, but not like that. whisky." you spoke in a low, almost intimate tone as your gaze moved over him. he chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "well, i wouldn't go comparin' myself to all those white men. they don't know what real beauty looks like… not the way i do." he gave you an appreciative glance, his lips curving into a slow, lazy smile. you weren't sure if he was drunk or this was his true personality, but you were in a good mood tonight, so you would give him the time of day, if only for a while.
🪽MOLASSES
summary: bo loves your skin too much.
warnings: none.
a/n: this is a little short 'cause i have family over. as you know, my writes are for black!reader. love a black woman to infinity.
bo was sappy with his woman all the time, but especially at night when they were snuggled together in bed after a hot shower. you stood out amidst the sea of women he had once sought out; you were different. there was something about you that stirred something deep within him. though he always had a preference for woman of color, it was your gentle nature and sweet demeanor that truly piqued his attention.
"your skin,” he murmured, his voice holding a hint of reverence. “is s'pretty.” his nose was in the crook of your neck, lightly tickling the skin, and the sensation made you tense your shoulders.
"my what?" you laughed, caught off guard by his sudden comment. bo smiled as he realized his slip, "your skin, baby. i was just saying how beautiful it looks." he paused, his gaze roaming over you once more. "especially under the dim lights."
"this how men compliment nowadays? never had a man say he liked the color of my skin." you said, slightly amused. he chuckled lightly, "is that right?" he found himself even more intrigued, not just by your wit but the subtle challenge in your words. his gaze dropped to your lips for a moment.
"your skin looks like a sweet scoop of molasses. even sweeter. might need me a taste tonight," he added, kissing your neck. bo was in deep, drowning in you, and didn't wanna breathe in air. he wanted to breathe in you.
in love with the way you write remmick like hello??? the dark mysterious vibe, yeah. i also love the fact it’s black reader coded being black myself i love seeing it from the perspective of someone the same race as me. wondering if you’d mind typing an x reader with remmick showing up to readers house seeking shelter and she kind of figures out what he is, but he doesn’t turn her valuing her humanity? kinda sappy but i wanna see a more soft approach to remmick idk
🪽THANK YOU.
summary: a random white man appears on your porch one day, covered in blisters, and while your father is skeptical, your heart tells you to help him.
warnings: none i think.
a/n: worked on this for hours nonstop. got messy at the end. hope y'all like it.
the missisipi sun was at his back 'n he was burning up. the arid, limitless field of dirt extended for miles in all directions, scorched and crumbling in the sunlight. his weathered boots kicked up clouds of dirt heated by the sun as they shuffled through the sand. he was thirsty, dehydrated, longing for a small drop of water to coat his cotton mouth. and above all, he needed food—bones, flesh, and blood.
the sun. that ball of fire, that damned piece of light. remmick had previously been hunted by that blazing light. he tried his hardest to stay away from it, even spending days at a time hiding in a hole in the ground to allow his skin to heal. he was powerful, sure. but every creature had its weakness, and remmick? the sun damn near killed him.
he staggered with each excruciating stride, the sun soaking through his shoes and burning the raw blisters on his feet. as he ran, a wet plap filled the air, with the sounds of his own blood and sweat sloshing in his shoes and between his toes, exacerbating his blisters. remmick wasn't religious at all, but he found himself praying in his head that he could get out of this scorching heat. despite the fact that he was a sinner and a horrible man, God appeared to answer his prayer quickly as a house came into his view.
after helping your ma in making breakfast—scrambled eggs, cheesy grits, crispy bacon, and buttery pancakes—you were in the kitchen cleaning up. an unfamiliar male voice caught your attention, and you wiped your hands on the floral kitchen towel before making your way to the front door, the wooden floor groaning under your steps. standing with a double barrel shotgun in his hands, your father—a well known farmer in the neighborhood—was aiming it straight at the stranger kneeling at the door.
you stood behind him, looking up down the white man with worry etched on your face. he didn’t look like one of the men from the neighboring farms—he was too beat up, his clothes too raggedy. he also smelled. it was a hot day, but even from where she stood, the man reeked of something sour. a little bit like alcohol, a little bit like sweat.
your father questioned him relentlessly, his expression hard. this was strange; a random white man on your porch, covered from head to toe in blisters and looking like he had been beaten with hot barbed wire; something wasn't adding up.
remmick didn’t respond at first, licking his chapped lips and looking between the double barrel shotgun gun and your pa, taking in the little woman poking her head from behind the porch door. “i don’t mean trouble,” he said at last, voice rough and sandpaper low. his eyes found you, studying the confusion on your face. “i jus' need water.”
the air was tense, your pa's grip tight on the gun. the man on his porch looked like he’d walked through hell, red faced and staggering. he was also white, which was suspicious enough. the farmers around here stuck to their own, the lines of color were drawn deep. remmick held up both palms empty, but still, your pa didn’t lower the gun. “i’m dyin' o' thirst, i swear.” he swayed a bit on his feet, and both your and your pa noticed. he was exhausted, dehydrated. his eyes locked with yours, and something passed between them. pleading.
"pa, he's burnin' up.." you spoke softly, cringing at the blisters that covered him from head to foot.
your pa's gaze flicked over to you, softening for the smallest moment when he saw your big eyes looking at him. you were always a soft-hearted girl, seeing something in people that he didn’t. he huffed.
“you from here? who’s land you trespassing on?”
“i ain’t trespassing. i’m just lost, is all. i was headin' east, and then the sun got to me.” remmick ran a dry hand over his face, groaning. “i need a few hours. to cool off, get my bearings. i'll be on my way as soon as the sun goes down.”
"he can sit at the table. i'll get him some water.." you spoke firmly but softly to your pa, walking to the kitchen before he could say anything else. you've always been stubborn, anyway.
that night, you persuaded your father to let remmick stay in the guest bedroom for the night. and he agreed after some pleading, promises, and tears of empathy from you. and he hated seeing his baby girl cry. you provided him with clothes from your pa's closet, a washcloth and soap bar for bathing, food, and other necessities. you were a little nosy and looked into the guest room before going to bed to see how remmick was doing, and then you saw them. his teeth were as sharp as your brother's hunting knife, and you almost gasped before forcing yourself to stay silent. putting the pieces together didn't take long; you were a smart girl who had heard tales from your cousins who lived in new orleans about the kinds of things they saw. in the hopes that you would forget what you saw, you said nothing to your pa about it. if he even caught a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth, he would shoot remmick dead.
but remmick knew you saw, and he knew you would keep quiet.
that night, you awoke to the sound of the front door creakily closing, but a shimmer on your nightstand drew your attention. a piece of gold with a note next to it with only two words scribbled on it with a nearly empty ink pen.
thank you.
— R.M
the gold gleamed in the low light from outside, glimmering like the stars on a clear night. that was more money than you had ever seen, more money than your family made in a week. you’d never even touched gold before, the metal was cool beneath your fingers, the ridges of the coin imprinted in your palm. your jaw dropped. where had this come from? you looked at the note, confusion making your head spin. where had he gotten this from? you sat up, studying the note again. the handwriting was messy, the letters sharp pointed and uneven. the words were simple, but the coin was worth a weeks worth of their harvest. you'd never forget him.
remmick.
🪽 BE MY BABY.
warnings: pregnancy?
a/n: short and sweet. this is so cute.
bo is a classic man; he'll marry you first before discussing having children with you, and he really wants it. the thought of having little babies running around the house makes his heart hurt because he wants it so much.
now, bo's genes may overshadow yours, and he teases you about it all the time.
"i want a caramel skin baby girl just like me." you smiled sweetly, holding the brush in your hands and gently brushing your hair. you've wanted a baby of your own since you were a little girl with a babydoll named missy, and now you can make your dream come true with your handsome husband, bo chow.
he hummed in agreement, big hands moving through your soft curls that he loved oh so much. "i'd love a little brown skinned girl just like you, baby." he said, hands now on your thigh, slowly going up to your hip as he pressed a sweet kiss on your neck.
"but i'm lighter skinned," he moved a big hand from your thigh to your stomach. "which means we'd probably end up with some more milky babies, you'd have to pray for that caramel skin."
he liked the idea of having a lot of children with you, especially since his store makes enough money to support them and you. plus, he spoils you on a daily basis; he'll enjoy doing the same for your children. don't be surprised when they end up spoiled.
"how many babies are we gon' have?" he asked with a smile.
"how many babies you want?" you countered, raising an eyebrow.
he chuckled, drumming his fingers your shoulder. "if i could choose how many we could have? i'd say seven to eight. that way we could have a couple boys and girls." he said, looking you over.
"what the hell, bo.."
"what? i just want a lot of babies with you. i'm hopin' for a good number of girls, though..." he grinned, reaching over and putting a hand on your waist. "i want them all to be just like your pretty lil' self."
you end up having two babies, a brown skinned little girl who looks exactly like you and a little boy who looks exactly like bo, as asian as can be with not a lick of brown in his skin. you were confused at first, until you remembered that he got it from bo.
bo adores them both like crazy. he's not afraid to discipline them, but they almost never misbehave because of how well you both raised them. they'll argue about toys or candy from time to time, but they always make up, which almost brings bo to tears every time.
of course, you carry on the black traditional of lathering their bodies and faces in cocoa butter with heavy hands; they both whine every time, but they sit through it anyway.
bo has been watching you do your hair since you both became sweethearts, so he takes such good care of your little girl's curls that it almost scares you. her curls are never dry, and her braids, which usually consist of two pigtails, are always neat.
as for your little boy, in many asian cultures, it's a tradition to shave a baby's head, often within the first few months of life, for the belief that it promotes thicker, healthier hair growth. you were sad at first because bo had shaved your precious baby boy bald. but after he explained why, you were okay with it, but made sure he didn't cut your baby girl's hair. she already had long and thick hair; she didn't need to go bald, too. of course, she makes fun of his little bald head, and you have to constantly tell her to leave him alone.
🪽 GUEST.
summary: your mama gave remmick permission to come in whenever he wanted, not knowing what he was, and he wanted you first. but remmick has a problem of playin' with his food.
warnings: fighting, light choking, hair pulling, spitting, biting, and a lil freaky.
a/n: y'all loved my other remmick post so i made another. bad at endings, sorry.
your mama had always been sweet, perhaps a little too sweet. especially when a white man stood on your porch one afternoon and offered to cut the grass for free. nobody did anything for free around here, at least that you were aware of. and what white man would do any kind of work for some black people? something wasn't adding up, and only you noticed.
that afternoon he saw you... it had been like a punch to the gut. something that made him want, something that made him.. ache. now here you were, trapped in his arms, just what he wanted. just his type.
“quit fightin’ so hard.” remmick’s voice was a near order as he stepped closer, forcing you back until you bumped against the edge of the kitchen counter. he lifted you higher, strong enough to maneuver your body without much effort at all.
“you sound.. sweet like this.” his hand around your throat loosened slightly, a few gasps of air escaping your lips. he leaned closer, nose brushing your ear, voice low and gravelly.
“what’s that pretty mouth taste like?”
you were pretty when you squirmed, really, it was almost sexy how hard you were still trying.
remmick’s hand squeezed your neck again, tilting your head to the side and back, forcing you to expose the long column of your pretty throat. “i'm gonna find out,” he murmured.
his tongue slid from his mouth, slick with spit and unnaturally long, and you instinctively screamed in disgust as loudly as you could, tilting your head back away from him as you struggled in his firm hold. remmick tsked. now that just wouldn’t do. he didn’t like that sound, or that struggle.
his thumb pressed on your windpipe enough to cut off more airflow while his other hand tangled roughly in your hair, yanking that pretty head back. he leaned closer, mouth just above that exposed neck, breath hot enough to send a shiver down your spine. "you know, you oughta be nicer.” his tongue flicked out, a quick tease of the skin. "you’re real vulnerable like this.”
his tongue traced an invisible line down the curve of your throat, lips pressing softly against you. he held you like a vice, body flush against yours, hand wrapped so tight in your hair it bordered on painful. "maybe I’ll make that pretty mouth scream again,” he murmured, teeth nipping at your collarbone. “just not in disgust this time.”
you reached up and grabbed a chunk of his hair and yanked his head away from your neck. he didn’t like that at all. in a quick, fluid motion, his hand gripped your wrists and slammed both against the edge of the counter, effectively trapping both your hands in one strong grip.
he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear. "do that again, and i’ll do worse than just bite you.” his fingers pressed into your skin, enough to leave little red spots. “i like my hair right where it is, thank you.”
then you spat. right on his lower lip. you weren't any stronger than him, but god forbid you let him bite you with those teeth. that was a bit more than the usual struggle, enough to break his attention. he raised a brow, eyes narrowing as he licked the saliva from his lip. it would’ve been funny if it hadn’t just taken him off guard.
"careful now.” his tone was still low, still thick with a sinful edge, but that sharp hint of warning was clear. he shifted his grip, pulling your head back a bit more as he leaned forward. if you wanted to spit.. he’d have a good way to shut you up. “spit on me again, and I’ll make sure that voice is hoarse for a week.”
“what makes you think you can just spit on me, huh?” he murmured. that ain’t how you should treat a guest, is it?”
"i ain't let you in—" you protested, breathing heavily as he craned your neck back in an uncomfortable position.
“no,” he chuckled, breath hot on your ear as he pulled back far enough to watch your face. “your sweet lil’ mama did.”
he leaned closer, lips just above your pulse. “your sweet ma let me in and told me i could stay as long as i needed to. said i could have a seat at the table and everything.”
his teeth scraped your skin. “so i think that does make me a kind of guest.” that was the last thing you heard him say before he sank his sharp teeth into your neck, piercing every vein along the way.
🪽 CERVIX BRUISER.
warnings: bo chow smut headcanons. nasty and descriptive overall.
a/n: ovulating is torture. went a little overboard. also can't help but call y'all pretty in this <3
bo feeds off of your pleasure; your pretty moans, gasps, and sighs cause him to groan and his cock jump eagerly. he can cum in his pants just by watching your beautiful self orgasm.
he won't make you orgasm just once; at least three times. he draws it out not to be cruel, but to give you the most pleasure possible. overstimulating is his specialty.
your clit is not safe from him, regardless of what position you're in. his hand will find it with precision.
his favorite position is missionary because he can look at your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure and kiss your lips. but if you ask him on a deeper level, he'll say doggystyle so he can watch his cock glide smoothly into your pussy with each thrust. it makes him very aroused.
creampie lover. if it drips out of your pretty pussy, he'll use his cock to push it right back in.
talks you through it.
him eating you out is dangerous; he won't stop until your shaking. he'll kiss your clit, lick it from the front to your ass like candy, or even slap it. not hard, just to surprise you. even speaks to your pussy, calling her beautiful and oh so pretty.
bo's cock is the reason why the word hung exists. eight inches, thick and girthy, with a vein running down the side. has a slight curve that precisely hits your g spot every time, causing you to see stars. his dick tastes like ripe avocado, which is apparently what clean dick tastes like. it also feels really nice and smooth going down your throat.
deep and hard thrusts every time. his thrusts will make the bed creak no matter how sturdy it is, simply because they're so hard.
will tell you to be quiet but then fuck you so hard that you can't stop moaning to save your life.
his goal is to always make you a mess. hair messy, back sweaty, pussy dripping, and just worn out. will manhandle you, regardless of your size. more body means more room for grabbing.
the aftercare is so sweet. if you like, he'll smoke a cigarette with you or just hold you in a warm bear hug until you both fall asleep.
you'll be sore tomorrow; don't think otherwise.
🪽 LET HIM IN.
summary: remmick really just wants you to let him in.
warnings: a little freaky. barely proof read.
a/n: i caved and wrote a little something for remmick.
".. you shouldn't be here." you whispered, your voice almost quivering. he'd been here since dew had covered the grass and the windows of your bedroom, pleading with you to let him in.
there was a warning in his eyes as they flicked over your features before his mouth curled into a smirk. “maybe you oughta do your part and run me off,” he suggested, the drawl a lazy command. “go tell your folks there’s a devil on the porch.” his voice was velvet and danger, and you knew he was enjoying every second. “see if they can keep me away.”
remmick chuckled softly, his hand spread against the screen door. he leaned in, so close that his words danced against your flesh, and he watched your reaction closely, that smirk widening. "i don't think they could if they tried," he murmured, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.
there's no man who loves you the way he can. his obsession—his need—is not a sickness. it's love in its rawest, pure form. there are people who think love is a weakness. people who think it’s a distraction. a waste of time. remmick, on the other hand, doesn't believe in love at first sight. because the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew. he recognized the tug in his chest for exactly what it was, a pull so intense that he would chase you across mississippi if he had to. so what if someone sees that as a sickness? that's the beauty of it. you're his.
"my pa will. he'll shoot you dead right here on this porch." you threatened, your gaze lowering to his feet, which hadn't crossed the threshold of the front door without your permission.
"he's welcome to try," remmick replied, not fazed in the slightest. in fact, he looked faintly amused. there was a challenge in his eyes as he let them roam over your face, taking in the mix of defiance and uncertainty.
his hand came up, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing line down the mesh, the sound sharp and grating. he spoke quietly, his voice a low, almost mocking whisper. "you really think your pa knows you like i do, sweetheart?"
"he doesn't see how you shiver when i get close," remmick continued, his voice a soft, sinful lilt. "he don't know how eager those pretty little hands wanna touch me. ain't none of 'em see the look on your face, or else they'd never let me within a mile of their property. i can hear your heartbeat, your second one too."
"... you ain't so pure as they think, are you, honey?" remmick hummed low in his throat, his eyes locked on hers with a heady intensity. he saw the internal battle you were waging, and he relished in it, that smirk never leaving his face. he played right into it, leaning forward another inch..
"you're thinking about it, aren't ya? Inviting me inside, where it's calm and quiet," he murmured, his words like a sinful taunt. "you wanna say it."
"just say the words, and i'll be across that threshold before you can catch your breath." he promised.
"...."
"come in."
🪽 BO CHOW HEADCANONS.
warnings: none i think.
a/n: my first real post. i frequently update my posts until i'm satisfied with the aesthetic. part two?
so gentle with you. he'll talk crazy to anyone else but with you he's very careful about what he says. especially when you're upset; the last thing he wants to do is aggravate you even more.
you often work in his grocery store, usually at the register. but he's keeping an eye on you at all times in case a customer tries to be snappy or flirtatious. bo doesn't mind other people admiring your lovely face, but they should keep their hands and words to themselves for their own good.
loves it when you lather yourself in cocoa butter lotion and hug him because the smell sticks to his clothes for a while, ensuring that he always has a piece of you with him.
chronic ass slapper, even in public. he just can't help himself.
you sitting on his lap is his absolute favorite thing ever.
calls you a variety of nicknames. chocolate kiss, hot chocolate, ma'am, miss, etc. i think that's so cute.
loves to spoil you. he got a few extra tips? he's taking you to the juke joint to get some drinks and dance. or he'll buy you those pretty shoes you've been eyeing on display in that one pretty boutique. he enjoys seeing his woman dressed up; it makes him feral.
acts of service and affirmations. will take off your heels after a long day, put your hair up, and bathe you in the tub, all while telling you how much he adores you. you literally suffocate his brain; when he awakens, the first thing he thinks about is you. and when he falls asleep, you are the last thing on his mind. he even dreams about you frequently.
he only eats what you cook; he will never eat another woman's food. especially not spaghetti. (iykyk.)
given that it's the 1930s, if you face discrimination because you're a mixed race couple, bo will defend you fiercely. he carries that pistol in his holster for a reason. he always tells you that love has no racial boundaries, which it doesn't.
🪽 ASIA'S MASTERLIST
— asia is my online name; i won't tell my real name or info for privacy reasons.
— just to be clear, i am black.
— i've watched sinners more than twice and i love looking for little details or meanings i've missed. feel free to casually inbox me about the movie.
— lighten up; you can send me requests or we can just talk.
— love marpessa dawn and eric vander.
BO CHOW
bo chow headcanons.
cervix bruiser. smut
be my baby. fluff
molasses. fluff
REMMICK
let him in.
guest.
thank you.
whiskey.
I'm so fucking done w these white people in the sinners fandom. Not just any sinners fans, the WHITE ones. Fym there's a fic floatin around talm about some "x plantation owner's daughter"
HUH ??
remmick x sammie???? REMMICK X SAMMIE?? does remmick look like he want that boy?? and does that boy look like he want REMMICK ???
all black people in the sinners fandom gate keep the movie NOW. we get a sprinkle of something and these white folks gotta mess it up.
Best movie of 2025
Sinners dir. Ryan Coogler | 2025
Heading to see #sinners for the first time and knowing this guy has a full on song (with Lars in it!!!!) makes the whole shit even better!!!!!!!!
"you twins?"
"nah, we cousins"
you found it disgusting and immoral i found it sexy and arousing that’s why i’m happier than you
sinners SPOILER !!!!!! :
sammie naming his club after pearline is so cute
omg i watched sinners today and i came to the conclusion that not a single movie about how awful it is to be a vampire, or how hard people fight to not become one, could ever dissuade me from wanting to be one. i’m literally bella swan, but instead of a vampire and a wolf, i want the smokestack twins
it really frustrates me to think about how people are inevitably going to take Remmick’s one (1) singular statement about how much he resents the way the Irish were colonized and forcibly converted to Christianity and use it as fuel for “actually he had a point” and “he was right actually” and “he’s not really the villain here” posts, when the whole point is that Remmick is, through the vampiric hive mind he’s creating, forcibly assimilating people into yet another manipulative and parasitical system. he doesn't value the cultures of the people he assimilates—notice how all the vampires he turns dance to his culture's music using his culture's dances, and how he only uses the languages or knowledge other vampires have to offer when he needs to manipulate someone. Remmick is extremely transparent about the way he sees the people he turns as resources to exploit.
he’s perpetuating a cycle that he claims to hate and resent, and I think the movie is pretty damn clear about the fact that he doesn’t see anybody as valuable or useful to him except as prey and as pawns—otherwise he would just, you know, focus solely on people who actually consent to being turned. but he looked sad in that one scene and he’s an apparently attractive white cis man so people are gonna bend over backwards justifying all the harm he did.
Another reason I respect Sinners is how Pearline is treated.
She is a married woman that sleeps with Sammy, when she dances and sings she does it in a seductive/sexy way but she is never treated or viewed as a negative figure. She isn’t a whore, or a slut, and she isn’t viewed as a temptation to Sammy.
In fact, the only part of the movie where you are supposed to disagree or (maybe) dislike Pearline is when she doesn’t want to eat the garlic. The movie makes us grieve her when she is killed.
Any other horror movie would have given her a brutal death, it would have been “deserved”.
Instead, Sinners goes out of its way to show that she is a human being, and despite her sins we love her. Decades after she is killed, Sammy names his bar after her despite knowing her for one day. The movie honors her.
saw a theory that the SmokeStack twins were posing as one man in Chicago, which helped them get away with stealing from both sides. i'm poised to believe that because visually their clothing was very clearly of the two mobs. smoke was full irish— tweed, bowler hat. while stack had the full mafia look. yk italian leather shoes, fedora etc etc . like the details!!
when a 1500 yr old irish vampire asks for your 20 yr old cousin’s hand in marriage so he can make more vampires using your cousin’s music
Poor Sammie played literally his first gig and immediately got the worst fan to ever exist
remmick and the vampires present a false dichotomy
Hogwood (the man who sold the twins the mill) and the KKK are very obviously bad, they are outright malicious bigotry, they use the n-word and plan to lynch the moore's and their community, they are so blatantly racist and hateful it's unavoidably obvious
remmick and the vampires however say that they believe in equality, say that they want to create a community, and yet remmick's goal throught the movie is to both metaphorically and literally steal sammie's ability for his own goal of reconnecting with his irish ancestors, a white man wants to harm a young and upcoming black man and use talents for his own goals without giving any regard to said black man's autonomy or agency
when sammie sings 'I lied to you' in the juke joint and calls forth the spirits from the past and future, it's a blend of cultures; west african, east asian, native american, and african american song and dance blend together across time and space to tell the stories of blues; where it takes its inspiration from, the music genres it then inspired, the complex history of black american culture and its intersections with other peoples of colour in the USA
when remmick and the vampires kill and turn the people in the juke joint, and then perform rocky road to dublin, only remmick's irish culture is on display, there is no influence from the black and asian people he has forcibly assimilated into his song, it's juxtaposition with the earlier scene is blatant, remmick is more than happy to assimilate people of colour into his 'community' of 'equals', and yet its only whiteness that is celebrated, that is normative
remmick claims that he's doing people a favour by turning them immortal, conviently ignoring that he literally has to suck the life out of them to do so, trapping their spirits on earth, he claims that he's the good guy, that the KKK were gonna come and lynch everyone at the joint in the morning anyways, conviently ignoring that he's doing the exact same thing; a white man leading a mob to kill a bunch of black people
in the final confrontation with sammie remmick repeatedly dunks him into the river, a forceful baptism. both the celtic irish and enslaved west africans had their religions suppressed and destroyed by colonialsm, had christianity forced upon them by the british empire, and in that scene we see remmick repeating that cycle, using christianity to inflict harm, and sammie reclaiming christianity, despite all the complex emotions he has arround it, as many colonised peoples have and still do, when he recites the lord's prayer
remmick and the vampires are no less racist than hogwood and the KKK, are no less predatory or evil, they're just less blantant about their bigotry, they represent the system, the normalised white supremacy that is seeped into the very foundation of culture in america, the point isnt that remmick would call any of the black characters in the movie the n-word, i dont think he would, the point is that his exploitation and desacration and inserting-himself-into-when-he-wasn't-invited of the juke joint is a microcosm of what white people have done to black american arts and culture since ever since there have been black and white people in america, and even before that
theres a reason vultures are shown early on in this movie
