#jack marrowbone imagine

[marrziy]

Jack Marrowbone x Reader

"Decisão de não deixar partir"

• Filme: O Segredo de Marrowbone (2017)

• Gênero: sad

• Sinopse: você está errado e carrega a culpa nas costas, mas o erro em questão convém a você e ao seu amor, então, com grande pesar, você se permite errar, aceitando um futuro miserável para evitar uma tragédia.

• Palavras: 428

1° pessoa - passado

Escrevi pensando em leitor masculino, mas o texto não deixa isso claro (só na sinopse mesmo), então tá aí pra todo mundo kkkk

A receita estava na lixeira, junto aos frascos vazios. As pílulas eram levadas pela descarga, assim como a minha boa vontade de insistir na melhora.

Ele não podia melhorar… Não podia, porque se estivesse curado, iria morrer.

Respirei profundamente, não por necessidade, mas por querer que meu pulmão explodisse de tão cheio.

Tentei me convencer de que essa era a única opção. Afirmei a minha cabeça apegada na moral, que fiz o certo por vias tortas, me livrando um pouco do peso.

Bastava estagnar no passado, era só não seguir em frente que tudo ficaria bem.

Sem ponto final, apenas três pontos…

Encarando meu reflexo no espelho, senti um forte impulso, uma vontade absurda de me castigar. A mão tremia, ansiosa para estapear a face refletida. Mas me contive. Resolvi apaziguar com água, eliminando o caminho salgado das lágrimas secas que escorreram pelas bochechas.

Saí do banheiro em outra versão de mim.

Uma realidade que só era fato porque eu queria muito.

Os primeiros degraus foram fáceis de descer, era a madeira velha de sempre, anunciando os anos de pisoteio a cada rangido.

Mas a risada de Jack ecoou pela casa e chegou aos meus ouvidos. Isso me desestabilizou, arrancou com brutalidade a máscara que eu tentei manter.

A dor inchou na minha garganta, mas eu a engoli.

Insisti no sorriso, para permanecer apresentável, mas meus lábios continuavam curvando para baixo, as sobrancelhas queriam posar em sincronia com minha angústia e os olhos eram sinceros demais para segurar o pranto.

O remorso me roía, atormentava e alucinava.

Pouco antes de ficar visível na sala de jantar, me recompus, fingi estar bem para Jack, que ria docemente de algo contado por um dos irmãos.

Jack enxugou os olhos, marejados de alegria. — Oi amor! Finalmente você acordou. Vem cá! – a voz contagiante me chamou.

E eu corri até ele.

E ignorei tudo ao redor.

Sentei no colo de Jack, o abracei com força, respirando na curvatura de seu pescoço, sentindo-o com todo o meu ser e torcendo para que ele não me sentisse de volta, que não percebesse meus cacos.

— O Billy tava me contando que… – ele foi cortado pela própria doce risada. — que quando ele foi limpar a chaminé, um guaxinim o atacou! Olha pra ele, tá todo descabelado!

Eu olhei, mas não vi nada.

Nas demais cadeiras, não havia ninguém.

Os irmãos de Jack, com quem ele se divertia tanto... só ele os via.

Se eu quisesse vê-los, teria que ir até o coração da floresta, na carcaça de um carvalho, onde os corpos apodreciam a sete palmos da terra.

[s1ater]

we meet again. george mackay x reader

summary: in which reader has met the angel of death on many occasions, always finding some way to get away, but what about this time?

warning/s: swearing, mentions of murder and death

slater’s note: i know some of you enjoyed this concept, so i thought i’d pop another one of these out

you had shook his hand greatly, have meeting him many times before, each on different occasions of the edge, where he greeted all before their great end.

“you haven’t changed,” you mumbled, gripping his hand tightly, eyeing him up and down with the suit he had on, the same suit he wore the first time you had met him, and the second time, and the third.

“you say that every time,” he mumbled, huffing and looking away from you in what seemed to have been annoyance, but you should’ve known better, the angel of death doesn’t get annoyed.

“what’s it this time?” the two of you begin to walk, turning away from each other and allowing your shoulders to graze one another every once and awhile. “hit by a bus? food poisoning? murdered by a boyfriend?”

“funny,” his eyes grazed along the park view, paying closely attention to the people and animals that ran around in all their glory. “almost like all of those things have happened to you before.”

“well, i am the world’s biggest mystery,” you rose your hands in a proudness, “no one knows how i’ve escaped death so many times.”

“yeah, well, maybe not this time,” his voice was low, like he was trying to keep the words to himself, but failed as you rose an eyebrow, now looking to him questioningly.

“you sure, ole’ boy?”

“when am i ever?”

“the last four times.”

he shrugged, keeping silent and wondering to himself. it made you frown, now a little conscious to each step you were taking, wondering if this really was your time and you no longer could escape death.

“are we only crossing paths or are you really here to take me away this time?” your tone was flat and more serious now, no longer comfortable with the presence of someone you wish you could call a friend instead of an enemy.

“it depends,” he glanced to you, unsure of your path himself, but it felt different this time. he was sure your time had finally came to an end, but he could never be too certain due to thinking that the last couples of times he had came to encounter you.

the first time he had ever met you was at the age of five when you had walked straight out in front of a bus, unaware of all your surroundings and letting go of the safety of your mothers hand.

he had hovered over you, frowning, never finding pleasure in taking the soul of a young one. but strangely you had opened your eyes widely, like you had just been struck across the face and you had just realized.

you had survived.

the second time the two of you came across paths was the first time you had noticed him. there was something about him that made you feel safe even as an hour later you had once again almost touched deaths face with being shoved into the tracks of the subway by a stranger.

fortunately a woman quickly pulled you out, saving your life seconds before the subway could have ran you over. you were sixteen then, full of ambition and curiosity, causing you to forever wonder who the man in the black suit was on the other side of the tracks were, standing, and waiting for you to get trampled.

at eighteen you had eaten a bad piece of chicken on a birthday vacation, sending you for the bathroom of your hotel room, vomiting and vomiting until you laid weak against the cold tile bathroom floor, death soon accompanying you.

he held your hand lightly, analyzing your weak figure. your eyes barely cleared enough for you to tell who was holding your hand so comfortingly.

you were there for hours and he waited patiently, having no where to be but by your side like a companion.

eventually, the hospital was sent for and you once again slipped away from his finger tips.

finally, age twenty one you had come to realize who he was. you weren’t disturbed at all like many of the other people who had come to realize his position. rather, you found him comforting and someone there for you despite him quite literally only being there for your death.

he didn’t care for you as much as you cared about him. you found his visits exciting while he dreaded them.

but at twenty one you had almost been murdered by your very own boyfriend. he was shot dead before he could offer an explanation as to why.

you were only stabbed once, that being in the stomach. and although you seemed to be so close to your end, you pulled through, once again escaping the angel of death.

“if you’re so tired of our encounters, kill me yourself.”

“that’s not how it works.”

“i’m sure it could.”

“i’m not going to kill you.”

you pouted teasingly, “awh, boohoo.”

he rolled his eyes, “i’ll find you when it’s time.”

°•

with your heart in your throat you watched the scene unfold right in front of your eyes. so quickly and so easily, you almost thought it wasn’t real til you heard the screams that very much were, causing you to clench your jaw, wincing.

a man who’s identity that was concealed behind a black ski mask tightly gripped a young woman. it seemed that what may have been a mugging now turned into a kidnapping as he attempted to lug the girl into the back of his car.

“hey,” your face turned red and you couldn’t help but yell as you cautiously crossed the road, slightly unsure of your actions, “get away from her!”

your words only struck panic in the man, quickening his pace as he tried to induce her, but she continued to pull and kick away from him, finding hope that she would get away from this situation.

you joined arms with her as you tried to pull her away from him and soon you did, somehow allowing yourself to be taken ahold of by the man in the ski mask and taking her place as she ran despite your yelp.

you were caught off guard, being shoved into the back of his car, and then suddenly feeling a blunt force knocked against your head. your body went limp and you felt your vision slowly black out, but not before you caught the sight of the angel standing within the shadows, seeing through to your capture.

°•

black.

you vision was black and spotty till light suddenly flooded your vision and pain consumed your body like a flash of lightening. you didn't come to realization of what had happened until you saw him.

he sat across from you in a chair with his hands clasped, examining your face intently, waiting. you knew what for. and you truly believed it would happen just from the position you were in; a rope bound to your ankles and wrists, your body lying against the carpeted floor of what seemed to be a bedroom.

"help me."

"you know i can't help you," his face was blank but you could see a dash of sympathy that dotted his eyes as he slightly tilted his head to look at you better. "it's your time, but you need to breathe while you still can."

you coughed, feeling your voice at a strain, "no it's not." you rolled your head, observing your surroundings the best you could with your vision that was still slightly clouded. "it's not my time, i'm not going to die like this."

he watched you struggle as you maneuvered your body so you could attempt to stand or kneel or anything that wasn't laying. he almost found you pathetic—the way you got yourself into this mess. you were so much smarter than that and with all the misfortune you had been through, he would have hoped you'd be just a little more careful.

"he'll be back soon," the angel mumbled, still watching you go. "if you don't want to die, you'll have to be more sensible."

"don't tell me how to be sensible," you attempted to crawl toward the nightstand, hoping to break the rope with something in the drawer. “you might as well not speak if you aren’t going to help me.”

and then he was gone. vanished. disappeared. out of sight. he no longer sat in that chair.

you sighed, but continued worming your toward the drawer with persistence. you almost made it to the drawer to if it weren’t for a large grip pulling you back to the ground roughly. no mercy was shown as the man flipped you over to your back, fuming.

“bitch think you can get away,” he's straddling you now and oddly begins to untie you even as you struggle beneath him, just waiting to hit him and run. "you think you're so fucking tough, let's see how you deal with this."

once your arms are untied he moves fast to your feet but not before raising a gun, daring you to try anything. you stay back despite your skin crawling, begging you to run or move or do something that wasn't just sitting there.

the aching feeling finally got to you and you slung your foot on the side of his head the moment you felt the ropes loosen around your ankle. you got up fast only to trip again and he was quick to gab your leg, still clasping the side of his head in pain on the ground. you shook your leg vigorously, kicking him in the head multiple times as hard as you could till he let go. you got up fast and ran out the door.

"you fucking bitch!" he was already up barely giving you time to navigate your escape. "i'm going to kill you!"

you pushed into a room, locking the door, and finally catching your breath. you felt you couldn't process it—whatever this was. it didn't feel real and you almost questioned if this was a dream until the violent stomps of the man came rushing down the hall, causing the floor beneath you to vibrate.

"oh fuck," your hand shook as you lightly clamped it against your mouth, now searching for a light switch as your other hand swiped against the wall aggressively. "fuck."

you wished you didn't find that light switch. it would have been better to be left in the dark. but light still flooded in and with that the bloody body with an unintelligible face was sunken in within the bathtub. you let out a horrified scream, quickly covering your mouth in fear.

your whole body shook now and you wanted to cry. the reality of death became more clear and you wished the angel would have been here to comfort you.

"oh god-"

"i know you're in there!" the door begun to shake as the man on the other side pushed against it, wriggling the locked door handle. you became overwhelmed as you looked around the room, trying to avoid the body in search of some object to use as a weapon. you came to the conclusion that if you were going to leave alive, you'd have to hurt this man.

"open this door!"

you begun to shuffle around in the drawers quickly the moment he began to slam his body against the door. grief took over your body to the point the only feeling flowing through your body was an uncomfortable tingling, making you not want to move if it weren't for the fear of your life.

you almost gave up just as the door did and after that, your sight went black.

°•

you woke up to your head pounding and your arm screaming in agony. you forgot where you were. you couldn't think straight and your sight was barely clear as the only thing that you could clearly see was blood.

"hopefully, this taught you something," his tall figure hovered over you, examining your face, almost as if making sure life still bloomed in your eyes.

you didn't say a word, you almost didn't recognize him and you swore you were hallucinating. but laying in blood, you watched him go, and you knew this wasn't your time and the body he came to collect, wasn't yours.

navigation.

@transias @cc13723things @skateb0red @black-rose-29

[ariana-maryse]

Being Jack Marrowbone’s Tough S/O With a Soft Side Would Include:

(For anon)

Jack adoring when you take up for him, but loving when you take up for his family even more. Especially if you beat him to the punch.

Laying outside to watch the stars together either after everyone’s gone to bed, or where you can’t be seen. You have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Jack being both amused and impressed when you go hard at someone; whether that be physically or verbally.

Both Jack and Jane reminding you that they’re there for you, even if you don’t want to hear it at the time. After all, you’re part of the family so they’d all be very involved.

Jack loving to discover new things that show your soft side; hobbies or interests that give him a peak into your internal fluff. 

You catching Billy repeating things you’d said or mimicking things you’d done. Jack wouldn’t tease him, but he’d mention the similarities. 

Jack always being able to tell when you need to let out some stress and running a bath for you or whatever helps you relax most. 

You knowing when Jack needs you to take the reigns because he’s getting overwhelmed when dealing with a situation or person. 

[my-darling-boy]

I love how creative he is!!

[cedricssmile]

daisy's -  William Schofield

summary: Somehow Tom had got Will to tell him about his life back home, this included his girlfriend y/n.   pairing: William Schofield x Fem!reader warnings: none I think  word count:  request?: no one of my own

[ PLEASE DO NOT USE OR TAKE ANY OF MY WORK ]  

“You never talk about anyone but your mother and sisters, is there anyone else?’ Tom asked his friend as they walked. William smiled for a moment as he thought about the other woman that was in his life, he pulled blue tin from the top of his jacket and opened it and picked out a photo.  “Yeah I do.” William said and passed it to Tom to look at.  “Wow, she’s.”  “Beautiful, yeah I know.” William said with another smile.  “How’d you met her?” Tom asked as he passed the photo back to William.  “I’ve known her since I was ten.” William answered Tom’s question “Wow.”  “Yeah, We went to the same school. She helped me graduate, she helped me when my Father died. She’s been there for everything.” William said with a bright smile.  “She loves to dance, has since forever. When we were seventeen we use to sneak out at night and go to one of the clubs in town and just dance until the sun was up the next morning.”  “She sounds special mate.” Tom commented  “Yes she is, since the day we met she’s always had the same perfume. Some daisy one that her mother gave her. I don’t know why but it’s just smells like home to me now.”  “Is that who you were writing to then before? I saw you put a small daisy into the envelope.” Tom asked and William laughed.  “Mmhm, she’s my everything, she’s been staying with my mother for a while. Y/n’s been looking after my sisters helping my ma out as much as she can.”  “Sounds like you gotta stay alive.” Tom commented  “Yeah, I guess I do.” William said with a smile as the two of them continued down the gravely pathway back to camp.

[gncrevan]

Trauma as The Man In The Attic: Marrowbone (2017, dir. Sergio G. Sánchez)

if i ignore the last two scenes, even with the third act plot twist, the film is pretty impactful. there are some genuinely terrifying scenes, and the overarching narrative is heartbreaking. it has some solid symbolism regarding trauma; the man in the attic and the creeping mold and decomposition of the house are a fitting stand-in for the way unaddressed trauma lingers in your brain and body, slowly corroding them, causing more and more symptoms. i had a sinking feeling in my stomach a lot. the ensemble of wonderful young actors really managed to translate that feeling of dread hanging over house marrowbone.

a film with good, excuse the pun, bones, and a few flashy mistakes that sadly cheapen its allegorical potential. it would have left a much better impression with me if the whole last act reveal had stayed vague.

SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING BELOW

alright, here's my one big caveat: dissociative identity disorder (or multiple personality disorder, as the film calls it) cannot develop in adults, it cannot be treated with medication (we are shown chlorpromazine, which is an antipsychotic), and it does not look like it is presented in the film. whatever jack has going on more closely aligns with psychotic delusions, with some clear fantasy elements thrown in for good measure — someone who hallucinates a person doesn't also act as that person/doesn't believe to be that person, those two things are usually different diagnoses that don't tend to overlap. it's something we see a lot in hollywood (fight club comes to mind), it's not really similar to actual mental illness, it works as a storytelling device or allegory, but throwing in a scene where the person is (falsely) diagnosed is kind of harmful.

just, idk, cut the whole bit with the doctor. cut half of the scene in the mirror. cut the talking to yourself scene, or make it so he doesn't do their voices. we get it, he imagines them, he is traumatized and has a head injury, no need to over-explain. believe in your audience's ability to make sense of the story.

[skrltwtch]

The Cat

Prompt: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail. The cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

Secondary plot twist: The woman is a shapeshifter. She is the cat. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 1,840 words

Author's note: This is more of a little tale starring George as the lead and you as the mysterious woman, as opposed to a story about George MacKay the Actor. I kind of had Jack Marrowbone's look — and nothing else about him in that movie — in mind while writing this.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

‘Let’s play a game! I will grant my hand in marriage to the person who succeeds in taking this key off my cat’s neck and unlocking my front door with it. Oh, won’t that be such fun?’

Only she can pull off such a stunt. She has put the village under some kind of spell, and I am one of its victims. One of the more prudent ones, at least, in the sense that I know well enough that I’ll never be able to win her heart. She has an entire village of men to choose from, most more remarkable than I in looks and/or calibre. I am but a simple baker of average frame with blonde locks that wishes for no kinship with a comb and blue eyes that gleam with neither transcendental allure nor immense potential; unless she were an ardent consumer of bread and pastries, I have nothing to offer her. I simply admire her from afar, pine for a connection that is real only in my wildest dreams.

No one quite knows what it is about her that sees a constant line of suitors supplanting her shadow whenever she comes into the village. That is to say, she isn’t not beautiful, neither is she not gracious. She keeps to herself mostly in her quaint cottage on the edge of the village. Her isolation and magnetism have made her the subject of many a fevered whisper: she is a witch, an enchantress, a nymph. Despite what one may think, the women of the village don’t resent her for the effect she has on their eligible male compatriots. The wedded men remain capable of remembering their vows in her presence. In that vein, her paramours are on equal standing: single, virile men who want to have the unhaveable.

Her game has sent the men into a frenzy. It’s amusing to see adult males chase after a cat, one just as unassuming as its owner. They hunt it, as if it were game. They harass it, as if it were a nuisance, an obstacle to their perceived prize. They seek to capture it with elaborate traps. They line the fishmonger’s pockets with gold for her finest catch of the day. It’s all for naught. The cat is, they’ll never admit to themselves, smarter than them. The days pass. She continues to wander around the village without a ring on her finger. The cat continues to taunt the men with its presence, parading the key around its chest like a gibe at their failures. It’s curious that they are never seen together.

Me? I don’t try. I’m not presuming myself to be above this endeavour. I do slip into reveries about emerging victorious every now and then. But see, the other men had never grown up with cats. The thing with cats is, you don’t try. You don’t try to get it to do what you want. You don’t hound a cat. And, as with all living things, you certainly don’t antagonise it. So, I bide my time.

That day soon arrives. As a customer leaves, the cat makes a mad dash into the bakery, maintaining the balance of two beings inside. It glides over the counter, its tail a hair’s breadth away from toppling the display of sourdough bread, and seeks refuge behind some boxes. Shortly after, Edward, its tormentor for today, it seems, enters and calls for the cat. Edward is a cheesemaker, with whom I interact solely out of business necessity. Our families go back a long way, our trades intertwined with one another’s. I do so long for someone else to assume the mantle from Edward.

‘Where is it? I saw it come in here,’ he says.

‘It’s behind here with me,’ I say, ‘but I’ll be damned if you dare make a scene on my premises.’

‘I can respect that.’ His response takes me aback. It seems I am not a contender, much less a threat, in this game of cat and mouse. Edward’s never been one to mince his words. ‘That cat will have to leave eventually, and when it does, it’ll be mine.’

‘Good luck, Edward. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, George. Thank you for having the good sense not to participate in what would be a futile endeavour for you.’

There it is.

I wave at him. He doesn’t reciprocate. It doesn’t matter: watching his outline fade into the distance and out of my sight for another day will never not be the highlight of our interactions.

I feel a warm presence weaving in and out between my legs. I kneel down to meet the cat’s gaze, two yellow diamonds set onto a doll-like face coated in pure onyx. I have wondered on occasion if some of the men’s malice toward it arises from the mere virtue of its colour. How preposterous, I imagine them thinking, that something as divine as she should possess such a vile creature. I offer it my finger. It gives it a tentative sniff. Two. Then it turns its head so that my finger is on its cheek, and it starts rubbing it. Its eyes are closed in contentment; its throat rumbles with soft purrs.

‘Did Edward hurt you?’

‘Meow.’ A once-over confirms it.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Meow.’

I take that as a yes. No one has ever answered otherwise to this question while surrounded by MacKay creations. I grab a pumpernickel bagel from the counter, tear off a chunk, and lay it at its feet. As it eats, a metallic glint almost blinds me. The key. It calls to me. What’ll happen if I reach for it? What’ll I prove to Edward, who is patrolling the street outside, waiting for the chance to resume his reign of terror? No. I won’t. I don’t.

I speak to turn my attention from the small sheet of metal that’s turned the village upside down: ‘Are you having fun being the centre of attention? She must be relishing the peace, not having men fawn over her for the first time in a while. Is that why she hasn’t been visiting lately? I don’t fault her. It must be exhausting,’ I say, as I continue to ply it with bits of bagel.

It looks up at me, and it sizes me up and down. Its head cocks at what it’s registered in its mind’s eye. Of course. How rude of me. ‘I’m George,’ I say.

It rubs its head against my outstretched hand.

‘Nice kitty.’ I give it the rest of the bagel and lead it to the back door, through which it can avoid that scoundrel Edward and find safe passage home. ‘You can bring it back for her. Your mistress. Then maybe you can let me know if she liked it.’ I smile wistfully. ‘We’ve never actually met.’

‘Meow,’ it promises, then runs off.

Over time, more and more people quit the quest — Edward included. The unhaveable isn’t as appealing when it becomes haveable at the expense of hard work at best and deep gashes at worst. Her increased bouts of absence, too, seem to have made people’s hearts become less fonder, as if her glamour is wearing off. In contrast, the cat and I grow closer. We bond in my bakery. Then it stops coming to visit. I worry over whether it’s because someone else has succeeded. I work up the courage to go to her house. Seeing the cat play in her garden, the key still around its neck, fills me with relief, and I pick up from where I left off here in the grace of her garden. Oddly, she is never around when the cat’s there.

I make it special baked goods no one else has or will have access to and tell it to keep some for its mistress. I never find out whether she likes what I bake, but the cat definitely does. I tell the cat about myself in the hopes it’ll tell its mistress about me. I play with it using toys I buy from Christopher the merchant; he is happily married and has never shown interest in her. The men who gave up have spurned me for not taking the key when I’ve had ‘so many’ chances. They talk among themselves. I know what they say about me.

The truth is, I don’t know what’ll happen if I do take it. The cat and I have befriended each other. Will it think lesser of me for taking the key? Will I think I was befriending it under false pretences? It’s silly, I know, to care this much about what a cat thinks. But I suppose the cat is an extension of her. I feel so close to meeting the woman I’ve adored for the longest time, the woman who I knew in my gut from the moment I laid eyes on her is my soulmate. Sometimes I sneak glances into the house to see if she’s there, watching this. The cat redirects my attention to it when it catches me doing this, and I’m all the happier for it.

‘You’re lucky,’ I say to the cat. ‘You get to be with her while she doesn’t know I exist. I’ve loved her since I first saw her in the village. It’s foolish to feel like this about someone you don’t know, doesn’t it? But I know she’s kind and patient and has a good soul, and I know my heart flutters every time I see her.’

The cat jumps onto my lap. Its yellow gaze burns into me. It’s right. I don’t know what I was thinking, pouring my heart out to a cat. ‘You just want rubs,’ I say, and I’m happy to oblige.

It turns itself over, exposing its belly to me. I feel … honoured. In all our time spent together, this is the first time it’s done so. I slowly reach for its belly. When there is no sign I’ll lose my livelihood from what I’m about to do, I stroke it generously, fervently.

Then it uses its paws to nudge my hand toward the key.

I stop. ‘Are you … sure?’

‘Meow.’

I repeat my question. My hand has found itself an inch away from the key.

‘Meow.’

If it says so.

I undo the chain the key is on.

Suddenly, I am blinded by a white light, and — the air starts to smell of roses. It is a familiar aroma. I don’t need to use my sight to know why that is. But I don’t understand.

‘Hello, George.’

Before I can answer, I find myself in the kind of embrace reserved for lovers. My lips press up against hers, and I feel my world fall away in bliss. The warmth of her skin is unlike anything I ever felt. It’s magic. Pure magic. And now I understand.

‘We will have the rest of our lives to know each other better, love,’ she says, smiling, her eyes shining yellow under the sunlight. ‘Now, would you like to come in?’

[marrziy]

Guia

Esse cantinho é um atalho para todas as minhas obras. Encarem como uma prateleira de imagines e fanfics. Os links para as histórias serão adicionados sempre que eu postar. Está tudo separado por fandom, personagem e gênero, tem até um padrão de cor para cada tipo de trama:

Romance

Hot

Terror/Dark

Drama/Sad

Soft/Fluff

séries l filmes l franquias

Bem-vindos ao meu quartinho da bagunça! Caso esse post se perca no meio de muitos outros, basta passar no meu fixado, vou deixar o link da masterlist por lá. Aqui tudo é misturado – série com filme e filme com série – mas quando o conteúdo for mais vasto, vou criar listas separadas com diferentes categorias.

OUTER BANKS (série)

• Rafe Cameron

"Entre tapas, ciúmes e fodas"

Parte 1 (drama/sad)

Parte 2 (drama/dark)

Parte 3 (hot)

"Assopre o pavio" (drama/dark)

SCREAM (franquia)

• Ethan Landry

"Eu tirei a virgindade de um assassino?" (hot/um dark de leve)

• Billy Loomis

"Pertença e obedeça" (dark)

• Stu Macher

"Pertença e obedeça" (dark)

• Wes Hicks

"O que acontece à meia-noite?" (hot)

STRANGER THINGS (série)

• Billy Hargrove

"Ebulição" (hot/romance)

• Jim Hopper

"Delinquente" (hot)

AHS (série)

• Kyle Spencer

"Ele aprendeu a sentir tesão" (hot com alguns poucos elementos sombrios)

• Tate Langdon

"Doente" (romance/terror/dark)

MARVEL (franquia)

• Peter Parker

"Vem relaxar de ladinho" - Tom Holland (hot)

• Tony Stark

"Bilionário ordinário" (hot)

• Steve Rogers

"Dura matina" (hot)

MARROWBONE (filme)

• Jack Marrowbone

"Decisão de não deixar partir" (sad)

BONECO DO MAL (filme)

• Brahms Heelshire

"Os bonequinhos de Brahms" (terror/dark)

HAZBIN HOTEL (série)

• Lucifer Morningstar

"Afago ao rei deprimido" (romance/sad)

THE BOYS (série)

• Antológicas

"The Boys x Male Reader" (hot)

Homelander/Hughie/Billy x MaleReader!super-ass

HALLOWEEN (franquia)

• Michael Myers

"Pobre Michael" (terror)

Outras listas:

HOT | masterlist

[s1ater]

dating jack marrowbone would include.

summary 📣: dating jack marrowbone would include

warning/s 🚫: n/a atm

slater’s note 🗯: there’s no jack marrowbone fics/imagines on here and it makes me sad!! so i decided to write something myself to put my mind to rest

➪ he’s very protective of you

➪ and always wants to have a hand on you when you’re around, which sounds weird but he low key has separation anxiety and wants to at least hold your hand

➪ cheek and forehead kisses

➪ dancing

➪ i absolutely adore this idea and it would be something like a quiet night with the record player playing in the background to fill the silence and he’ll just stand up and offer his hand to you

➪ you’ll stand and it’ll just be a silent, peaceful dance with his hand wrapped around your waist while the other holds yours gently

➪ he would hum along to the song quietly, causing his chest to vibrate against yours in a calming way

➪ you absolutely adored sam and would hold him tightly anytime you’d see him before it all went down

➪ jane was like your best friend and you could tell her anything

➪ she’s the one who got you and jack set up together

➪ billy would try to teach you how to fish before jack took over

➪ he’d always ask you whether or not if you liked jack before the two of you started dating and you’d shamelessly say “yes”

➪ when he has nightmares, you’d comfort him

➪ he always wants to keep you safe but sometimes he lacks to realize he’s the one that needs saving

➪ he tries to put on a big front to try to protect the people he loves and never wants them to see his breaking points

➪ you always try to help him but he wants to think he doesn’t need any and pushes you away

➪ “jack, please just let me help you, please.”

➪ “i don’t need your help, i’m fine.”

➪ but whenever he has little anxiety attacks, you try to catch them in the beginning by squeezing his hand tightly, even pressing kisses on the back of his hands

➪ he’s very sweet though and gentle with you

➪ he likes running his finger tips along your bare skin

➪ like dipping his finger down along your hip bones, stomach, cheek

➪ he absolutely adores you

➪ he reads to you at times, such as like before the two of you go to bed or just sitting out on the porch swing

➪ nature hikes

➪ walking along the beach without your guys’ shoes while holding each other’s hands, swinging back and forth

➪ he likes brushing your hair out of your face so he can see your eyes better

➪ he loves touching your face, dragging his thumb along your cheekbones and jaw

➪ he preps your face with kisses

➪ whenever your sad he holds you tightly with his hands wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses in the crook of your neck while he whispers sweet things in your ear about how much he loves you

➪ he’ll pick flowers in the field out back behind the marrowbone house for you

➪ he’ll write nice notes whenever he’s out when you get home

➪ “i think of you always and forever. i saw these flowers today and they compare nothing to your beauty. see you soon love x”

➪ he has the prettiest laugh and you just melt every time it rings through your ears

➪ attempted to braid his short strands of hair and sticking small flowers throughout it

➪ he loves you in sundresses, he thinks you absolutely glow more then you usually do

➪ he likes the way it flows around you body as you dance around mindlessly

➪ “you look stunning, love.”

➪ the two of you talk about marriage a lot and he says things mindlessly like:

➪ “i’m going to marry you someday, dovey.”

➪ “i’ll make you mrs. marrowbone.”

➪ being absolutely in love with each other

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[s1ater]

the kiss of death. george mackay x reader

summary 📣: in which reader falls in love with the angel of death

warning/s 🚫: swearing, the grim reaper 💀, angst, death, incorrect facts about the angel of death

slater’s note 🗯: this idea came to me at random and i absolutely adore it for some reason even though... i don’t

the angel of death was a beautiful creature that always held fate in hand, a man dressed in black with golden rings that carried the souls of the forbidden.

always roaming around for the next, tailing the soon to be dead. a man who holds fate, who brings peace, but never looked to as an angel.

he had been following you around the past couple of days causing you to get weary. at first you hadn’t notice, passing him on opposite lanes of the sidewalk just as if he was normal stranger, someone you’d never see again, and someone you barely took notice to.

you wouldn’t be able to tell his face from another if you were ever asked... not until the third day.

your eyes settled on him from across the street, first they were only wandering before your eyes matched onto his.

icy, cold, and blue. it linked you into place as fear seemed to fill your soul like a cup of juice, your recognition system kicking in as his familiar face filtered through brain, eyes flicking back and forth before... ding.

you were afraid something would happen once you passed him, but nothing did, and why would it?

he could have just been a normal civilian, just like you. who went the same way to work like you did. you were sure there were hundreds of people like that, people you’ve seen before, more than once but hadn’t actually met.

but you knew there had to be something more to this man because never before had you ever recognized a person you hadn’t ever met before.

it was the sixth day that you confronted him.

and maybe it was stupid but nothing could have brought anything to enter your mind for the man dressed in black who sat a table away from you took up all its time.

“do you always wear the same outfit everyday?” you leaned over the small coffee table that you sat at, leaning toward the man in black who’s newspaper was covering the whole front of his body.

he didn’t respond, keeping the newspaper up tightly like a wall, still covering his pale features. you almost wondered if you were talking to the right man... or whether or not he could hear you.

“i mean it sure is one nice suit... but to wear it everyday?” you quirked a brow, amusement filling your tone as if you were making fun of him now.

and yet he made no movement.

“can i at least look at your pretty face while we’re talking?” your bottom lip peeled out from your top one, pouting, and batting your eyelashes dramatically as you slightly curved your head to the right, analyzing his fingers that clutched the newspaper.

he moved, folding the newspaper neatly and placing it down on his own round table. he folded his arms against his chest, his biceps bulge against his nice black coat jacket.

you straighten your back out of reflex in intimidation. you forgot what he look like, but at least to say you had never seen his face so up close.

beautiful, pale, and full of no amusement. dead of facial expression. and yet yours filled of regret for being so teasing.

“who are you?” you say nervously, gripping the sides of your chair, not daring to break eye contact no matter how hard you wanted to.

he stayed silent before straightening out his own back, grabbing onto the glass case of sugar, dumping it into his coffee, before stirring it with a small silver spoon, “the grim reaper.”

his voice was deep yet light as he continued to stir his cup of coffee, memorized by the liquid spinning round and round while brushing you off.

oh? that’s all you could think.

“so you’re here to kill me?” it wasn’t something you were exactly so willingly to believe, your eyes narrowing up together as you were completely dumbfounded to his answer. your hands loosened from their grips to the chair you sat at, laying them on the table.

who says that?

“i’m actually not here to kill you but rather... collect your soul,” he seems hesitant by the way he worded it- you could tell he had been in this situation before, and he had to be careful with wording it this time.

“collect my soul?” you couldn’t seem to understand it no matter how clear it was, and it was really clear, but you weren’t processing it right.

“after you die, someone has to collect your body, and someone also has to collect your soul, that someone being me,” he takes a sip of his coffee while carefully analyzing your movements.

“fuck,” you dipped your head into your palms, your mind hitting the pavement fast to realization that you were dying- or going to die and you could only imagine it was sooner rather than later. “you’ve go to be joking.”

“afraid not, dear.”

“you’re just a man,” you mumble, motioning your hand to the tall man, “and this is a funny joke.”

“and why would this be a joke?”

you moved to the chair across from the man, ready to bring down his whole claim, “because the last time i checked, the angel of death was only a myth.”

maybe you were just speaking out of your ass, maybe you were actually dying and it wasn’t some joke, or maybe you were on an acid trip while having a manic episode at the same time.

“of course you think that, you’re a college student,” he gave you a look that seemed reassuring, that it was completely fine that you didn’t believe him, “you’re smart, you’re critical, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you, y/n.”

you felt like you were talking to a more forgiving version of your father. late nights when you would come home for no reason your freshman year in college, you’d hear the exact same words that came from the man in black’s mouth in your own fathers voice when he caught you sneaking into your own childhood home.

“i wouldn’t except anything less from you, y/n.”

it was always taunting when it came from him, like you were weak and needed him to hold your hand. it’s what drove you away and caused you to lessen your visits to only christmas and thanksgiving.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” he stood up from the small table, grabbing onto his newspaper before laying a strong hand on the top of your head, giving it a firm squeeze as if in reassurance.

and you sat there... left in the basic of silence with nothing but the sounds of busy cars to fill your ears and the pondering thoughts of wondering how he knew your name.

°•

you found him on a wooden park bench the next day, his back heavily leaned against it with a newspaper in both his hands, once again covering his face.

you say carefully next to him, not looking to him but rather staring out to the park where families walked along the sidewalk while others biked and walked their dogs alone or in groups.

you sucked in a deeper breath of air. ever since the man you sat next to told you he was the grim reaper, you became more cautious, despite your whole thoughts on him lying, you couldn’t prevent his words from getting to your head.

everything could kill you, yet nothing had done so yet.

“what’s your name?” you mumbled, dipping your head closer to his as he continued to read, your nose getting a good whiff of him and even for being a supposed angel of death, he smelled good.

“i don’t have one.”

“what do you mean you don’t have one?”

“i’m an angel, well rather the angel of death, i go by many names but was never given a permanent one, besides ‘the grim reaper’ i suppose,” he had set down his newspaper to the right of him, slightly rolling his eyes at the name grim reaper.

it made you smile as you looked down to the ground, listening to his voice as you dug your shoes into the dirt peaking out from the grass. his voice was smooth and there were no stutters or tripping. it made you want to fall into his throat, listening to him talk for hours because he seemed to be just so... good at it.

“well i have to call you something,” you glanced up to him where his eyes already were, looking down at you, “especially if you’re going to be following me around till the day of my death.”

he seemed hesitant, choking on what he would say next. almost as if he were uncomfortable to the fact that you took the idea of your death lightly, like you still thought it was a joke.

and you did.

“i don’t want you to call me anything.”

“but i want to,” you rose your eyebrows as if you were telling him off, as if this meant a lot to you, “last dying wish?”

“you joke a lot for someone who’s going to die in a couple of days.”

“harrison?”

“what?”

“harrison, can i call you that?”

“no.”

“tom?”

“no.”

“nicholas? timothy? carl? louis? george?”

“no...george is fine,” he rose his hands, as if steadying you from continuing you on, “that’s fine.”

“really?”

“yes,” and he stood, grabbing his newspaper before hitting your head with it lightly, “i’ll find you tomorrow.”

°•

he found you on campus, sitting on one of the many benches that were littered throughout the property, newspaper in hand, only this time he had it rolled in his hand, waiting for you.

“do you think you can kill me before my exam on friday, i don’t feel like i have enough willpower to pass it,” once you had passed him on the blue plastic bench, he stood, following you as you exited off the property and to the direction of your apartment.

“funny,” he mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

the day was fuming of sunshine. the only relief you found from the heat were from the trees the two of you passed every once and awhile, the thick roots being planted along the sidewalk.

you begun to sweat, the sundress you wore provided you no relief causing you to wonder as to how george seemed completely fine, calm and cool actually, like the heat was arctic weather.

“i don’t understand how you wear that thing everyday,” you stressed, glancing to the black suit that fitted his body quiet well.

he chuckled in return, glancing in return, “i don’t feel what you feel, darling.”

“obviously not.”

°•

the taste of lemonade was so very sweet and cool as it flattened and sank into your taste buds. it created a feeling of relief to surface all over your skin, the sweat no longer feeling hot but cool as it dipped down your shoulders and back.

you leaned back into the patio chair, the plastic pressing up into your skin. a feeling of relaxation begun to take over your mind and body as you closed your eyes in delight from the shade that now covered you and the iced lemonade that settled in your stomach.

“how do i die, george?” you hummed, your head still dipped back, eyes closed, not bothered by anything.

“i cant tell you that, darling.”

“why? does it upset you too much to talk about my very untimely death?”

“i don’t get upset, nor sad.”

you sat up quickly, your back pressing against the back of the plastic chair fast as you looked to him slightly disappointed as well as shocked.

“i don’t believe that.”

“that probably has something to do with the fact that your a very empathetic person.”

“and you’re not?”

“no.”

“george, you kill people everyday, how don’t you? don’t you feel any remorse for being so cruel?”

“it’s not cruel, it’s a job,” he sipped his tea, “i’m not killing anyone, y/n, people kill themselves simply by being fools or rather not being healthy. i simply just make sure they make it beyond their body and into the afterlife.”

“never killed anyone huh?” you quirked a brow, golding your arms, “i mean don’t you ever follow someone who’s supposed to die.. but just doesn’t? and they’re just taking too long and you want to speed up the process...”

“no, but you’re about to be the first one.”

°•

“but have you ever fallen in love?” you stared up at your ceiling, the fabric of your lavender blanket laid over you, ready to set you off to deep sleep and dreams.

“no.”

you hated to hear that answer. and despite after learning all you did about the man who laid next to you and how he basically felt nothing and did nothing but his job. you should’ve known. but you only hoped that he would’ve said ‘yes’ and a bit of mortality would’ve shown of him.

the two of you had been in your bed for along two hours, nothing but pointless questions and laughs filled your small room. but even if the whole conversation that took place was pointless, you just had to know. know everything about him, how he lived, who he had met, who he was going to meet, and who he’d kill after you. well, not necessarily kill, but rather pull away from death and into... the afterlife.

he was interesting and he was beautiful and you loved every word that came from his mouth, except for the ‘no’s. but even then he said it so perfectly and everything he had an answer for, he knew everything.

he could have anything and everything with the knowledge he had, with the answers he could give, he could have everything but yet, he wanted nothing.

he only wanted to do his job and the souls he took.

“you’ve never fallen in love?” you rolled over onto your side, facing him where he still laid on his back above the covers and analyzing the ceiling like it had a story to tell, “you never felt a boyish feeling of seeing a pretty girls face and simply just... melting?”

you sounded like a little girl, you knew, he knew it. and even though you knew the answer to your own question, you still wanted to hear it from his voice.

“i’ve never been a boy, nor a man, i only just existed since the beginning of time, i could never feel what you feel nor could i melt by the simple sight of something.”

ouch.

“you’re no fun.”

“would you like me to lie?” he turned on his side, facing you.

“no,” you pressed your lips into a thin line, leaning up on your elbows so you were leveled higher than him, “but you could humor me.”

“life isn’t fun, y/n,” he rubbed his lips together, looking up to you with his pretty blue eyes, something you found so strange about him. what a dark soul but such light, pretty eyes.

“it just sucks you’ll never be able to experience a first kiss or...”

he reached up, placing his palm against your cheek, “darling, a first kiss would kill.”

“what do you mean,” you pout, playing into his gesture of being sweet to you, his hand on your cheek, his cold hand and fingers warming against the redness of your cheeks. you leaned into his touch, wanting more.

“an immortal soul can’t mix with a mortal one, it doesn’t work like that,” he continued to rub his thumb against your cheek as if teasing you for something you can’t have, that being him, “i’d kill a soul i’m not meant to mix with.”

“so you’re saying...” you played on, pausing while laying a hand in the nape of his neck, “it’d kill me or any other girl for that matter... if we shared a kiss?”

teasing, it was like teasing and you were being a fool for playing into it when you should’ve been tucked back into your covers with him away and out the door, waiting for you to perish.

waiting for you.

°•

it was raining and george knew this day would come. the sky cloudy and filled with little rain drops that poured down roughly, one after another with no signs of stopping.

no one dared to go any further past their balcony to scope out the pretty but harsh water droplet that felt of pins and needles.

george held an umbrella or rather the angel of death held an umbrella. he should’ve never let you call him that, for now all it’d be is a name in the past, something he had to forget or carry along on his shoulders with other souls he could tell, just as he had told you of other past souls who had called him many things, but never a specific name, and never george.

the angel of death’s eyes layered out to the dark street that flooded with rain water, toppling onto of the rare sighting of cars in hurry to get home.

he looked down to his watch, 4:30, just about on time, just...

1...2...3...

and there you were, skipping down the street with an umbrella in hand, your head held low as you tried to keep the water out of your eyes that splashed up from the streets.

you weren’t paying attention, and that’s how it went. you were practically skipping, trying to get as much as water possible out of your shoes until you were hit by a car sending you right for the hard concrete, your head splitting open.

and the angel of death crossed the street like an angel in the clouds, practically gliding across the rain filled streets in his nice black leather shoes, making his way over to your frail, dead body.

and the boy you called george placed a small kiss upon your lips, capturing your soul within his black rings with all the other special encounters he had wished to keep forever.

and forever, he would keep you, trapped with a kiss you’d cherish forever.

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[s1ater]

save me, poor boy. jack marrowbone x reader

summary 📣: in which reader is in danger and jack is the only one who thinks he can save her, but she might not be the one who needs to be saved

warnings 🚫: swearing, violence

slater’s note 🗯: i adore jack marrowbone

jack had never seen your cheeks so pale, yet so flush with a rosy redness high in your cheekbones. he pressed the back of his hand against your cheeks, allowing the coldness to seep deep into his own skin.

he looked back up from your frail body, eyes analyzing the atmosphere of green and blue melting together into cold air.

if only you had waited for him, and if only you had never even made a visit to him that day in the first place.

somewhere in the woods, his father was roaming around, waiting for him, waiting to kill him.

“jack, please, let us help you,” jane tried to force her way through the attic door, slamming her fists against the wooden door as did billy and sam.

jack forced their voices from his head as he marched back down the stairs, holding the case of money tightly in his hand.

he was ready, he knew what he had to do. and he wasn’t afraid, he couldn’t be.

stepping outside, he searched for the figure of the man, his father. his eyes rapidly grazed the field that was laid out before, looking, but finding nothing.

it gave him even more anxiety than before, he couldn’t find the man, he couldn’t find the murder and it was then realization struck him.

you.

right before he locked his siblings into the attic he heard your voice, he saw your figure hoping out of your car, a smile on your face as you made your way into the house.

you knew just as well as he did who his father was. you knew what he did, and what he would do if he ever found the marrowbone family, especially jack.

that’s why you took matter into your own hands, staring back at the man in the other side of the field with your own gun in hand.

“go away!”

he didn’t say anything in return, only stared back silently with a sick smile on the center of his face.

“i know who you are! i know what you’ve done!”

your mouth got you in trouble.

and following that man into the woods with out real knowledge of what he could do to you once alone, got you in real trouble, real danger.

“oh y/n, what did you do now,” he whispered lowly, pressing his knuckles against his chapped lips. he could see a bruise forming along your hairline, seeming to be the reason why you were out, hit by the butt of a gun.

“brave, but a fool. just like you.”

jack quickly flipped around, his hands tightly clasping the metal box full of cash, “don’t touch her... don’t hurt her anymore, this is between me and you.”

he stayed silent, sitting down on a low rock, raising his brows as if questioning what jack was saying is true.

“here, take the money,” jack handed the metal box off to his father who took it, still listening and seeming strangely understanding with calming eyes and facial structure.

he didn’t seem disturb at all, and that’s what scared jack.

“it’s yours, it’s what you came for, now go. you have no reason to be near the house, nor them. it was me who ratted you out and took your money. not them,” jack was breathless, on edge as to what the man would do, “take the money and leave us alone.”

the man stood up calmly, edging onto his feet causing the uneasiness in jack’s stomach to plummet in increase. once the man seemed to be content with his stance and thoughts, he rose the metal box, slamming it across jack’s face, sending the poor boy the ground.

your head throbbed with an extraordinary pain you had never felt before. you groaned feeling nothing and yet everything at once.

your fingers felt numb and you forced them up from the ground, mindlessly reaching for the stem of pain where is was all resonating from. you held your eyes tightly shut while rolling on your back. nothing felt good, and you felt like you were going to hurl.

following the marrowbone’s father in the woods wasn’t the greatest idea, and you almost forgot that was the reason you had ended up where you were. you were a fool and blinded by the idea of love, not wanting the man to do any more damage then he had already done.

once you fully came to your senses, eye lids open and body hunched on it’s side as your fingers laced into the grass, ready to push yourself to your feet, your ears filled with groans.

“jack...” your voice was barely above a whispered as your back arch, rolling further onto your side and onto your knees, eyes meeting two figures, one hunched over the other, choking and beating the struggling body beneath them.

your body felt woozy as you tipped back and forth on your feet, trying to catch balance as you stumbled over to the shotgun you had carried out in the full green woods, hoping to kill a monster... but failed.

you still had hope as your fingers tighten around the metal mouth of the gun, bringing it behind your shoulders before swinging it, the whole wooden butt hitting roughly against the soft skull of the father of your lover.

he hit the floor with a thud, his back pressed into the green carpet as he tried to catch his mind, realizing what was happening. and it was then you yourself realized the hole that was damaging the man’s throat. blood oozing from the gaping, rather large whole.

you clenched your jaw as the sounds of his choking from the large amounts of blood that filled his mouth reached your ears.

“do it, y/n, do it.”

you had never killed a person before, but your mind told you it’d be okay, just this once it’d be fine, that you had to do it.

you pulled back the back, placing your finger on the trigger before pushing against it, pushing past the wall in your heart that always compelled you to do the right thing. your mind told you this was an exception.

the bullet put another hole through his head, laying the man to rest, sending him to hell.

your fingers felt cold and the gun dropped from your hands as realization seemed to have hit you through all parts of your body, sending you into a spiral of shock.

your stumbled before landing into his arms, his own cold hands reaching for yours as he turned you to face him. and it was something that you needed as he seemed to have nodded in approval, knowing there was no other way, that he deserved it.

jack held you closely, his arms wrapping around you tightly, hands no longer with yours but gripping around your shoulders, tightly, as if making sure you were right there, right in his arms, safe.

and he closed his eyes tightly, listening to the quickness of both your heartbeats, wishing to god that you’d always be there, always.

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[s1ater]

your Jack Marrowbone imagines are FREAKING AMAZING ❤❤

thank you so much!! i honesty glad you think so and i'm not the only who loves jack!

[ariana-maryse]

What’s Next? (Writing List)

The request queue is currently:

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- [Bates Motel Imagine] Fem!Reader is a simp for Norma and tries to flirt/buys gifts, but gets reclusive when jealous. Norma’s like yo wtf. (For anon)

- [CAoS HCs] Dating Lucifer Part 2 (For dreamerinthesun)

- [The Addams Family] Lurch x Reader (For ethereal-awe)

- [Ghost Ship Imagine] Jack makes F!reader fall for him, they smash, then he gives her an ultimatum - die with her shipmates or be with him (For anon)

- [Sinister] Anything NSFW with Ellison Oswalt (For anon)

- [Bates Motel] Anything Alex Romero (For anon)

- [Marrowbone WI] Being upper class and falling for Billy (For anon)

- [Insidious Imagine] Specs x Top!Reader + Humiliation (For anon)

- [The Addams Family HC] Lurch’s Kinks (For anonymousm0th)