#george mackay drabble

[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

#george mackay one shot #george mackay drabble #george mackay x reader #george mackay #george mackay imagine #angels of death #jack marrowbone imagine #jack marrowbone x reader #jack marrowbone #william schofield oneshot #william schofield drabble #william schofield x reader #william schofield imagine #1917 #1917 imagines #1917 movie #1917 fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #how i live now #grim reaper #grim reaper imagine #angel of death imagine

[nilletellsstories]

Dad!George Continued

A continuation of @george-mackay-macfine​'s drabble "Dad!George"

After reading the drabble I just couldn’t help myself. So, here we go!! Enjoy!

Words: 718

7 years later

“Violet!” Y/N’s voice sounded through the house. “Quickly now,” 

“Alright, love?” I asked, leaning against the doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. It was a school day. I knew that Y/N had a busy schedule already and Violet’s stubbornness this morning was not helping. 

“Yeah… No… It’s fine,” She rummaged through her bag, clearly frustrated. “Vi! It’s now!” She shouted up the stairs once more. I raised an eyebrow as I walked over to her. 

“I can take her,” I offered, stepping closer to her. “I have the time.” A slight smile grew on Y/N’s lips as she gave herself a once-over in the hallway mirror. “Doctor said, stress is bad,”

“I know!” she exclaimed, “I know…” She repeated, in a more defeated voice, as an absentmindedly hand rested on the small, protruding bump on her abdomen. “George,”

I said nothing, as I wrapped Y/N in my arms. I felt her relax in my arms. 

“I think she’s mad at me,” Y/N chewed the inside of her cheek, a tick when she’s feeling anxious. “I think she thinks we’re replacing her,” Violet had not been excited the week before when we told her that Y/N’s pregnant with her future little brother or sister.

“Go,” I said, after letting go of her with a gentle kiss to her temple, “Go now and don’t worry about Vi. I will take care of her,” Y/N mouthed a “thank you” to me, gathered her things, and walked towards me, letting her lips brush mine as she usually does when saying “see you later”. Y/N then left out home, looking more relaxing and ready for the day.

“Daddy?” I heard quietly behind me. Turning around, I saw Violet sitting at the top of the stairs with her arms holding her legs to her chest. “Is Mummy mad at me?”

“No, sweetie, no. She’s not.” I reply, slowly ascending the stairs to get the girl that I’ve thought of as my own for the last 7 years of our lives. As I got to the same level as Violet, I sat down beside her.

“Are you mad at me?” The small voice asked again.

“No, baby girl, why?” I asked back. “Should I be?”

“No,” She shook her head violently as she reached out to me. I took her into my arms as I have done countless times throughout her life. “But you… You won’t like me anymore,” 

“Vi, that’s not true-”

“It is!” She exclaimed, interrupting me, “Sarah from school said that since you and Mommy is having a baby then you won’t like me because of the baby.” We had always been honest to Violet that I wasn’t her biological father, by saying I’m her father in everything but blood. 

“No, no, no, no, no.” I gently took hold of her, making her look into my eyes.

“Violet, just because you’re getting a little brother or sister, it doesn’t mean that I won’t like you anymore.” I tickled her sides, making her laugh. “You, Violet, will always be the first one to call me daddy.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Whatever Sarah from school says, it doesn’t matter. Because to me, you are my daughter and I’m your dad.” 

“Yes, Daddy, you are,” Violet said seriously, hugging me tightly. 

“Good,” I stated, caressing her hair, “Now, let’s finish you up and get you to school!” I tried to get her excited about getting to school. She ran off towards her room, while I went downstairs to get ready to leave. not even five minutes later, Violet were sitting on the lowest step, trying to tie her shoes. 

“Daddy?” She called out. “Help me?” I went over to her, yet didn’t get down to help her. We’re been teaching her how and when to use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I raised an eyebrow at her, smile wide on my lips. “Please?”

“Of course, miss” I grinned, getting down and tied her laces up. 

“Daddy?” She said, quietly once more. “I can’t wait to be a big sister,”

“Good,” I smiled to her, “What about you make a drawing or something for mummy telling her that?”

“Will she like it?” Violet asked, nodding along excitingly.

“I’m sure of it. It will make her so happy.”

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay drabble #george mackay imagine #Enjoy!!! #This is nervewrecking

[george-mackay-macfine]

Ireland

A/N: This story features an orginisal character, one I envisioned George playing, so please picture him as George.

---____---____---____---____---____---____---____---____

May 3rd 1991, Ireland

"Ya know, when I prayed that God would send me a woman, I didn't think it would happen so quickly," I bolted upright, my hands pushing me quickly of the grass, spinning in a circle to see who'd stumbled upon my tranquillity. A yard away from me stood a man. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks, he must be used to it. The sudden pause in someone's expressions when they looked his way, followed by overcompensating with a weak smile. It was the blush that accompanied it was a dead give-away. "What are you doing down there?" His hands rested on his hips. "Laying on the grass?" His accent coated the words like honey and for a moment I was unable to even speak.

"I'm so sorry..." I rushed when my brain suddenly began working again. "I thought this was a park..." I began to brush the back of my jeans, "I'm sorry," I went to back away, only to have him move forward towards me, hand extended outwards.

"Don't," He paused both of us stopping. "I mean, you... Don't go, Please." He hushed, "My parents own the land..." He hoisted a thumb over his shoulder, behind him in the distance a dimly lit house nestled amongst into the tree line. "I was just heading to bed when I thought I saw a fallen Angel in the yard... I didn't mean to scare you,"

"It seemed like a good spot to look at the stars,"

"It is," He walked closer to me, his hand extending for me to retake my previous seat. "So you're here to watch the stars?"

"And sunrise," I brought my knees up to my chest and crossed my arms over my knees. He put his hands on his hips, nodding his head casually. I laid my head on my crossed arms and watched him, as his shirt rode up with the movement of his arms, exposing his hip bones, and a slither of tanned skin. He turned his head back to me, a cheeky grin spread over his lips.

"Look, we don't know each other that well,"

"At all,"

"But I'm worried about you," He continued over the top of me, ignoring my interjection. "Nobody deserves to sit and watch the stars alone..."

"I'm not alone,"

"You're not?" He crouched down, so he was closer to my level, eyes never leaving mine. "Do you see ghosts?" A cheeky smile pulled at the corners of his lips as my eyes rolled inadvertently.

"No, I don't see ghosts," I laughed. "I'm not alone because you're here with me," Rauirí laughed this time, his head dropping down before he stood up straight. He paused for a moment before he walked towards me. Equal paced strides until he was sitting down beside me, his knees coming to his own chest. "Quit smirking at me,"

"I'm not smirking." His hands came up in defence. "Sure, you're not.”

"I'm not.”

"Well then, quit doing whatever it is you are doing."

"Looking at you?"

"Yeah, that…"

“Why?"

"Because it's making me nervous,"

"What if I can't,"

"Try." A chuckle passed his lips. I could see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye.

"I don't think it's possible."

"Be quiet and watch the sunrise." I hushed, unable to stop the smile that began to pull at my lips, no matter how much I bit into my bottom one trying to stop it.

"Hard to do when you're biting your lip like that." I sat up straighter inhaling deeply, letting the fresh night air fill my lungs.

"Do all the Irish men flirt like this?"

"Only the well-hung ones."

"I see," I turned my head away from him, facing forward again. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see he was still looking at me, "Why are you up so early?"

"I was playing a gig at the pub down the road," He cleared his throat. "Got home, looked out my bedroom window and saw you here in the grass, and I had to come to see if you were real,"

"The verdict?" I turned to him.

"Still deciding," He turned his body, his knee grazed mine. "I've had enough pints, so you very well could be a hallucination," He leant towards me, I could smell the beer spilt on his shirt. "Would it be too forward to tell you that you'll be in my dreams tonight?"

"Considering you've already told me how well hung you are," I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose not,"

"Why are you here?"

"That's a vague question," I pursed my lips, "Why am I in Ireland, or here in your parents' yard?"

"Both."

"I'm in Ireland for a bachelorette weekend, and I'm in your parents' yard because there is only so much I can take of said bachelorette weekend,"

"Too many penis crowns?"

"Too many women trying to take my shirt off," He let out a low whistle.

"Irelands a long way to come to take your shirt off,"

"I live in London, moved a year ago,"

"Why?" I turned to him, my mind immediately getting caught up in his eyes, how beautiful the blue was.

"Eyes so blue I drown," I whisper.

"What was that?" A toothy grin pulled at his lips.

"A change of scenery,”

"Long way to go for a change of scenery.”

"Four thousand, four hundred and eighty-three miles,"

"Just a small change then." He chortled.

"Why are you here?”

"In Ireland, or with you in my parents' yard?”

"With me,"

"No girl deserves to be alone while watching the stars…, or the sunrise, especially one as pretty as you."

"Are you always this amorous?" I breathed through the butterflies swirling around my stomach as we looked at each other.

"Only when the girls as pretty as you."

"I'm not going to sleep with you,"

"Are you always so forward?" He feigned shock. "I'm here, minding my own business, keeping you company and you assume I'm going to sleep with you." He scoffed, causing me to laugh. "I am not a piece of meat, nor am I an easy lay,"

"What's your name?”

“Ruairí,"

"Cute name." I simper, "I like the way it sounds when you say it."

"I think I'd like it better if you said it." He leaned towards me, when I didn't respond, he dipped his head more, our noses brushed one and other. "Think of it as a man's dying wish..."

"Are you dying?”

"One day I will be," I lent towards his ear, giving in to the temptation. "We're all dying every second that passes by us,"

"Ruairí," I spoke into his ear. "My sweet Ruairí," His breath fanned out against my cheek as he let out a shaky laugh.

"What's your name?"

"Mia."

"Name as beautiful as you." I pulled away from him, our noses brushing again. "How are you liking Ireland?"

"It's beautiful…"

"But..." Ruairí chuckled, hand running over his chin. I took a deep breath and launched, all the pent up frustration coming out.

"Do you need to sing Galway girl in every single bar?"

"You don't like the song?" I let out a hiss of air.

"I mean... It's fine, catchy, enjoyable but it's so overplayed, we went to three bars last night, and every single bar there was some guy, with a guitar-playing that song."

"Hey now, careful... One of them could have been me." There was something about Ruairí made me feel brave.

"No," I shook my head, turning to look at him once again. "If it were you, I would have thought about you at least five times."

"Now which one of us is doing the flirting," I lent back onto the grass, leaning heavily on my elbows. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” He wagged a finger in the air.

"Watch the sunrise with me."

"You do know, the sun doesn't rise for another three and a bit hours." I turned to him, my mouth dropped open a little.

"Are you serious?" I brought my watch up to look at the time, 4:18 am. "The sun doesn't rise until seven-thirty?" I let myself fall back onto the grass with a huff. "Why so late?"

"Here in Ireland," Ruairí lay beside me, his shoulder flush against mine. "We prefer a slower life." He chuckled. "Unlike you lot in your dreary London town..."

"What am I meant to do for three hours."

"You can come in and have a cup of tea." He offered, "My bedroom window has the same view, only warmer." I turned my head, looking at him as he looked up at the starry sky.

“And I already told you I'm not sleeping with you," Ruairí gasped.

"You really do think I'm that easy. That all you need to do is batter your pretty eyes at me and I'll fall into your lap?"

"You think I have pretty eyes?”

“Beautiful,"

“What?"

"I think you have beautiful eyes,”

"Oh" I felt my cheeks warm under his gaze.

"Her eyes are the hue of the sun when it sets, all gold.”

"Who wrote that?" He turned to me, a cheeky gleam in his blue eyes.

"I did,"

Have you ever met somebody who looks at you with so much passion you thought didn't exist outside of a John Hughes film? Because the way he was looking at me, it was as if he found the most precious thing in the world.

"I should go."

"Don't." He turned shuffled closer to me, our noses brushed one and other with the softest caress.

"I should,"

"But do you want to?” A breathy smile slipped onto his lips.

“No."

"So stay,”

"This is crazy," I whispered.

"What is?" I shook my head, our noses brushing.

"It must be the alcohol."

"It isn't the alcohol," Ruairí whispered, lips closer to mine than before.

"If love be madness, may I never find sanity again."

"John Mark Green." Was all I could utter before his lips pushed against mine. His hands wound in my hair, mine tugged on his collar. "I should go," I whimpered as his lips moved to my neck. "I really should go," My eyes opened, above my the world spun as Ruairí’s lips ran over my throat touching it so gently it didn’t feel real.

"You said that," I felt his lips pull to a smirk against my neck.

"I meant it."

"You should stay." He sighed against my neck. His lips moved back to mine, his body rolling, so he was atop off me. I knew I should leave, I shouldn't be here, kissing a stranger, but the way he was dragging his tongue along my lips, I couldn't care less.

"This is a bad idea,”

"Then go," He continued to kiss my lips hotly knowing I wasn’t going anywhere.

"I really should go," I whispered sitting up pushing him away from me, only to seconds later pull him back. My hands wrapped in his hair again.

"You keep saying," He laughed against my mouth. His hands gripped my thighs, pulling me into his lap. "Yet you're still here,"

"I have to go," I whispered on his lips between kisses. He shook his head, holding me to him.

"No, you don't."

"I do." I groaned kissing him harder, hands winding harder in his hair. My mind was telling me to leave, but my body was doing other things. "I have to go." I pushed away from him, standing running my hand through my hair, trying to calm myself down.

"Let me walk you." I shook my head stepping away from him, he looked up at me from the ground, a cheeky smile on his lips.

"No." I cleared my throat. "You stay here."

"But, I -."

"Stay... Here." I stepped backwards. "If you walk me, I won't let you leave, and that'll be that."

"Be what?"

"The end of it," I ran my palms against the material of my jeans, they felt sweaty. "But if I go now, and we leave it like this... Then this, whatever it is stays perfect, it stays peerless, and we can remember this for the rest of our lives when we’re both grey and old we can think back to this moment and remember how perfect this was.”

“And that won’t happened if I walk you home?”

“No..” I let out a shallow laugh. “If I let you walk me home..." I shook my head, trying to clear all my senses of him.

"Don't I get a say in this?" He exulted. I stepped towards him, dropping to my knees over his waist, straddling him, my right hand going to his hair, my left going to his jaw, my thumb pulling his bottom lip down. "You're staying then?" He breathed, voice full of relief. Lips curving to kiss my thumb. His hands grabbed under my ass and pulled me forward, my hair hung over my shoulder, dangling near his face. He pushed it behind, moving it gently. "Staying with me?"

"I just need one more kiss to know this was real, that you're real", I whispered pushing his hair behind his ear my lips replacing my thumb in another searing kiss.

"If by some inexplicable happening I see you again, then that's it," His right hand left my things, going to my hair, using it to realign our lips. “You’ll let me walk you home and never leave.”

"But if we don't," I groaned against his lips, "At least it was perfect,"

#george mackay #George Mackay fic #George MacKay one shot #One shot #Drabble #George Mackay x reader

[brynnaraven]

When Two Fandoms Meet

Historic Drabble Time:

So thanks to @bthtallmadge2 and @your18thcenturynerd I quickly got obsessed and my husband and I finally started watching Turn: Washington’s Spies on Netflix - something we had wanted to do for a long time, but small child plus work plus finishing degree program = zero adult TV. 1: We love it. 2. Holy crap, you guys, Angus MacFadyen as Major Robert Rogers (all the heart eyes). He’s so perfectly cast and I love the way he’s characterized on that show. He was only 27 during his most famous exploits of the French and Indian War, so by the time the Revolution rolled around he would be exactly that grizzled, and he’s fabulous - even if this time he’s technically on the “wrong side”.

Those who have read my fic “Where We Start Again” will remember that Robert Rogers (then a Captain) made an appearance in chapter 15, along with General George A. Howe, who he worked closely with to train British Regulars before the Battle of Carillon in 1758. Both Rogers and Howe became dear to me as I researched and wrote about them, so I was enormously pleased to see Rogers as a major character on “Turn”. Another General Howe is often spoken of there, but that is one of George’s brothers - George was killed at Trout Brook in July of 1758 - something else that came up later in WWSA.

For a long time I’ve been cooking the idea of doing a short follow-up fic to WWSA, set during the Revolution, where Nathaniel and Cora are older (as are their children), and Jack Winthrop leads a company of Rebel Minutemen, one of whom is Alasdair MacKay (Ian and Sarah’s son, who is married to Jack’s daughter at that point). Naturally I’d want Rogers to make another appearance in that story, which will make things doubly interesting since this time he’s on the “enemy” side.

Anyway this all excites me brain on a nerdy level, and if you haven’t read WWSA, it might be an interesting read in places if you’re into this stuff. ;)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12379604/1/Where-We-Start-Again

#turn: washington's spies #last of the mohicans #the last of the mohicans #last of the mohicans fanfic #where we start again #robert rogers #cora munro #nathaniel poe #nathaniel and cora #fanficauthor #brynnaraven #american revolution #french and indian war

[enby-arthur-inception]

hello! i’m admin mars!

i write the p*rn and the fluffy stuff too! 

i’m best at writing headcanons, drabbles etc, but i can do full fics so long as i have good structure / set up for them! 

i stan joseph and i’ll write for any of his characters! i also write for christian bale characters, dean charles chapman characters and once in a blue moon, george mackay characters!

:)

[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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