Requested: can u do a dark tower imagine with the man in black x reader? pleas and thank u
A/N: This was so unexpected ahhh I hope you like it, it’s a bit different and I’ve never written for the character before, but I’m always glad to do something new.
Words: 2 K +
Stepping through the portal, the second that the forcefield made your skin tingle and your stomach drop passing with a blink of an eye, you shrugged off your jacket and handed it to one of the servants. He grabbed the fabric with shaky fingers, grumbling something before turning and moving away from you. Taking the stench of rotting flesh with him, you scrunched your nose slightly and moved through the corridor. The workers all seemed to pause and take you in for a moment, returning to work with a slight of the hand.
Summary: Magic exists in two senses. The beautiful kind, and then the evil–dangerously playing with both, a fire sparks in the cruelest of ways between you and The Man in Black, a sinister sorcerer bent on destroying the tower and obsessed with the Gunslinger, of whom is also blindly unexpecting to possible distractions when he meddles with his own deceptions.
A/N: This fic will be composed of ten parts, inspired by a recent request. I will count the second part of the request within the series as well as the orginal imagine. I hope that you all enjoy, and I hope that I give Stephen King’s characters justice. As always, feedback is appreciated!!
Words: 5.3 K +
Sweat beaded on your forehead, a cold shiver making goosebumps rise on your arms while you stared at the opposite wall. Your fingertips tingling and your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the dull sound of your alarm went off, it’s annoying sound filling your head and signaling the morning, the time for you to get ready for work. However, your eyes not moving, you blinked slightly and then took a deep breath. Staying, there, scrunching your nose with your mouth slightly agape, the flashes of images that lingered behind your eyelids scaring you through your bones. His pale face never ceasing to fade and the haunting sound of his voice never leaving your mind.
No entres dócilmente en esa noche quieta, por Dylan Thomas.
No entres dócilmente en esa noche quieta.La vejez debería delirar y arder cuando se cierra el día;Rabia, rabia, contra la agonía de la luz.Aunque los sabios al morir entiendan que la tiniebla es justaporque sus palabras no ensartaron relámpagos,no entran dócilmente en esa noche quieta.Los buenos, que tras la última quietud lloran por ese brillocon sus actos frágiles pudieron danzar en una bahía verde,rabian, rabian contra la agonía de la luz.Los locos que atraparon y cantaron al sol en su carreray aprenden, ya muy tarde, que llenaron de pena su caminono entran dócilmente en esa noche quieta.Los solemnes, cercanos a la muerte, que ven con mirada deslumbrantecuánto los ojos ciegos pudieron alegrarse y arder como meteorosrabian, rabian contra la agonía de la luz.Y tú mi padre, allí, en tu triste apogeomaldice, bendice, que yo ahora imploro con la vehemencia de tus lágrimas.No entres dócilmente en esa noche quieta.Rabia, rabia contra la agonía de la luz.