#this ain't chestnut...

[ladybugsimblr]

BKountry

[cautiously0ptimistic]

Mom & Dad do date night @ The Rusty Horseshoe

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[scoups4lyfe]

HARUKA

PLAGARISM !!!

this is just sad

I CANNOT beliEVE she plagarised the office guy

😭😭😭

H A R U K AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

DID YOU NOT KNOW????

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THIS IS FR HER SELF-INSERT FANFICTION

[sweetbunpura]

You know if Jamil needed medical attention after his overblot, everyone would have to wing it or call Chestnut. Yuu ends up calling Chestnut as everyone behind her scrambles to help a bleeding Jamil.

Chestnut: This better be life or death, Miss Homura.

Yuu, yells at the guys to shut up for a few moments: H-hey, uh, where the medical supplies for overblotting students?

Chestnut: Who overblotted!?

Yuu: ...Viper did.

Chestnut: Son of a- how bad?

Yuu: Uh, the blots gone, but he's bleeding.

Chestnut: From where?

Yuu: Arms, chest, and his head-

Chestnut: How bad is the head wound?

Yuu: ... Good question. I ain't really sure, his hair was a snake when it got torn out-

Chestnut: Torn?

Yuu: Yeah-

Floyd, in the background: Shrimpy tore it out cause it bit her!

Jade, also in the background: She tore out two actually.

Yuu: Quiet from the peanut gallery!

Chestnut, is going through it right now: May the seven have mercy on my soul....

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir." 

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit." 

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair. 

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-" 

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?" 

"What, now you care?" 

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs. 

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?" 

*

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like- 

"Watch out!" 

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him. 

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph. 

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-" 

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time." 

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way. 

For a second, nobody says anything. 

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful." 

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!" 

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …" 

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide. 

"I, erm … Dustin." 

"I'll stay here with Dustin." 

*

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick. 

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids." 

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light. 

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though." 

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee. 

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs. 

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-" 

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-" 

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon." 

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly. 

Dustin sighs and stands. 

"Coming, Hop." 

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-" 

And then it clicks. 

"Oh fuck," Eddie says. 

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat. 

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise." 

The door clicks shut. 

The car glides away. 

Eddie buries his face in his palms. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit." 

Eddie groans. 

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day. 

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[itsbubbleteataro]

Ok I've had this idea for maybe the past what, two weeks? No time like the present to write it so here we go!

My thoughts have been plagued by a little story. Alastor and reader have known each other for a while now, since they were alive. So what happens when the pair find themselves in hell? It will start as Human!Alastor and end up with the hellish Alastor we all know and love. It will be a fem! Reader. Hope that's ok with yall!

Part two

The Radio host and the Reporter

Paring; Human!Alastor x Human!fem!reader

Warnings; Alastor being Alastor, mentions of murder, sexism (I mean come on it's 1920-1930 what do you expect)

Description; As a woman working as a reporter from 1920-1930s was often frowned upon, resulting in works not getting published. In order to get around this, (y/n) writes her stories under a pen name, Roger. One of your stories ends up being covered by New Orleans own radio host, Alastor. Using the fact that you write under a pen name to your advantage, you grow to know him closer. The two of you end up close, however each keeping secrets from each other. You keeping your pen name under wraps as well as the amount of petty crimes you've done to get your story, and him, the fact that he is the bayou butcher. What happens then the pair grow close enough to live together, both find each other in hell? Will the bond grow with their power or will they simply leave each other alone?

New Orleans - 1920

You were standing outside your family's publishing company with a frown on your face. Your own father had rejected another one of your stories claiming that a woman's place was in the home and not in the workplace. With a grumble you kick a rock down the sidewalk as you start your way home, deciding that then and there you will get your father to publish one of your works no matter the cost.

A few months later you were running down the street, some of your hair tucked into a typical paperboy's cap with just enough hair out for you to pass as a man. You wore a pair of khakis, with black dress shoes. You wear a plain dress shirt with suspenders over your shoulders connecting to your pants. A notebook and pen tucked under your arm.

Your shoulder comes into contact with a man with chestnut brown skin, his hair in tight curls as his deep brown eyes look at you with surprise. He wears a suit with a red suit jacket. A pair of glasses are perched on his nose. Shouting an apology over your shoulder at the dapper man you continue on your way running all the way down to your to your father's publishing company. Opening up a hatch on the side of the wall, you quickly sign your notebook with the name "Roger" before ripping the pages out and sending them down the hatch.

With a smile and a sigh you stand up straight, adjusting your notebook and cap as you spin on your heel and make your way back to the home your brother had so kindly bought for you.

Unlocking the door to your little home you push the door open, closing and locking the door behind you. Placing the cap on your coat hanger by the door, you sigh as you kick off your shoes.

You are in your early twenties. With a hum you let your hair tumble down your back. You are quite lucky to live on your own, without any family in the home despite the fact that you are single. Pushing the door to your bedroom open you are quick to strip yourself of your clothes, starting the shower.

With a hum you step into the hot water. Tipping your head back you let the water wash through your hair. You turn around letting the water hit your chest as you scrub shampoo into your scalp.

"Oh my word ain't I just feeling like the bee's knees(1)! And here I thought turning in that story would have me behind the eight ball(2)! I thought I'd have to be the one to hand it in person. Thankfully we had that little shoot installed!"

You almost sing to yourself as you wash the shampoo out of your hair before conditioning your ends. Soon enough you step out of the shower after turning the water off, wearing a towel around your person and your hair.

With a spring in your step you take a seat at your vanity. Unwrapping the towel from around your hair before starting to brush your wet hair.

"I hope that fella I bumped into is alright. I hope he didn't mind that I just blew(3) him off like that."

With that, you set your brush down, picking up a headband to keep your hair out of your face you set to work doing your makeup for the night. You start from your eyes, doing your eyeliner on your top lid, gently placing some black eyeshadow on the outer corner before blending it in towards your inner corner. You open your eyes wide to apply your mascara.

You then tend to your brows, taking care to pluck them before making sure they appear arched and thin. Moving to your cheeks you apply a rosey color to your cheeks, taking care that it is applied in delicate circles. You finally move to your lips, taking care to overdraw your Cupid's bow as you brush a matte red onto your lips.

Smiling at your reflection you stand up and let the towel drop from your figure as you go ahead and adorn your favorite flapper dress, its gold colors serve to make you stand out just enough as it hugs your curves. You then throw on a pair of kitten heels before going off to your favorite speakeasy with a spring in your step as you go celebrate your little personal accomplishment.

A few weeks later you open up the crisp newspaper that had been tossed on your front step by the local paper boy. Much to your surprise, you find that your little story on a local politician who you had exposed for being an abuser was on the front page. My you ends up doing a spit take with your cup of coffee as you ended up beaming with pride.

You had done it, you had gotten your father to publish one of your very own works, even if it was under the pen name "Roger". Plus the feeling of knowing you had made the first page was enough for you to want to keep writing.

So you did.

1921

The night was still young as you sipped your glass of brandy. Your hair was up in a sort of updo as you wore a flapper dress, one that clung to your curves in all the right ways. You sat at the bar, watching the people around you, your keen ears listening in hoping that you would be able to find your next scoop

A shrill voice ripped you from your thoughts.

"Oh Yoo-hoo! (Y/n) darling!"

You turn to go look at the person who had called your name. A familiar short blonde came walking over. A gentleman walking next to her, holding his own drink.

"Oh hello Mimzy. A pleasure to see you tonight"

You pull yourself off the barstool you were seated at in order to give your friend a hug. The alcohol had served to make your already present accent much thicker. The band in the background playing a smooth jazz as you stepped back from the hug. Mimzy had been your friend for the past six months by now, befriending you as you often came here to learn about people, hunting for your next scoop. She knew a little about what you do, but kept it under wraps, happy to supply you with information in exchange for you staying a patron of her establishment.

"Oh (y/n) it's always a pleasure to see you. Oh here, there's someone I'd like you to meet"

Mimzy stepped to the side allowing you to see the gentleman better. He wore a red pinstriped suit with a black dress shirt underneath. A matching red bow tie hang around his neck. Fine black dress pants adorns his long lengthy legs and black dress shoes his feet. His hands are behind his back. He extends a gloved hand for you to shake, so you do.

"(Y/n) this is Alastor, Alastor, (y/n). She's a regular here at my place. Alastor here is a friend of mine, only makes sense for me to want to introduce two friends. Oh-"

A crash catches Mimzy's attention. With an apologetic smile she turns around to go deal with whoever just broke a glass.

You look over at the man, taking in his looks when it hits you. It's the fella you had bumped into on your way to drop off your first story. He had changed some but not too much, the only one you could really tell would be his now pin straight hair.

"My that Mimzy sure is as busy as a bee, wouldn't you agree Cher(4)?"

Alastor asks you as he raises an eyebrow before once again extending his hand.

"I suppose we should humor our shared friend and go speak some. Let me buy you a drink?"

He asked as he motioned his head to an empty table. You take his hand and nod your head, the two of you ending up sitting together at a corner table. You make a quick note of his transatlantic accent that seems to fade to his natural New Orleans accent. You chalk up the ending to him being relaxed due to the drink that remains in his other hand.

"I will admit Alastor, not only do you sound familiar, but your name is to. You don't happen to be a radio host now do you?"

You ask as you slip into your seat, setting your half empty glass down infront of you. Alastor chuckles as he joins you, placing his glass down as well.

"You'd be correct about that. My I am curious how did you ever come to such a conclusion?"

He asks with a smirk playing across his face. You let him know that you've heard him on the radio a few times, much to his delight. You also add in that your father's publishing company had published an article on the up and coming radio host in town.

Unknown to the two of you Mimzy was watching the two of you talk with a smile across her lips. She watched as Alastor's eyes had a slight twinkle in them as the two of you spoke for hours on end, ending only when you had gotten up to leave, declining Alastor's offer to walk you home.

Mimzy leaned over the bar to speak with her bartender,

"Alright John, how much are you gonna give the two before they end up with eachother?"

She asks the bartender with a smirk on her lips, a plan forming in her head

-----------------------------------

"The bee's knees" - the best

"Behind the eight ball" - in a difficult situation

"Blow"/"blew" - to leave

"Cher" - Cajun and creole slang, usually for 'dear'

[reidholic]

i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows)

pairing: spencer reid x reader

wordcount: 1.4k

summary: sometimes, you take things a little too literally. this can be both a blessing and a curse. in terms of your first meeting with spencer reid, you're not sure what to call it.

notes: based on the prompt "give me Spencer Reid telling reader, who is very literal about most things, its safer to kiss on the lips than to shake hands while introducing themselves at the Bureau for his first day and Spencer gets so surprised when he does kiss him." the reader is not gendered specifically in the actual piece, though (no pronouns or gendered anatomical language), so read as you please! this is also my first reader-insert so if you could give me some feedback, i'd appreciate it greatly :)

read on ao3

“And here’s your desk,” Agent Hotchner finishes, stopping at an unoccupied seat, the only unoccupied seat, within a quad. Two of the three taken spaces are void of their people at the moment, but at the seat across from yours, you can just see the top of a head, bent over in concentration, peeking out from over the divider between the two workspaces.

“Got it,” you nod, setting down your armload of things. “Thank you, sir.”

Hotchner dips his chin in acknowledgement, and although he doesn’t smile, his voice isn’t unkind when he tells you, “You’re welcome. I’m happy to have you here with us, and I think I speak for my whole team when I say that we’re looking forward to seeing what you bring to the table.”

“Speaking of the rest of the team,” you start hesitantly before he turns to leave. He pauses, raising an eyebrow as he waits for you to finish. “Will I get a chance to meet them before our first case? I’m hoping to at least introduce myself before we see any dead bodies, no matter how interesting a first meeting that would make.” You wince and watch Agent Hotchner’s face carefully. The joke had just slipped out—you tend to run your mouth when you’re nervous, but the unit chief doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to appreciate your impulsive wit. 

To your relief, you aren’t kicked out of the building. You allow yourself a brief, silent exhale of the breath you’d been holding—you had not wanted a repeat of The Incident of 2006. Instead, your boss looks at you for a moment, considering, before his gaze flicks away to something behind you. “I’m sure you’ll see them around soon enough. In the meantime, why don’t you and Agent Reid get acquainted?”

Ah. So not something—someone. Agent Hotchner had been referring to the owner of the head you had seen a few moments earlier. The person in question doesn’t seem to have noticed that his boss is looking at him expectantly. He’s still bent down over something that you can’t see, deep in his own world. 

The unit chief clears his throat. “Reid?” he says again pointedly. Finally, the other man manages to tear himself away from his work, gaze leaving the papers he’s been writing on a split second after his head.

“Yeah?” he answers absentmindedly, eyes finally making their way up to see who’d been calling him. He’s young, mid-twenties at most, and lean, not built like many of the men you’ve worked with in the past. Curly chestnut hair sweeps across his forehead, a couple of the unruly strands sticking out at the nape of his neck. You resolutely ignore the urge to finger-comb the fluffy-looking locks. That would be absolutely inappropriate and more than unprofessional.

His eyes, the color of earl gray tea that’s been steeped until it’s just on the darker side, are warm when they lock on yours. He looks down hurriedly, hands twisting in his lap seemingly unconsciously. “Oh, hello. I assume you’re the new recruit? I’m Reid. Doctor Reid.” He’s speaking fast, clearly stumbling a little bit. “Um. Well, you don’t have to call me doctor. Agent Reid is fine. Or—or just Reid! Spencer Reid. Yeah, that’s me.” He looks up at you again for a second, an anxious twist to his mouth, and you feel simultaneously endeared and empathetic. You’ve been in his position all too many times before, tripping over your own words in front of a new acquaintance. In fact, you’d done that just this morning when you’d come face-to-face with Agent Hotchner, nearly dropping your box of things as you stammered out a greeting. In your defense, the man was intimidating. That was probably why he made such a good FBI agent.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. You smile at him, trying to put him at ease as you introduce yourself, giving Agent (Doctor?) Reid your name and holding out a hand over the divider. He’s stood up as well over the course of your short conversation so that the two of you are about a foot and a half apart, and you notice that he has a couple inches on you. It isn’t surprising—he looks the long and lanky type. 

However, Dr. Spencer Reid decidedly does not take your proffered hand, instead looking down at it, held in between the two of you, like you’ve just offered him a whole stick of butter. Not disgusted, per se, but hesitant and doubtful, like he’s figuring out how to politely reject the metaphorical dairy product. You lick your lips, a nervous tic. You’ve never been great at meeting new people, and this doesn’t seem to be heading in the right direction. With your luck, you’ve just made a grievous error in the Unspoken Code of Social Interaction and now your new colleague will never want to speak to you again.

Agent Reid clears his throat uncomfortably, bringing you out of your despairing rumination. Your hand is still hovering uncertainly in the space between the two of you. “Actually, did you know that the number of pathogens passed through a mere handshake is astonishing?” Evidently, he’s a hand-talker—his long-fingered hands have been brought up together, gesturing vaguely as he speaks to you.

“Um,” you put in, but he plows on.

“It’s technically safer to kiss someone,” he finishes, glancing at you again to see your reaction.

Oh. You furrow your eyebrows. Well, it’s not a conventional greeting, but to each their own. Hopefully this will make up for whatever faux pas you’ve committed. Shrugging internally, you step forward and press your mouth to Dr. Reid’s, eyes falling half-lidded. 

His lips are slightly chapped and taste faintly of coffee. You keep your tongue firmly to yourself—after all, this is just a greeting—but after half a second you realize that his mouth is hanging open, not to receive the kiss, but agape with shock. 

What?

Wait a minute. A terrible realization dawns on you and you stumble backward, breaking the very much one-sided kiss. Agent Reid—Spencer—is staring at you, doe eyes wide and face abloom with a fiery blush. 

You lick your lips again, but this time, you can taste the fading memory of your colleague’s mouth. Your voice is faint when you manage to speak again, low and husky with embarrassment. “Um. It just occurred to me that I may have taken that a little too literally.”

A wolf whistle breaks the stunned silence that ensues, and you whip your head around, feeling your face heat up. 

“First day here and you’re already pulling moves on our resident genius. Who would’ve guessed?” A group of three other people have just arrived in the bullpen: a muscular Black man, a blonde woman, and a woman dressed sharply in a dark-blue blazer. Fuck, you think, but the man, the one who’d spoken, is grinning gleefully as his eyes dart between you and your new…acquaintance. The two women behind him wear expressions of shock, amusement and disbelief warring on their faces. 

The dark-haired one raises an eyebrow. “Is that what the young people are doing these days? And here I was thinking I was still hip and cool.”

“It’s—it’s not—,” you stammer, not daring to look at Spencer.

“Welcome aboard, agent,” the man says, striding across the room. He looks you up and down, assessing you, before sticking out a hand. “I’d prefer a handshake, if that’s alright with you. My name’s Derek Morgan.”

Trying to regain your composure, you take his hand and let him shake it once, twice, in a firm grip. Unable to resist, you shoot a glance back at Reid. The other man is still standing stock-still where you’d left him, but he’s touching his lips with the fingertips of his right hand like he’s trying to ground himself. There’s no disgust or anger in his face; on the contrary, there’s a look of dizzy surprise, and somehow, he seems almost…pleased. Uncertainly so, but unless you’re mistaken, there’s a glimmer of delight in those big brown eyes.

It’s not real, you tell yourself, trying to focus on introducing yourself to Agents Morgan, Prentiss, and Jareau. You’re imagining things. That was completely unacceptable and you must apologize as soon as possible. 

But you can’t suppress the warmth bubbling up within your ribcage when you think back to Dr. Reid’s face when you’d stepped away, flushed and dazed, the way his head had cocked ever so slightly like a confused puppy.

Maybe you hadn’t made a complete mess of your first meeting with Spencer Reid after all.

[annwrites]

—we're all mad here

we don't deal with outsiders very well. they say newcomers have a certain smell. you have trust issues, not to mention. they say they can smell your intentions. you'll never know the freak show sitting next to you. — carny!billy x fortuneteller!reader ; ⋆｡˚⟡˖۝

Billy has just finished swallowing a bite of his biscuit when he looks up and sees you for the first time. He stares for just a moment before nodding toward you, watching as you pick up an orange, looking it over.

"Who's she?"

Clyde glances over his shoulder—Jack looking as well—and he smirks, looking back to Billy. "That's our little mystic."

Billy raises a brow, taking a bite of his bacon.

Jack explains, brushing a strand of black hair from his eyes. "Fortune-teller. She reads cards, palms, tea lea—"

Clyde interrupts with a grin, which spreads along his pock-marked face. "Maybe she'll look into your crystal balls and tell you what you have to look forward to."

Jack rolls his chestnut-colored eyes.

Clyde shrugs. "She definitely belongs here, though. In a freak show, I mean."

Billy glances to you—admiring your long, curly hair that reaches all the way down to your waist, your soft, flowing dress that hugs your breasts, and the thin shawl you have draped over your shoulders. "Doesn't look like she's got a beard to me. Surprised she's not doing peep-shows instead."

"She's not all there, if you catch my meanin'. I don't mean the readin' cards, neither. Tell people what they want to hear and it's an easy way to make money. But with her..."

Jack finishes. "She says she can read people's auras, too."

"Sees who they are by the colors that surround them or some other," Clyde states. "Seems to live in the clouds most days. Only notices when she's bein' spoken to by one of us about half-the-time. Thought she had a stick up her rear when I first met her, then I realized it's just her nature."

Billy watches as you pour yourself a cup of milk, his eyes flitting to the rings you have placed on your slender fingers.

Clyde shakes his head, grin returning. "Sure is nice to look at, though, ain't she?"

Billy doesn't reply. He, instead, continues to watch.

And then you look up. And when your eyes meet his, they widen in fear. You stumble back, dropping your cup, milk quickly soaking into the sand as your heart jumps into your throat, your head feeling light.

He raises a brow in question, wondering what it is, exactly, that you see when you look at him to have caused such a reaction.

He wonders just how close he'd need to get for you to not just tell his future, but read his past, as well.

You swallow nervously, your hands trembling, then finally tear your gaze away when you hear one of the girls calling for you.

Billy goes back to his breakfast, thinking on how to get you alone... And soon.

There's a knock at the door and your brows furrow at the sound—everyone should be getting ready to lie down for the night by now.

Perhaps it's one of the girls and they need you to make them something to help them sleep.

You pad over to the door at the front of your caravan and pull back the small gossamer curtain—only minimally, as you already feel on-edge for reasons you can't yet explain—and your heart stutters in fear.

Him.

You don't yet know his name—as you've tried desperately to keep your distance, even if he seems to be around near-every corner you turn, even within your restless mind—nor do you wish to. Names hold meaning and power. And learning another's...it only serves to create a bond you have no interest in forming.

But he stands at the foot of your wooden steps, staring up at you with expectant eyes, leaving you without any other recourse than to open the door.

But only a crack.

"Can I help you?" You ask softly.

He comes up a step, and then another, and another, until he's leaning against the door frame, staring down at you. "Came to get my fortune read."

You blink up at him, a feeling of revulsion filling you at the sight of black tendrils that lick at his skin—emanating from his soul—which only you can see.

Such a curse it is...

You shake your head. "I'm sorry, but I'm done for the day. I was just heading to bed. If I have time in the morning—"

He grips the door with his left hand, his other coming to grip the frame.

"I'm up before the rest of you to start setting up," he starts. "Meaning I won't have time then. So it has to be now," he states firmly, refusing to take no for an answer.

You begin to tremble.

You glance behind you to your reading table, then back to him.

Finally, you nod gently, wishing to be rid of him as soon as possible. "It will have to be quick. I'm rather tired."

He shrugs. "Quick is fine, dollface."

You bristle at the term, but choose not to react as you turn.

And then you jolt, bile rising in your throat, when you feel his hand planting itself against your lower back, his other shutting the door behind him.

You step over to the wide dresser where you have all your reading materials stored, quickly snatching selenite from the bowl of crystals you have sitting atop it, before opening a drawer that's chock-full of tarot and oracle decks.

You grab the first one you see, then turn back to your reading table, which he's already seated himself at.

As you sit down across from him, you do your utmost to ignore his lingering gaze, instead focusing on shuffling the cards within your hands.

"We'll do a simple three-card spread," you state quietly.

He shrugs. "Makes no difference to me, darlin'."

He glances to the side. "That thing actually work?"

You glance up to him, then follow his line-of-sight to your crystal ball, which has a small purple kerchief thrown over it. You look back down to the cards. "Yes."

He leans in toward you, forearms resting atop the table. "So, what's it do, exactly? Just more telling of the future?"

You spread the cards out between the two of you, their backs facing upward.

You reluctantly meet his dark eyes. "That's one of its purposes."

"The others?" He asks, reaching toward you, desperate to touch you—wanting to twirl a curl around his callused finger—until you abruptly sit back, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly as you stare at him.

"Please don't do that again."

He raises a brow. "Why not?"

"I prefer not to be touched," is all the reply you give. Then, "Scrying."

His brows furrow.

"The crystal ball," you state.

"Hell does that mean?"

"It's...a way to attempt at receiving answers—insight—guidance."

He leans back, crossing his arms, nodding, pretending like he understands whatever you're on about. "Uh-huh."

You glance down to the cards, then back to him. "Please select three cards. And don't turn them over. Just point them out to me and I'll do the rest."

He shrugs, unfolding his arms, doing as you've asked.

You slide his chosen cards toward him, putting the rest of them back in their case off to the side.

You turn over his first card and he keeps his eyes on you all the while—watching as your own widen in terror.

You turn over the next one, your eyes flitting between the two cards, as if you're desperate for explanation.

And with the final one revealed, you sit back, swallowing.

"Not good news, then, I take it?" He asks.

Your gaze returns to him. "I—"

He looks down then, a brow raising. "'The devil', that can't be good."

He smirks. "I have been told a few times that I'm quite a handsome one, though."

He nods toward the last card with an approving look. "Like the sound of that one."

You sit forward, your entire body now shaking. "The—the cards are all upright. F-for the devil, it can mean that you feel trapped, or empty—perhaps displeased with your lot in life. So, you seek fulfillment in those things which you maybe shouldn't. And...while you may know said things aren't in your best interest...it's as if you can't help yourself. So, you try to bury that shame in...materialism, or hedonism, drink..."

Your eyes flit to him, then back down when you find his expression to be unreadable.

"The tower represents, typically, change. But how you go about it—as in...a destructive, or chaotic sense—you may need to tread carefully—"

"Already made a change. It's why I'm here," he says, cutting you short.

You merely nod then, continuing on, nearly done and glad to be.

"The lovers—"

"Sounds like a good one," he says, licking his lips as he looks at you, studying your soft nightgown.

"The lovers," you say, beginning again. "Doesn't, necessarily, refer to a romantic relationship, but it certainly can. It can simply be interpreted as two things finally coming together in unity. Two people, usually. But it could also be referring to a temptation of the heart. Whether good or bad if you give in...I suppose you would have a better idea than I."

You look at him, nervously crossing your legs.

"But in terms of romance?" he asks, his tone that of interest. "Am I going to meet the love of my life soon, sweetheart? Might give me somethin' to look forward to. Somethin' to dream about when I'm out there in the hot sun pitching tents and takin' orders."

You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking a curl behind your ear. "It is a possibility: finding your soulmate. That person which you'll have a deep and unbreakable bond with."

He stares back at you with a heat-filled gaze. "That so?"

You gather the remaining cards, returning them to their box, and you stand, putting them away. "Thank you for coming to see me. And...showing interest in what I do. It was very kind of—"

You feel an arm winding around your waist then—a hand cupping your cheek.

You rear back, slamming against the wall behind you as he keeps you in-place, his body blocking your own from going anywhere.

"What—"

"Why the hell are you always runnin' away from me, huh? I can be real sweet. If you let me," he says, leaning down, crushing his lips to yours.

And in an instant your body is set alight. But in such an incredible way—completely unexpected, especially with him.

It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

His fingers trailing down your neck, instead, feel as if they're strumming between your thighs, down your spine, reaching into your very soul—caressing every inch of you.

His tongue flicks against yours and you moan, gripping the collar of his shirt, desperate for more of whatever it is which he's offering—giving—to you.

He tenderly nips at your bottom lip and you sigh, pressing your body to his own, shrugging off your shawl, wishing to let his hands wander.

For so long you've felt only numb or afraid. No in-between. Not until this moment. Not until him.

He moves his lips lower, sucking against the rapid pulse in your neck.

You throw your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair, your eyes rolling back, then fluttering closed as he trails his hot tongue over your clavicle.

"I don't—" You gasp for breath, mind hardly able to focus. "Don't even know your name."

He kisses his way back up to your ear, before speaking directly into it—his voice deep and husky, and it makes your body tighten with desire. "Billy."

1933. prohibition & the great depression hang heavily over a country which finds itself desperate for joy & hope following the great war.

one form of brief respite that's provided to cities both big & small are traveling circuses, menageries, & carnivals.

the brighton brothers carnival is one such business—all recall their infamous tagline of 'we'll brighton your day!' as being quite clever at the time. had it not been due to the seedy things taking place behind the billowing curtains of the big top & in-between side-show tents, perhaps it could've been true.

when newcomer, billy hargrove, joins the troupe as a helping hand to pitch tents, take orders, & do menial labor, he primarily keeps to himself. until he takes notice of you: the carnival's psychic.

once he sets eyes on you, he's reluctant to remove them, wanting nothing more than to find out your secrets, as you seem to know everyone else's. & then the day comes when he finally lays hands on your beautiful body & it turns out—much to your surprise—that you can't get enough of what he's more than willing to give.

headcanons:

reader is very sensitive in every way. her body, her emotions, her mind. and so, when she & billy begin being intimate, he doesn't even need to touch her between her legs to get her to orgasm.

she seems like an airhead to many people, but she's just usually elsewhere in her mind—always thinking, always reading others & feeling.

her mother taught her everything she knows about divination & her mother before her, etc.

she kind of becomes a bit obsessed with billy. after he awakens her body with his touch & kisses, she's constantly chasing that feeling—that high—but only with him. she'll walk up to him in a crowd of people—she won't even notice or see them, only him—just to kiss & touch him. it's like being near him allows her mind to quiet. her body to feel something for once; a feeling she immensely enjoys, that is.

billy honestly has no idea what to do about it. it embarrasses him at first, having the 'odd' girl of the troupe constantly trailing after him & holding his hand, kissing his cheek, but he gets used it before long. becomes proud of it.

clyde is going to get jealous. to a nasty degree.

[holdmytesseract]

hey my love ❤️ can I resquest u something?

daryl is expecting a child with the reader where he is super excited but he also spends his time outside, looking for things for his baby.. but he receives a call from rick saying that his girlfriend is in the infirmary and when he arrives he finds out that the reader lost the pregnancy and he takes care of her and pampers her a lot those days after they both take great care of each other, because he will also be super sad😭

Sorry for my bad english 🤦

Into Shards

Daryl Dixon x pregnant!Reader

Summary: When Daryl is outside the walls, looking for stuff for yours and his baby, he gets called back by Rick - only to come home to devastating news...

Warnings: Major trigger warning here! Miscarriage! pregnancy things, walkers, fluff, bit blood

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 2,2k

a/n: Hi nonny! Thank you for the request! ☺️💚 I am honest... I don't know if I should love this one, or not. I tried to write a bit action as well, but it probably isn't the best... Hope you like it nevertheless! 🙈

Tagging: @km-ffluv @loz-3 @stitchintimefan @peaches1958 @fictive-sl0th @lou12346789 @in-this-minute @hotgirlsshareaccounts @sweetpeapod @fuseburner @azanoni @bookofsecretjourneys

Masterlist

"'M goin' back out today. That okay for ya?" Daryl asked, while buttoning up the last few buttons of his black shirt and rolling up the sleeves. You smiled at him, stretched and stood up; leaving the cosy bedsheets behind. "Of course." You said, stepping closer and watching him slip in his angel-winged vest. Both your hands found their way on his chest, softly tugging on the cold, smooth fabric of the famous leather vest. "As long as you're coming back to us..." You whispered with a smile; your eyes never leaving his beautiful blue-greyish ones.

Us... The word hit Daryl like a ton of bricks - in the best way possible, though. It caused the ends of his nerves to sizzle. An overwhelming feeling of warmth and love flooding his veins. Us... He couldn't stop himself from smiling that signature sweet, small, boyish smile. "Ain't gonna ever leave ya two alone," he stated, shaking his head. One hand settled on your left hip, while the other found your yet non-existent baby bump. Although Daryl always stated, that he was already able to feel the tiny, innocent life. Despite the fact that you were barely eight to ten weeks along - according to Siddiq. Whenever he said that, you'd just giggle and shake your head.

"'M always goin' to come back for ya. 'Specially now." Your smile even widened; one hand reaching up to brush a chestnut brown curl out of his handsome face. "I know." You stood on your tippy-toes to brush your lips against his; eyelids fluttering shut.

"I can't convince you to let me join you, can I?" Daryl scoffed playfully, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Ain't lettin' you walk around out there." You sighed, but giggled. "Thought so... Take care out there, yes? Be safe." Your boyfriend nodded. "'Course. Promised." "Good." You kissed him again. "I'll be back 'fore the sun's goin' down."

Daryl grabbed his crossbow then, his knives and took one of the pick-up's. His bike would've been a bit too small for his task ahead. With a last look at you and a soft smile, he left Alexandria; off to find and scavenge stuff for the baby.

Around midday, Daryl was already several miles away from home, searching every square inch of a few smaller cities around D.C. Daryl knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to be close to such a big city, but that didn't scare him.

Now he was sneaking down the streets of a rather very small city he didn't know the name of. Not much houses, only a few shops. His eyes landed on an old building. Not big and plain. Unimportant, unnecessary. He was about to walk past it, when he recognised the small sign over the old, rusty door... 'Smith's Baby Store'. Wasn't that exactly what he was looking for? "Finally," he muttered to himself under his breath, drawing his knives. With his foot, he kicked against the unstable door, listening for any signs of walkers. Nothing.

Carefully, he opened the door. It didn't budge at first, but with a little more strength, it finally gave in - as if someone was inside it before him. Looking around to check the street for any stray walkers - which wasn't the case, he stepped inside the small house. Daryl noticed immediately, that this house was constructed very... strange. The door didn't lead straight into the shop. It led into a long, dark hallway - with only three other doors. One on the left, one on the right and one at the end of the hallway. Daryl sneaked on quiet feet down the squeaking hallway; the old wood creaking underneath his weight. He checked the two rooms on the sides first, but found nothing. One room was already scavenged. Not much things were left. Most of the items useless and broken. The other room was nothing more than a broom closet with dusty cleaning supplies.

Daryl let out a slightly annoyed groan, before he made his way to the last room. The sparse wooden door wasn't locked. It was slightly ajar, making it easy for the archer to open it. The door led into a big room, full of shelves and cupboards, in which several baby things were. A smile twitched at the corners of Daryl's lips. Jackpot. But just a moment later, his expression shifted into a frown. The building had been clearly scavenged already, so... Why leave this room out? Why not take these things as well?

The answer got the archer only seconds after the thought had crossed his mind. He took a few steps inside the room - and immediately felt the floor giving softly in underneath him; bending under his weight. The wood was rotten, dilapidated and more than unstable. Daryl walked backwards again, biting his lip and weighing his options. Should he risk it? Should he not? He didn't know what was beneath the floor. Perhaps the basement? He could've sworn he had seen a small stair in the other room, leading down to a door. The basement couldn't be that bad, could it? And perhaps the floor held him, so... Daryl had been way too long on his way today and the past days - weeks. He didn't want to go home once again empty handed.

So, he took the risk - and paid for it almost immediately. The old wood held his weight the first time and also the second time - but not the third. It gave in underneath him, creaking and aching, causing the archer to fall - like he had predicted into the basement. With a thud, he landed on his back, groaning. "Shit." Only a tiny window let the sunlight in and illuminated the dark, dusty and... smelly room. His ears were ringing from the fall, his senses blinded for a moment, causing him to not realise instantly, what he got himself into.

Only when the sounds of low snarls and snapping teeth urged slowly but surely to his ears, he realised. Daryl's eyes widened in shock and surprise, before he scrambled to get up from the cold ground. The window didn't let much light in... But enough to show that said basement was filled with more than just two walkers... Way more than two. Daryl grimaced - in pain and frustration. "Damn it!" The walkers noticed him, of course, immediately and went straight at him. Daryl reached for his knife to get rid of the first undead, attacking him; all the while scanning the room for the door. He had to get out of this.

Unfortunately - just in that moment, while he was fighting the undead, started his walkie talkie to give forth some static hissing, before Rick's voice echoed across the basement. "Daryl?!" The archer got rid of another walker, plunging his knife into its rotten skull, before retrieving the weapon again, and reached for the walkie talkie attached to his belt. He thought it had been the last one, but just as he was about to answer his brother, another walker lunged at Daryl from behind, with such an impact that the little, black device slipped from Daryl's hand, along with his knife. A grunt left his lips as he tried to get the undead man away from him. He turned and stumbled to the ground with the walker landing on top of him. Its foul breath hitting Daryl's face; rotten teeth snapping at him, mere inches from his neck. "Daryl?! Do you copy?!" Rick's voice called out for him again. Daryl gritted his teeth and used all his force to shove the undead away from him. Quickly he reached for his knife and killed the walker. Panting, he fell back on his back, catching his breath. "Come on, Daryl! It's urgent!" Rick sounded almost desperate by now. Daryl took a deep breath and stood up to get the walkie talkie. "Rick? Rick! I'm here." He panted, wiping some blood from his face. "Sorry, man. Had to get rid of a few walkers."

Rick answered instantly. "Thank god. Daryl, you gotta get back here! Quick!" The man frowned, making his way to the small door of the basement. "Why?" "Y/N's in the infirmary! She-" Rick's voice broke and Daryl's heart dropped. You were in the infirmary? Fear and panic immediately started to rise within the archer. "Rick?!" He literally screamed into the walkie talkie, "Rick!" but all he got in return was static hissing. "Fuck's sake!" The archer cursed and slammed the device on the ground, before he literally run up the stairs and out of the house. Something was wrong, if you were in the infirmary - and whatever it was, he had to get back to Alexandria as fast as possible.

The gates got opened immediately, as soon as Daryl approached Alexandria. The archer didn't even bother to park the pic-up on its rightful place. He jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut; seeing Rick already running his way. "Daryl!" The archer met his friend midway. "Wha' happened?! What's wrong with 'er?!" "You better see for yourself...," was all Rick said - a sorrowful look on his face. Daryl didn't let himself tell that twice, of course. As fast his legs could carry him, he sprinted to the infirmary. Without even knocking he ripped the door open and stormed in - attracting Siddiq's attention. "Daryl." "Where is she?!" The archer walked up and down the room like a wounded tiger; tried to push past the doctor - but Siddiq stood firmly in his way and tried to calm him down. "Daryl, calm down. Y/N's in the last room down the hall. Let me explain first, okay?" The black-haired man lifted his hands as if in surrender. Another try to calm the worked up man across him down. Daryl's chest heaved, as he grunted and gave the doctor a short nod - which Siddiq returned. "You... You might want to sit down for this." "Nah, 'm good. Tell me wha' happened." The doctor took a deep breath. "Alright, I... Y/N came to me a few hours ago; said she had cramps. Usually nothing to be worried about, but I checked on her nevertheless." Siddiq swallowed hard, lowering his head. "When I went to check, I... I saw that... There was blood, Daryl."

The archer's eyes widened and he felt his heart drop for the second time that day. Deep down, he already knew what it meant, of course, but he didn't want to believe it. Not until Siddiq spoke the dreadful words out loud. "Y/N, she... I'm afraid she had a miscarriage. I'm sorry." Daryl just stared at his friend blankly. The news - the shock was just too overwhelming. Without saying a single word, the archer walked past the doctor and straight down the hall, towards your room.

Gently opening the door, he found you laying on a bed, curled up into a ball. Your back towards him. He could hear the soft cries and sobs, which left your lips - breaking his heart. Daryl whispered your name, trying to hold back his own tears. You stirred immediately; hearing his voice. Shifting to face him, he saw your tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes. "D-Daryl..." You sobbed, causing more tears to fall. He was immediately at your side, pulling you against his body. "'M here, love, 'm here. 'S alright, 'm here..." Of course, he knew that nothing was alright, but what was he supposed to say?

Daryl felt your body shaking against his. He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry - but he couldn't allow himself that. He needed to be strong for you. For the both of you. But the harsh reality hit him nevertheless. A few hours back, everything was alright. His little world was perfect. And now? Now it all came crashing down. The happiness ripped out of both your hands - within the blink of an eye. "I-I am s-so s-sorry, I-I-I..." You stammered, hands clasping on his vest; holding onto him for dear life. Daryl immediately shook his head. "Stop that, please... You have nothin' to be sorry for. This ain't your fault, sunshine." "It h-has to b-be! I-I must've done s-something wrong, I…" "Nah, you didn't. These things just happen sometimes." You looked up at him with hooded Y/E/C eyes. "B-But why to u-us? W-We were so happy about it... Looked forward to meet this baby and now... Now they are gone..." The words caused fresh tears to run down your cheeks. "I don't know, sunshine... I don't know..."

The most important thing was, that you had each other. It was going to be a tough time, but you knew that with Daryl by your side, you would overcome the grief. Scars were going to heal with time and sooner or later, you would welcome a new life in this world, where happiness was most precious and family was the most precious gift. Yes, it wasn't going to be easy, but you knew from all the things you've been through that everything works out in the end. After all, light couldn't exist without darkness, could it?

The next days Daryl spent the whole time at home with you. He didn't leave your side. Not even for a minute. The both of you spent most of the time in your house; secluded. Everybody understood that, of course and gave you all the time you needed to process the loss. Losing a child was never easy. No matter if born or unborn.

[cinamun]

Y'all......

So remember how @nova-siims was like "Aye girl, wassup with the homie Sean?" <- And I was like "glad you asked because some shit done went down....."

Well... it gets even worse. I fell down a damn rabbit hole and I need y'alls help because I'm just over here like

So basically.... I decided to check in on bro because I don't appreciate all these extra shenanigans without my consent. I find him, chillin where I found him last time

and I decide to open up CAS and that's when I learned.... some shit

Bro... like? That's not even your BABY bro?

ITS A WHOLE NEWBORN SEAN LIKE??? When did you marry Sienna and when did the baby get here? DID SHE CHEAT ON YOU?

So now I need answers because I think she's lyin and we need a DNA test. Anyway, I decide I now gotta pull up

Y'all tell me why the baby is in the barn..?

And tell me why Sean is the happiest man in Chestnut Ridge not knowing this ain't his damn baby in the barn?

So I pull up his relationship panel just to confirm

Bruh... the newborn is just an acquaintance? Okay, bet. We bout to find this baby's daddy because I, The Watcher, do not condone these shenanigans.

We go ahead and age up baby Huy and

......... we all looking confused at this point and I got the same question mark on my forehead as baby Huy but I'm determined to find this baby's daddy ESPECIALLY since he has special needs. So we go ahead and up MCCCCCCCCCCC

AIGHT BOOM!! We're getting somewhere. Now I just have to find who the fuck Ku Kahale is. I go scrolling through the household bin. I don't see that last name, so I scroll again and STILL don't see it.

Y'all something told me to just look at the ancestors and

YALL!!!! Tell me WHY THIS IS AN ANCESTOR BABY!!?? HOW SWAY??? What am I supposed to do now? I can't delete the baby the ancestors will come for me. If I divorce them then the poor legless child will have to go to therapy and Sean will probably be cursed or some shit. But why is a SPIRITUAL BEING a deadbeat father???

I can't even play no more.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Okay, guys, here's your golden opportunity if you've ever dreamed of owning an old funeral home. Zillow, et al. ain't sayin' it was a funeral chapel, but there are signs and Home Tours found out for sure, even though their website has been removed. They still maintain 2 of their facilities & this lovely 1870 Queen Anne in Sheffield, Illinois was either just a viewing place- the preparations done at one of the other facilities- but, they don't show the basement, though, so who knows? 3bds, 3ba, and only $189K.

The main entrance hall still has the coat rack for guests, and a piano.

I don't know why this beautiful fireplace is in an alcove, but according to the description, there are 3 original fireplaces that aren't used, but they haven't been sealed up.

There's absolutely no mention of it, but these are clearly viewing rooms.

Here's the 2nd fireplace and what could that closet have been? Maybe an old phone booth?

Here's the office. Nice windows.

Lounge with a sink.

And, a restroom.

The millwork is very much intact.

Both stained and leaded glass windows.

This could be a primary bedroom and it has the 3rd fireplace, plus there's a second room that could be turned into a walk-in closet.

It already has some shelves.

The kitchen was removed from the main floor, though, and relocated up here on the 2nd fl. in the family's quarters.

They also removed the bathroom fixtures and made it a laundry room, but the pipes and stuff are still there.

One of the secondary bedrooms.

And, this vintage bath is still intact.

The 3rd bd. is in the front turret and has an en-suite.

In the back is a little sun room.

2-car garage w/storage.

Looks like there's potential for a roof-top deck and a finished attic. The corner lot measures .44 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/339-E-Chestnut-St-Sheffield-IL-61361/2060613290_zpid/?

[concernedbrownbread]

Oops, started outlining tua s4 au/fix-it (now posted). Spoilers for season 4 + fic below

Basically, this is what I imagined s4 to be. That is, "you painted over the cracks in the wall, but the cracks are still there and now they're getting wider"

Here's what I've got so far (in no particular order):

Raymond Chestnut, man myth and legend, is an important part of the story. What's a man pulled out of time, with nowhere to go and feeling out of time and place to do? Join the Keepers ofc!

Instead of Reginald's cool little memory machine, the family has to actively work to unravel the mystery of Ben and his death (the mystery has changed)

DAVE IS HERE

Jennifer doesn't exist, sorry. Ben is still causing the apocalypse but for way different reasons

Lila's parents are not alive. This is Allison's selfish dreamworld. If she didn't think to bring back Sissy, she did not think to save Lila's parents. Lila and Diego only have Grace.

Speaking of Allison ... whooo boy get ready for her to parallel Reginald, because who else pulled their partner out of their ending for their own selfish love ...

Allison gets a happy ending don't worry. She just faces consequences of s3 first

Obligatory DANCE BREAK~

Five Deli and the Subway have a plot and the plot is trauma and revisiting trauma

Timelines are used as a thematic device cause time travel makes no sense and I've decided it doesn't need to make sense as long as it develops character arcs & plot. I ain't no physicist

Abigail is 100x more evil (with similar motivations) and Gene and Jean are ... themselves

Lila & Five timey whimey field trip that is PLATONIC (I can't believe I have to clarify that).

DOLORES MAKES A CAMEO

Klaus has a side-plot actually relevant to his character and the plot. He continued being the best Uncle

Viktor gets to yell at Reginald. I'm not changing that that was amazing.

Viktor and Allison make up with each other

Luther gets recognition for holding the family together this timeline. He's trying so hard.

The fact that "timelines are spilling into one another" is relevant

It all comes back to Five and his apocalypse. It always does.

Anyway. Here's chapter 1.

[theplottdump]

Buckle Bunny: 𝘜𝘩 𝘰𝘩, watch out girls, unbroken bronc coming through.

Bitchy Blonde: Seems pretty dangerous letting something that wild run around in here alone. Tired Blonde: Oh leave him alone Viv.

Diego: Howdy Dani. Dani: Diego! Haven't seen you round here in a while. I thought all that ranch work had might have killed you. Diego: [ 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝 ] Good to see you too. 'Fraid it'll take a lot more than a few horses to break me. - The Horseshoe's lookin' great by the way.

Dani: Thanks, you'd be impressed what a couple coats of good deck sealant can do. Diego: Well you just let me know if you want me to come down and lend a hand with anything. Dani: Classic Golden Boy. Don't you have enough on your plate keeping the old Carey Ranch running? Diego: I always got time for good people.

Dani: Well then you know the rules- one good turn deserves a beer. On the house.

Diego: Gonna need two- got a date tonight.

Dani: Well good for you cowboy. I'll make sure to dig you out something classy.

A pair boots hit the ground as Chestnut Ridge's reining buckle bunny slid into the open seat beside the ranch hand.

Viv: Why hey there Cowboy, lookin' for a ride? Diego: I ain't got time for this tonight Viv.

Viv: Oh c'mon García, I've just missed seein' you around is all. Diego: And I'm sure that husband of yours is missin' you just as much right now too. He still stationed out by the crater? Viv: Strangerville- I'll be leavin' town to join up with him in a week or so.

Diego: Well that sounds like a mighty fun adventure for you both. Maybe you'll finally find that wedding ring of yours before headin' out. Viv: Oh you're no fun. Diego: I'm afraid I just got my priorities straight. The first of which is not rollin' around with married women.

Viv: What's so wrong with wantin' to break ya? Watcher forbid we women do anything. Girl's gotta find a way to occupy the hours somehow.

Diego: Maybe try pickin' up fishin'.

Viv: Sweet Diego. I'm sure your bottle blonde rich girl in her little clearance rack dress won't even last two minutes bareback.

Diego: I'm gonna ask ya to think 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 about what you're planning on sayin' next Mrs. Walker.

Dani: 𝙇𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙖𝙣. I don't want any trouble from you tonight.

Two ice cold beer bottles hit the counter- saving the woman from whatever Poppy/Diego tag team beat-down was surely on the way if she had kept running her mouth.

Viv: We were just havin a bit of fun, don't be jealous. But if you want to jump the line I wouldn't mind takin' you round the block either. Dani: Girl you better get your ass off my bar and start minding your own business or I'll- Viv: I'm goin, don't get your briefs in a twist.

Diego: Much obliged. Viv: Have fun on your little date Diego. Dani: 𝟭𝟬, 𝟵, 𝟴, - Viv: I'm goin- I'm goin.

[newkatzkafe2023]

@lara-legomonkiekid

What if Y/N was like pepe la pew she is very romantic, she always pounced on him and kissed him a bunch of times while giving him a bunch of mushy lovely knit names.

It stinks to be single😫😫😫😫

(Lmk Wukong) Heart eyes heart eyes for days. This man was just minding his own business until you got bombarded by a very affectionate and cute demon girl. He was being called things like my cute little peach. My sweet ray of sunshine, my adorable little monkey? Such a handsome monkey and how cute he is and With how hard and how much is blushing he feels he's gonna pass out. Oh no you're giving him kisses he's not going to survive this.

(Mk Reborn Wukong) His face is so red with fury and embarrassment. He can't do anything or be anywhere alone. Because now you're over here sticking to him like my gum got stuck at his fur. At first he thought you were looking for a fight. What with all the nicknames and the lovely w language? You were talking to him and that unfortunately isn't the case. You always tell him that your lover not a fighter. And that you simply want to grant him some much needed attention in love. You once said he was an adorable little monkey Which caused him to blush so hard steam came off his face. He will let you ramble on and on about how you'll be such a loving wife to him and that you will take care of him for as long as you guys love which is forever because of the and immortality. Eventually, over the years he learns to tolerate you when you're antics and text and don't tell anyone but he loves you too.

(NR Wukong) Oh man you picked a wrong one. Well in your case the right one but let me explain. This guy would break With Any kind of affection you give him A kiss? A hug a bunch of nicknames. You give them the fact that even though he would probably run away from you. You were just gonna hop, skip and jump towards him in such a teasing nothing manner. And by the end of all that, you're gonna find yourself Running Away from him. Because you may have over did it with the kisses and affection.

(HIB Wukong) The man he can deal with you and whatever to help. This is right now but he is forced to. First of all, he's blushing and angry. Because you said that he was such a handsome monkey and The most adorable demon you've ever seen. P has to think you're mocking him. Because when people see his face they usually stay to hell away. But no, the second you see him. You ran towards him pounced on him Adam attacked and smothered him with so much affection. He had to think this was a joke. What no you were softly calling him all these nicknames like peaches, my Sunspot, My wonderful warrior and the second you also called him your king. Blushy and teary but only you've got to see it.

(Netflix Wukong) Hell no he ain't gonna survive you and your love. I mean, he knows he's great and all. But he's never experienced anything like this before. There's a demon girl who was very passionate and loving towards him. And that excites and terrorizes him a little and not to mention. You would just come out and nowhere with that. Sometimes he has to go into hiding the second. He heard oh chestnut my heart is sizzling for you i'm coming. Boy had to bolt out there Because you were shouting that from across the village and hopping around just looking for him. But between you and me I think he likes the chase that you chase some down just so you can love on him. The dude could really use it

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[caashmoneynae]

MY MASTERLIST. -> click here for more!

❦

STRESS RELIEVER.

POP SMOKE x BLACK!FEM!OC

SUMMARY: a cliché plot in which Khadijah’s been stressed because of work & Bashar helps her ease her mind. | based off of @henneseyhoe’s post ✨ (check her out, she’s BOMB! 🤎)

❦

"𝗜 𝗗𝗜𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗔 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡' 𝗜𝗡𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗩𝗘𝗗." Khadijah joked, feeling Bashar kiss her shoulders, as Bashar chuckled and ran his tongue over his lips, his fingertips massaging and caressing her brown-skinned lower back while a small smile pulled at Khadijah's lips from feeling her muscles relax.

"i can't kiss my shorty?" Bashar jokingly asked, raising a brow, as Khadijah chuckled and turned her head to the side, looking back at the shirtless man while she pushed her chestnut brown silk-pressed hair to the side.

"knowing you, you gon' turn this from an innocent massage into us going a couple rounds." Khadijah chuckled, lazily pointing her white acrylic nail at her boyfriend, as Bashar laughed and moved down to her thighs, beginning to massage the left one and applying pressure to the back of it since she told him the muscles in the back of her thighs had been tense.

Khadijah worked as a personal assistant for her boss at her office job, which meant constant walking back and forth in either heels or flats almost every day she was at work. though it toned her legs and kept her in shape, her muscles always paid the price for the excess amount of walking because her legs would end up sore at the end of every week, and Bashar would massage them for her because he prided himself in taking stress off her body, no matter which way he did it.

if you catch my drift.

"ain't nothin' wrong with that, if you ask me, ma." Bashar smirked, leaning down and applying a soft kiss to the back of her thigh, as Khadijah blushed and laughed before lowering her head onto her arms.

"Basharrrr." Khadijah whined, earning a laugh from the dark-skinned man, as her stomach filled with butterflies and a chill went down her spine once she felt his thumbs massage the tense spot in her thighs, causing her to bite her lip.

"a'ight, chill, i ain't gon' do nothin', crybaby," Bashar chuckled as a feeble moan abruptly fell from Khadijah's lips and a smirk crossed Bashar's face, "can't make no promises tho', shorty."

"i'm already knowin'," Khadijah mumbled, resting her face against the cotton sheets underneath them, as her eyes slowly shut and another moan fell from her lips, "damn, 'Shar, you hittin' all them spots... them magical ass hands you got, boy."

"shit, what can i say? i know what spots make my lady feel good, you feel me?" Khadijah sensed a smirk on Bashar's face and lazily shook her head as she chuckled, feeling his hands wrap around her thighs and caress them while pressing his thumbs into the backside of them.

Khadijah was only wearing a white tank top and panties, so she knew Bashar was bound to try something because if he could barely resist her when she was wearing clothes, she knew damn well he wouldn't be able to resist her if she was half-naked.

the room went quiet after Khadijah's chuckle and as her massage progressed, she could feel herself begin to get riled up due to how close Bashar's hands were to her center, but she wasn't the only one getting turned on at the moment. with Khadijah's occasional moans of satisfaction, Bashar could feel his phallus begin to stiffen in his shorts, and it started to become increasingly difficult to resist the temptation in front of him.

the atmosphere started to fill with lust as Bashar's hands crept up Khadijah's sides, gently massaging and caressing them with his hands while he kissed up her back. Khadijah slightly shifted underneath him and her thighs absentmindedly began rubbing together as she lightly bit down on her bottom lip, feeling Bashar's lips inch closer and closer to her shoulders. he placed one final kiss on her shoulder before gently grabbing her jaw and turning her face toward his, kissing her lips lovingly before the kiss turned into a full-out heated make-out session.

the session got so heated Khadijah was no longer in her previous position and ended up on top of Bashar, his durag-covered head resting against their headboard while his hands explored and gripped her ass and hips. her hands cupped his face and her acrylics occasionally dragged across his skin, making him lowly grunt into the kiss because it unintentionally turned him on more than he already was — and he was so turned on that his dick was now rubbing against Khadijah's core.

Bashar tugged at the waistband of her panties with his fingertip, and that seemed to be the green light for the both of them to undress. in a flash, they were both undressed and Khadijah was gripping his length as she placed the tip at her entrance, slowly sliding down on it and giving herself time to adjust to his size while a low whimper slithered from her lips from his girth. her hips began to move at a slow pace as she smashed her lips onto Bashar's, their heated make-out session continuing while he gripped her hips and guided her up and down.

soft moans and low groans filled the kiss as Bashar laid one last kiss on her lips before beginning to kiss down her jawline, his head falling into the crook of her neck while he peppered kisses on it. Khadijah's head absentmindedly leaned to the side, giving him more access to her neck, and her bounces began to speed up as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's neck, holding him close while he gripped and smacked her ass.

"f-fuck, just like that..." Khadijah moaned as she sunk lower onto his phallus and took the rest of his inches, her eyes rolling back while her head leaned back simultaneously, "you feel so good, baby."

"you sound so pretty moanin' fa' me like that, shorty," Bashar lusted, his voice low and filled with lust, as he raised his head from her neck and wrapped his hands around her thighs, beginning to thrust up into her, "i could listen to that shit all day."

Khadijah's jaw dropped at the feeling of him thrusting into her at a different angle and her manicured hands gripped his shoulders, a squeal leaving her lips once she felt his tip graze her g-spot. noticing this, Bashar smirked a bit and thrusted straight into her erogenous zone, making her moan loudly while her grip on his shoulders tightened and her body slightly jolted in his arms.

"right there!" Khadijah blurted out, feeling kisses on her chest and collarbone, as Bashar's grip on her thighs tightened and he thrusted at a faster pace, feeling her walls begin to hug his girthy dick while he groaned against her chest.

"right here? huh?" Bashar smirked, taunting her, as each of his thrusts purposely connected with her g-spot while he placed her nipple into his mouth, "talk to me, mama. tell me what'chu feelin'."

"y-yessssss!" Khadijah cried, tears brimming her eyes, as she felt Bashar's tongue wrap and twirl around her nipple while he twisted the other one with his right hand, "o-oh, my God, i'm 'bout t-to— i'm g-gonna—"

Khadijah could no longer speak in a complete sentence as her brain slowly turned into mush, one of her hands caressing the back of Bashar's neck while the other gripped his shoulder. suddenly, the position switched to missionary, and Khadijah was gripping Bashar's back for dear life as he put her legs on his shoulders, aiming to bury his phallus as deep as he could inside of her — practically making a home for himself inside her walls.

broken moans and whimpers slipped endlessly from Khadijah's ajar lips as her legs began to tremble, her vision getting blurry while tears rolled down her cheeks. her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes shut tightly as her back arched in Bashar's grasp, causing her knees to graze her shoulders.

"ohhhhh, 'Shar, i'm 'bout to c-cum!" Khadijah squealed loudly, her voice high-pitched and her speech uneasy, as Bashar watched her lose control with low eyes and ran his tongue over his lips, enjoying the sight in front of him with a lusty glare.

"let it go, mama. let that pretty pussy wet me up, i got'chu, pretty girl." Bashar's deep vocals sent Khadijah over the edge as her nails dug into his back, her legs now shaking more than before while she became louder and louder each minute. though her legs were shaking uncontrollably, Khadijah could no longer feel them, and she started to cry harder because not only would she not be able to walk after all this, but all of the pleasure she felt was intensifying by the minute and she didn't know if she wanted to run from him or pull him closer.

abruptly, Khadijah's body seized in place and her eyes shot open before rolling back, and a loud, prolonged squeal fell from her agape lips as she climaxed, her orgasm rolling through her with so much intensity she felt like she was floating. Bashar's strokes slowed down and he slow-stroked the woman through her orgasm as Khadijah's body gradually relaxed, her grip on the male lightening up while she softly sighed.

feeling a soft kiss on her lips, Khadijah's eyes slightly opened and they locked on a lightly smirking Bashar, making her laugh softly while she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

"I should've known this shit was gon' turn into more than just a massage."

[anumacy]

Walking hand in hand, the sun is gone but the moon ain't up. You can hear the puck slam against the edge of the ring, over and over again.

The snow glistens as she walks in front of me. Her eyes sparkling with mischievous glimmer. She pecks my cheek, and looks at me.

"I love you, my dear pet." Annabel said, smiling sweetly.

"I love you too, what's my present this year?" I asked, bringing her hand up to my heart.

"I was thinking.. me?" Annabel snickered.

"Hah. Good luck." I replied back.

"You'll see!" Annabel said, planning something for sure.

"The night is young, let's walk for a while" I said as I relaxed my arm, bringing her hand down again.

They walked around the market, everything was sparkling from the snow fall. It was winter, and definitely Christmas. The snow globes in the antique shop in every window, misses clauses dress for sale in the clothing shops, the feasts to be served on this holy day, but the best thing of all? The friends by the fireplace, drinking hot cocoa with chestnuts on the fire.

"We're back!" I said, opening the door and holding it for Annabel.

"Mon ami! Ey, you brought your girlfriend too! Come in, come in, dont mind the mess. It's Christmas Eve, the more the merrier! Now, wine or hot cocoa?" Duke jumped up from the couch in the living room to meet up with me and her.

"I'll have hot cocoa, please." Annabel said.

"I'll take the wine!" I said, slinging my arm around Duke and Annabels neck.

"TO THE LIVING ROOM!!" "I shouted, laughing.

"Ay! You finally arrived!" Pluto said, turning on the couch with his jug of warm delicious chocolatey goodness in hand.

"Glad you two made it!" Ada said, her arm around Morella.

"Welcome, welcome! I hope you don't mind the puppets on the tree." Eulalie said, jostling around a bag of who knows what.

"Eyyy! Lenore! Get over here!" Bernice said, patting the two seats next to her.

"Oh my! The whole gang is here!" Annabel said, dragging me around.

It truly was, the best night of all. The laughter would be heard for kilometers along the countryside. The stories we would tell for decades to come. A Christmas to remember, here here.

I was in a christmasy mood, merry Christmas, happy season finale soon.