#and being so busy is just making things worse

[saetiate]

itoshi rin x f!reader smut, portal sex, lowk witchcraft (sigils mean that his sex toy = your pussy basically), very slight semi-public don't get caught stuff (you don't actually get caught), oral f!receiving, p in v word count: 1.75k author's note: please save me i'm deranged

Rin has loved you for years.

He twists his phone in his hand, your contact name right at the top of his notifications. Just thinking about confessing to you has his insides turning, makes him want to slam his head into the nearest wall. He'd rather waterboard himself than say something.

He almost runs into the old lady that holds a hand up to stop him in his tracks.

She tells him that he "seems to be in a bit of a predicament," which he doesn't get at all. But then he looks up as she lead him into a little store right next to a sex shop, handing him something in one hand, the other hand holding up the little machine for making a payment.

Imagine her whilst you use this.

That's easy enough. He's been imagining having you for years. Memorized what your laugh sounds like, twinkling windchimes; how your face looks when you smile.

The toy part is new though. He turns it around. There's a little image near the base of it, like a drawing of some sort.

God, this is so dumb. He knows it even as he lays down in bed and closes his eyes. But then he finds himself all-too-easily imagining your thighs clasped around his head, the taste of you fresh on his tongue.

You're at work when it starts.

You're in the pantry getting a necessary pick-me-up coffee between lunch and the end of the work day when you start to feel something between your legs that makes all your movements stop. Something that has wetness blooming immediately. You try to shake it, keep the thought boxed up in the back of your mind, but you- you can feel it. Can feel something between your legs even when you know logically there's nothing there.

The only thing you know is you've got to get out of here. Away from your coworkers and their gossip session in the corner, the girl kicking the printer at the end of the corridor as you stumble into your office. You quickly pull on the blinds to shut them, only half-registering locking the door before you're falling into your seat.

What the fuck.

It feels like a searing hot, wet tongue is cleaving right between your folds. Your hand clamps around your mouth with a slap, hyperaware of the feet you can see walking by your office right at the bottom of your blinds. Hyperaware that anyone could still knock, have a question or need an update.

You've always been glad to have your own office, but you've never been quite so grateful now. When your legs are clasped together so tight they ache, and slick drips down your cunt.

The worst part might be that the only person that's running through your mind throughout all this is Rin.

Rin, who you've known for years. Who has been a stable friend. Who you know is attractive to the point of model-beauty, successful and busy and you're being forced to come to terms with the fact that this is not the first time you've thought of him like this. Clear blue eyes that peek past your inner thighs and lap at your cunt with so much fervor you're almost embarrassed.

You swear you can feel the tap of the tip of his tongue over your clit, the precise way it circles around that has you leaning over your desk, gripping it tight. It's a miracle you haven't made a loud enough sound to disturb. You feel the wave of your orgasm coming to you fast. How long has it been since you've had someone eat you out so vigorously? How is it so clear in your mind to the point where you can feel every movement, unpredictable even to you?

You feel a tongue lap over your clit again and again, the noise of the office outside turned background as the coil in your gut turns tight and you're keening over, coming hard in your chair, so wet you're half worried about whether it's seeped through your work clothes.

You think that's it, and then —

It gets so much worse.

You can feel something entering you, a hardened phantom-cock that slides past your wet folds with ease, every inch sinking in. You squeal behind your hand, shutting your eyes tight.

This you can't just be imagining, not when you can feel the stretch of your pussy accommodating for what's entering you. It slides back out of you just a little before pushing in even further, so big it feels like it's bullying you. You think you can almost feel the warmth radiating off of it from between your legs.

You can't help but moan when you finally reach what you think (hope) is the base, cock head pressed so deep in you that you feel stuffed full.

~

Rin half-thinks he's losing his mind, crazy with how hot and wet what is supposed to be a toy feels as he slides it over his cock. Are sex toys supposed to feel like this? It's so tight around his cock, contracting on its own, he feels like he's being pushed out. He tries to pull out just a little, only to feel like he's being sucked in instead. Like even you can't decide how you want him.

He gives in to his own temptation, pressing in despite the way it feels like a vice wrapped around his cock, and resistance gives way to slick, wetness dripping over and coating his member.

He feels dizzy with need as he presses in close, until the toy is around the whole of his cock, right at the base, the head of his cock hitting the back of it. Everything is warm and wet as he can't help the way his hips thrust up into it anyways.

~

You feel the phantom cock lodge deeper inside you even as you mentally beg to no one that you're so full, that there's no way you can take any more.

The way it fucks into you is with an intensity you've never experienced before, pressing into you over and over again. Your heart beats fast in your chest; the thrusts a little too fast, too deep to what you're used to. You want them to slow down and keep going all at once, slumping over your desk in a silent scream.

~

He imagines you in different ways, clear like sunlit water, something that both scares him and makes his dick throb. Underneath him, pressing your thighs close to your chest, slamming into you with his mouth against the column of your neck, and then lapping up your sweat in the valley between your breasts. On top of him, his hands on your waist as he brings you up and down over his cock.

All Rin can think about is how good it feels, your pussy wrapped around his cock. How you'd look under him, flushed and pretty. He wants to drop his head in the crux of your shoulder, breathe you in, listen to you moan and whine. He can feel your slick drip down his cock, how you're clenching around him so hard it makes him hiss and grit his teeth.

"Fuck," the words leave him in a heated exhale. "Gonna-"

~

The way his cock fucks into you is so pointed, something that feels like lithe fingers circling your clit until stars burst into your vision. Another heated hand feels seared to your side, pulling you down over his cock.

Your hand is wrapped around your mouth so tightly, afraid to make a noise, your breath coming hard and fast as starlight sparks up your spine, a desperate mewl leaving the back of your throat.

Hearing Rin groan next to your ear, more real than you have ever imagined before — that has you crashing hard into an orgasm.

~

Rin feels your walls get impossibly tighter around him. He wants to see you like this in reality. Wants to see if you really arch your back in exact way he's imagining, wants to press a long kiss to your lips as his hot breath pants over your skin.

Your cheek pressed against his cheek, saying his name. The details all come together. An embarrassing dream he will never admit to anyone, something as soft as his name on your lips and your skin pressed against his, enough to run him entirely speechless, making him rut into the toy, and has him spilling into it.

~

Fractured breaths make their way up your throat as you come to your senses, spell like a fog descending and dissipating into the ground.

You're in your office. You can make out the click-clacking of keyboards outside the room, light chatter, the sound of your emails coming in.

Oh, fuck. How long were you out for? You can feel the mess between your legs, your pussy both is dripping and isn't, your slick soaking your panties, damp against your inner thighs.

But somehow it's… not as much as you initially thought it was? How it felt?

Your hands find your phone before you can think it through, tapping Rin's contact, something both impulsive and natural.

~

Rin's vision finally blinks into reality, the vision of you still like a lingering dream, toy still in his hand. He touches the inside of the toy curiously, a finger tracing the inner wall.

He swears it didn't feel like that when he had his dick inside of it. It felt softer, warmer, slick with need.

Whatever. He probably just imagined it, in his insanity of want for you. He cleans the toy out and chucks it in a box, a dark hidden corner where he doesn't have to see the scam he bought ever again.

And then his phone starts buzzing.

He picks up on fifth ring, after the shock leaves his system.

"Rin?"

"Yeah." He clears his throat, gulping down the emotions he brought up just moments ago.

"Hey! Hey, um. Haha. So I get off work in like, just over an hour ish? Do you wanna- um," he swears your voice sounds almost shaky, out of breath. "Do you wanna get dinner or something? I mean, it's been a while since we met up, hasn't it? And you're like, off-season or something, right?"

Rin spins around to eye where he just threw the toy.

"Yeah." His back hits the wall behind him, a small, soft smile tilting up the corners of his mouth just slightly. "Okay."

hi hello here's the rin version! so the diff between the sae and rin versions is that rin isn't really thinking about why or how this is happening in the moment HAHA he's much more pleasure chasing than sae going what the actual hell is happening and continuing anyways :> OKAY sorry for the wait for this and i hope you enjoyed!!!

[bigsoggyboots]

miscellaneous ambessa headcannons

✮⋆˙ loves slit dresses. she believes it commands both power and respect. it reminds whoever she may be talking to that every being responds to temptation. will you be bold enough to look down or respect yourself enough to keep your gaze up?

✮⋆˙ ambessa's anger seethes and festers inside of her more often than not. she's not one to point fingers and direction blame but more or so a person who finds a petty way to make your life worse.

✮⋆˙ really likes jazz. no other reason.

✮⋆˙ believes the most romantic way to express love to your lover would be to embrace each other's nude form. showing every nook and cranny of bare skin to someone you trust is love a sign of trust beyond just kissing and hugging.

✮⋆˙ always doing something, even when her body needs rest the most. her thoughts become too loud if she's not distracted.

✮⋆˙ wears her wrinkles like a crown. age means wisdom to her and why defy the stories she could tell?

✮⋆˙ can and will check out someone. she's not ashamed of a damn thing either.

"don't be afraid, little one. you should be proud."

✮⋆˙ can only sleep in total silence. any little sound will rouse her senses. it also has to be completely dark. she's a warlord, she'll be fine if there's a sneak attack, so why bother with any sort of light source?

✮⋆˙ as a lover, she kisses your hands all the time. it may be a bit of a obsession. ask her why however, and she won't give you an answer.

✮⋆˙ loves sweets. there's probably some bag filled with milk chocolate somewhere. it's something Mel instilled into her.

✮⋆˙ probably at the age where she's beginning to loose her vision. she's ignored it since she is in the middle of a war and business needs to attended to. even if she was to squint to read certain texts.

✮⋆˙ after Mel's banishment, she begins to collect things that remind her of her children. a caramel perfume? she'll buy a box. a simple chain necklace? she'll go to the shop herself and order 10 more of those for "inspection".

✮⋆˙ definitely the type to do wine tasting. she'll take you with her to try every wine there is. she'll give you the ones she doesn't like.

"this tastes.. subpar. for red wine, i expected something richer. here, let me try yours. you seem to be nursing your drink as well."

(she'll find a way to buy all the wine bottles you enjoyed after the date is over.)

✮⋆˙ wants to own a garden one day. it's a silly distant dream she had long ago that she can never shake. ambessa knows it'll never have but sometimes, it's ok to dream of simpler times.

✮⋆˙ if you think she's the big spoon you're wrong. she doesn't do that. you both sleep facing each other, or she cradles you. no other way.

an: I'm going to basically be busy from the rest of the week up until Saturday. so, I'm putting something else out so you guys can blow up my notifications while I'm gone.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-nine: blind spot

word count: 4.4k(?)

warnings: this chapter contains mentions of drugs, weaponry, and other illegal activities. reader discretion is advised.

twenty eight | twenty nine | thirty

He kept telling himself he was doing the right thing.

Give her space. Let her breathe, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make this about you.

But it was a joke, really. Because no matter how many times he told himself to back off, Lando couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing, how she was feeling, whether she’d eaten something that could actually be considered food. Whether she’d eaten the bread still warm from the bakery or left it to go stale on the table. Whether she cried when she was alone. Whether she cried at all.

He told himself to grow up. This wasn’t some teenage crush. He had blood on his ledger, weight on his name. He ran half the city’s undercurrent from behind the veil, stitched the streets together with money and fear and brute control.

So he acted like it.

Thursday came bitter and sharp, all wind slicing through his coat as he ducked down an alley off La Rousse and into the backroom of an old tailor’s shop – a legitimate front. It was run by an elderly man named Niki who had been running the business since back in the early 1980’s, long before Monaco ever gained their nefarious Reaper. 

Lando just happened to be a loyal business partner of his – a humble young man who paid a generous amount in exchange for exclusive access to the basement of the old property. Niki had the added bonus of being a man who knew how to mind his own business.

Lando liked that in a partner.

The real business was three floors beneath—cold, concrete, and buzzing with quiet tension. His people were already gathered around the long steel table: Max Fewtrell leaning back in a chair, Logan with his arms folded, Carlos hunched over some schematics.

“News?” Lando asked, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the rack behind him.

Carlos looked up, tapping the paper with his knuckles. “Got movement near Mile End. New shipment of knockoff tech—headsets, tablets, black market shit. I say we intercept and flip it.”

Lando nodded. “Do it quiet. No fireworks. I don’t want more noise than necessary this week.”

That’s when Verstappen stepped up to inform him that the warehouse on the docks had been hit. Two of Lando’s runners had gotten picked up and one of them was singing like a songbird. To make matters worse, their local books weren’t clean— for that matter, nothing was clean— but it meant that some fool had tried to skim off the gambling profits again. 

Lando stood at the edge of the table, leaning forward on his fists as he surveyed the projected losses and the photograph evidence. With the way his sleeves were rolled up and his fists were clenched, Logan had to approach him, cutting off his train of thought.

“Mate, you have to take a breath, you're going to kill someone and then paperwork becomes my problem.”

“...Mate?”

“Boss. I meant boss. It’s, uh, a different way of pronouncing it. Yeah! Uh, French. Very French.”

The glare Lando shot him was so potent and so familiar that Logan didn’t need a language to understand it.

Shut up, Spin.

Logan sighed.

Why is it always me?

By noon, his phone buzzed with a familiar unknown number. There was no contact name, but the area code was French, and Lando was smart enough to know who would be so bold as to call him again.

Gasly.

The French always were so full of themselves.

It’d been a while since he’d heard from him. The Frenchman wasn’t one to just call up without a reason. And Lando had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat about old racing memories.

With a roll of his eyes, Lando finally answered the call, placing the call on speaker before leaning back in his chair. 

“Gasly,” Lando greeted succinctly, tone unreadable.

“Ah, now you pick up, huh? I have been trying to get your attention for some time now, Mr. Norris,” There was a slight chuckle, then a shift to seriousness. “Lando,” came the smooth, almost cocky voice on the other end. “You are busy?”

“Always,” Lando replied, his tone flat. “What do you need?”

“We should meet.”

He paused. The warehouse around him stilled.

“Where?”

“Neutral ground. Tomorrow night. Hmm, Le Voile d'Or? Not one of your places. Bring one of your own. Just one.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lando said, his voice low and cold. “But don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk all over me, Gasly.”

Gasly laughed, as if the challenge didn’t faze him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The line went dead before Lando could respond.

Bastard.

That night, Lando was back at the head of the intimate table setup in the meeting room, the dark mahogany reflecting the warm light of the ornate overhead chandelier. He folded his sleeves casually, rolling them to his elbows, his knuckles still raw but healing. Logan, Carlos, and Max Fewtrell sat with him, a fresh set of printed diagrams spread across the table—half club schematics, half distribution routes.

“He’s been running the street scene uptown with those modified imports and the fancy kid drivers,” Daniel added, leaning back. “Why would he want to fold into our operation now?”

“Because we’ve got infrastructure,” Lando said. “He’s got speed and no discipline. We’ve got routes, clean-ups, and an intel network he couldn’t build in a decade.”

Max tilted his head. “You thinking we bring him in for delivery work? Or enforcement?”

“Neither.” Lando’s jaw tightened. “We make him a runner. Use Gasly and his Garage to move product across districts fast. Street races’ll double as cover. We don’t touch the actual racin’—we let him handle that circus.”

Daniel let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

“It’s efficient,” Lando muttered. “We’ve lost two outer routes in the last month. We need speed without, like, needin’ to rebuild everythin’ from scratch.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table, rings tapping a dull rhythm on the steel. “He said his crew is fast, low-profile, and looking for more work. But I think he wants protection—someone to watch his back if things go south.”

Carlos frowned. “Could be good.”

“Could be bait,” Logan muttered.

Lando considered both. In this life, everything came with a price. 

Trust, especially.

Still, he needed to keep moving. Staying still made him think too much—about her, about that night, about the blood on her hands and how small she’d looked on his bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest, his name barely a whisper.

At least he could keep the rest of the world in order. That much, he could still control.

“He’s smart,” Max Fewtrell said, interrupting his thoughts, tracing a path from the docks through to the northern districts. “Gasly’s been running his racing ring lean. Tight crew. Fast drivers. They're ghosts, half’a the time.”

Carlos, leaning against the lockers, nodded in agreement. “They are a fast crew. Young. Aggressive, too. They know the roads better than most of our guys do. And the bikes they run with?” He let out a low whistle. “Custom-built, half of them. Perfect for the tight runs.”

“What, you trust ‘em?” Daniel half-laughed, skeptical.

“No,” Lando rolled his eyes, as if Daniel had asked some stupid, childish question. “But I don’t need to trust ‘em. I need him to know we could make each other very, very rich, ” he smiled smugly.

Logan looked up from the tablet. “Using his drivers as runners could cut our drop times in half…”

“And also draw heat,” Carlos pointed out. “They crash one car, we will lose the route and the product.”

Lando leaned back, eyes flicking over the blueprints again. 

Logan folded his arms. “ I dunno… could be useful. If we want to up our speed game, y’know.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Or it’s a setup. C’mon, I thought I was our car guy!”

Carlos only laughed.

Lando cracked his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll hear him out. He wants to meet at a neutral place, suggested Le Voile d'Or. I want two exits, working comms, and I want eyes on the building an hour before Max n’ I even step foot in it. Logan and Oscar will go tonight and set up early. Got it?”

He could feel his heart rate pick up, the adrenaline that always came with making deals like this. But at the same time, he couldn’t escape the thought that kept gnawing at him—he wasn’t doing this to move forward anymore. He was doing it to outrun what was closing in behind him.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, the shadow of the city growing darker behind him. Everything he was doing now was just a distraction. A way to ignore the fact that, no matter how many deals he made or how many punches he threw, it was never enough. 

Lando gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time to think about that. Not now.

Gasly had his attention, and that was enough for tonight.

“Yuki!” Pierre barked, stepping over a tangle of brake lines. “The NSX is still sputtering in third—didn’t I tell you to fix that two days ago?”

Yuki, crouched under the hood with grease smudged across his cheek, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, you did. And I am, but maybe if Esteban didn’t screw with the ECU mapping behind my back—”

“That was an improvement,” Esteban waved off, leaning against the wall with a bottle of water and a smug tilt to his mouth. “Unlike your tuning, which sounds like a dying blender.”

Pierre groaned, pacing past the two. “If you two can go thirty fucking seconds without pissing on each other, maybe we would have a car ready before Lando and his crew show tomorrow.”

Tucked into a half-abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city, the place didn’t look like much from the outside. But inside, rows of souped-up cars lined the walls, glittering under harsh fluorescent lights. Toolboxes clanged, beats thudded from an old speaker rigged in the corner, and the murmur of French, Japanese, and the occasional curse in English hung low in the air.

The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber hung heavy in the air, thick with adrenaline and sweat. Neon light spilled from under the cracked roll-up doors of Gasly’s Garage, casting eerie pinks and greens over the collection of customized engines and half-assembled machines inside. It looked like chaos, but every screw, wire, and rev was calculated—Pierre wouldn’t allow otherwise.

This was Gasly’s world. And tonight, he was not fucking around.

“We need to look tight,” Pierre said sharply, pacing between two low-slung Hondas with custom body kits and matte finishes. “Like… we belong in that league, same as him.”

Yuki, now crouched under the open hood of a deep purple Acura NSX, didn’t even look up. “We do belong in the same league. You just want to look prettier.”

“Prettier gets us in the room,” Pierre snapped. “The rest comes after.”

From the far side of the garage, a socket wrench clattered to the floor. Esteban straightened up, rubbing his grease-stained hands on an already filthy rag.

“I thought the whole point of us was not needing his approval,” he said, too loud on purpose. “But sure. Let us beg for Norris’s scraps. I’m sure he’ll be flattered.”

Pierre’s jaw flexed. “It’s not begging. It is business.”

Esteban gave him a look. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, mon frère.”

Yuki rolled his eyes, muttering something in Japanese that probably wasn’t flattering.

“Putain,” Pierre swore under his breath, rubbing the side of his face. “Where the fuck is Jack? Tell me the rookie isn’t late. Again.”

“He’s not late,” came Yuki’s voice, straightening up to take a step back from the hood and check his work. He was still admiring his handiwork when he plainly told Pierre, “You are just anxious.”

Pierre shot him a look. Yuki didn’t flinch, just wiped his hands on a rag and dropped the hood with a satisfying thunk, before coming to stand beside Pierre.

“I’m not anxious,” Pierre said, voice low but clipped. “I’m focused. There’s a difference.”

“You are pacing like my grandmother used to before Sunday Mass,” Yuki deadpanned.

“Your grandmother also used to smuggle hash through airport security in her rosary beads,” Esteban muttered from the side, leaned against a stack of tires with a lazy smirk. “Ah, I know! Maybe she should be running this crew instead.”

Pierre turned his head sharply. “Say that again, Ocon. I dare you.”

Esteban lifted both hands in mock surrender. “I am just saying. If Lando Norris is coming all the way down from his big castle to check us out, maybe he’s expecting more than… this shit.”

Pierre stepped toward him. Yuki, with the patience of someone who’d seen this a hundred times before, simply pulled out his vape and took a long drag.

“You think you could run this place better?” Pierre asked tightly, jaw set. “Sois mon putain d'invité.”

“Je ne veux pas de ton travail, mon pote. I just want to survive the night without you starting a pissing contest in front of a guy who could bankroll half the East District.”

“Guys,” Yuki interrupted. “Maybe focus up? If we screw this up, we lose our only shot at this.”

The hangar doors creaked open with a mechanical groan before Pierre could respond. Jack Doohan rolled in then, stepping out with a backpack slung over one shoulder, hair damp like he’d just showered in a gas station sink. His car was flashy, over-tuned, too much chrome.

“You’re late,” Pierre snapped.

“Sorry,” Jack offered with a crooked smile, dropping the bag with a thud. “Cops shut down the shortcut. Had to take the long way ‘round.”

Pierre just glared. 

Jack raised both hands. “Hey, I’m here now. What’d I miss?”

Yuki stood up, wiping car grease off his hands. “Everything important. But mostly Pierre yelling.”

Pierre shot him a warning look, cutting them off. “We’re here to make this look good. Lando Norris isn’t just some suit with a penchant for fast cars. He’s a calculated bastard. He’ll smell desperation from a mile away, so get your heads on straight.”

A beat of silence passed. The only sound was the low hum of the cars still cooling and the faint beat of music shifting to something darker.

At the back of the garage, Jack stood quietly, knuckles skinned from a rushed brake swap, eyes wide as he tried to absorb everything. This was his third week with Gasly’s crew, and it felt like a masterclass in organized madness. Pierre didn’t trust easily, but Jack had shown he wasn’t just another rich kid with a turbo’d Civic and something to prove. He listened. He learned. And most importantly, he earned his bruises.

“Oi,” Pierre called to him. “Check the tire pressure on the GTR. If we’re gonna show Lando we can move fast, we need to look like we live at 300 kph.”

Jack nodded immediately, wiping his hands on his jeans before jogging over to the corner.

The Garage was more than just their base—it was sacred ground. A Frankenstein’s lab of torque and tension. The walls were lined with old race trophies and Polaroids: half the people in them long gone, half still hanging on by blood, rivalry, or debt.

“You have got two hours,” he said instead. “We meet Lando and his guy at midnight sharp, comprendre?”

Esteban crossed his arms. “And what do we do when Lando starts asking questions we can’t answer? You think he is just going to just hand over his distribution lines because we brought him pretty toys?”

“No,” Pierre said. “I think he’ll listen if we show him we’ve got speed, discipline, and something he doesn’t. He knows this city better than anyone — but we know the streets. Every alley, every cop rotation, every crew too young or too desperate to turn legit. That’s what we offer.”

Jack looked around, cracking his knuckles. “You, uh, think they’ll bring Spin?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think so. Lando doesn’t let anyone talk for him.”

“Except the Fewtrell boy,” Pierre muttered. “That’s his second, from what I hear.”

Esteban snorted. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Yuki closed the RX-7’s hood with a clang. “Why are we even trying so hard with this guy? You know he doesn’t play well with others.”

Pierre shot him a look. “Because Lando Norris doesn’t just run a syndicate—he is the syndicate. We get this deal, we stop bleeding cash on side bets and finally start –how they say– playing in the big leagues.”

“And if he says no?” Esteban asked, too casually.

“Then we make him say yes.” Pierre’s voice was calm, too calm.

Yuki exhaled, long and low. “You always say that before something explodes.”

“That’s because something always does,” Pierre grinned, flashing gold where his canine used to be. “Now get the hell to work. Tomorrow’s not just a meeting. It’s our audition.”

With that, Pierre was already walking toward his own car — a sleek silver Nissan GT-R with a cobalt blue underglow, hood up, engine gutted and humming as his crew fine-tuned every detail. He stood there for a moment, one hand resting on the roof.

This had to go right.

Because Gasly’s Garage wasn’t just a bunch of kids racing for pink slips anymore – not since the money started moving, not since the bets turned serious. Not since the first time someone crashed, and the body disappeared before sunrise.

They were in it now. And Lando Norris — the Reaper himself — was the next step.

So yeah, they’d play nice. 

For now.

But only because they planned to run this city one day.

And when they did?

They’d remember exactly who looked down on them.

The chosen meeting, an unconstructed club called Le Voile d'Or was nothing more than a skeleton — steel beams, concrete floors, and open air where the ceiling should’ve been. No neon signs, no thumping bassline. Just construction tape fluttering in the breeze and the sound of sawdust spreading about. Lando liked it that way. No distractions. No corners to hide in.

The meet was set for midnight.

He arrived at 11:43, naturally. Max was already pacing near the car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“They’re not here yet,” Max muttered, eyes scanning the lot. “You sure this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s always a trap,” Lando said evenly, pulling off his gloves as he stepped onto the gravel. “S’why we lay ours first.”

Oscar was already in position. Rooftop a block out, four floors up, a clean sightline, silencer on. One text and he could stop a heartbeat mid-sentence.

Logan had swept the perimeter earlier — camera blind spots mapped, back exits sealed, with Daniel and Verstappen posted by the service stairs. With Carlos positioned near the front entrance, nothing got in or out without them knowing.

Still, Lando’s eyes never stopped moving. Even in this hollow, half-built ruin, he was all edges. Sharp jaw, sharper gaze. His coat moved like a shadow when he walked, his boots steady and deliberate. You could tell just by looking at him: he wasn’t here to negotiate unless he wanted to.

11:56.

The hum of tuned engines echoed off the walls before the headlights appeared — three cars, low and fast, cutting through the dark. One was black with a burnt-pink stripe. The other, a silver Nissan, purred like a threat.

Gasly stepped out first. He didn’t hurry – he didn’t have to. He had that swagger particular to people who knew they were dangerous in ways others hadn’t even figured out yet. Yuki emerged just behind him — shorter, tenser, but clearly not a sidekick. Not with the way he scanned the site like he was already calculating escape routes.

Pierre approached with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, giving the Brit a once over. “Is that a gun? Or you are just happy to see me?”

Lando raised a brow. “Only as happy as you are,” he shot back, pointing his gaze to the handgun tucked into the band of Pierre’s baggy jeans.

Pierre chuckled. “Ah, touché.”

Max stayed silent behind Lando, eyes locked on Yuki, who looked like he might pull a knife just for fun. He made a point to stretch, the lifting of his jacket enough to show off the gun tucked in his own pocket, even if he couldn’t spot one on Pierre’s second. Tension crackled beneath the false politeness — a quiet understanding that everyone here had killed someone, directly or not.

Still, they went through the motions.

“Gasly,” Lando greeted.

“Norris.”

They shook hands — cool, quick, firm. No warmth.

“I hear you’re looking to expand,” Pierre said, tone smooth. “And I hear you’ve had trouble keeping up with demand lately.”

Lando didn’t react. “You offering t’help or just here to gloat?”

Pierre smiled. “Help, of course. I’ve got roads you don’t. Drivers you haven’t met. Eyes in places your boys would never pass unnoticed. You’re good at staying clean. I’m better at staying untraceable.”

Max Fewtrell looked over at Lando, unimpressed. Lando reflected that same look back to Gasly.

“Did you call me here just to make y’self feel nice, or do you actually have something f’me?

Gasly chuckled. “I have been thinking. You know how we used to roll together, back in the day? The racing, the high stakes? I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Lando unbuttoned the front of his suit, leaning against a makeshift table as he stared up at the Frenchman with a look that told to get on with it quickly. Lando Norris didn’t take kindly to have his time wasted, especially by posh wannabes looking to be somebodys.

“Go on.”

“I’ve got a network, a big one – street racers, quiter routes, plenty of guys who know not to play by the rules.” He glanced over at Yuki, who nodded, before he continued with his pitch. “We’ve got the runners, the cars, the cash flow, but we’re looking for someone who can push things, make it worth the risk. And you… well, you’ve got a reputation.”

Pierre had slowly been making his way closer to where the two Reaper boys were standing, and it was making Max antsy. Gasly saw Max’s hand twitch for his handgun and laughed, waving him off. “We are old friends here, non? No need for such things.” 

Within moments, Lando’s mind clicked over the options. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d been looking for: leverage, power, control. A street racing ring under his influence meant more money, more influence, more control of the territories he was still trying to solidify. Gasly could help him gain an edge over rival crews who were too weak to understand how to play the long game.

“I’m… listening,” Lando muttered carefully.

“There’s potential in this for both of us, Lando. We can talk the bigger numbers when you agree. But you and I, we’ve always worked well together. Let us make something bigger than just a few races, hmm? Let us make it profitable for both of us.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. He could hear the pitch—Gasly was selling the idea of partnership, but he was also a businessman. If Lando played his cards right, this could open doors for all sorts of opportunities. But he had to be careful. Gasly was clever, slippery. And Lando wasn’t sure he trusted the guy enough to dive in without a second thought.

“And in return? Somehow I get the feelin’ you’re not doin’ this out of the goodness of you heart,” Max asked.

“Product. Routes. A seat at the table. Not the whole table — I know who I’m talking to.” Pierre tilted his head, smiling. He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “But… perhaps a slice.”

Yuki stepped forward, holding out a tablet with a map — color-coded, clean, and too detailed for Lando’s liking. Lando didn’t touch it. He simply nodded for Max to take it.

“I’ll have someone vet it,” he said.

“Of course,” Pierre replied. “And if you don’t like what you see?”

Lando met his gaze. “I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”

The air held its breath for a moment.

Then Pierre smiled again. “I always like a man who’s polite when he threatens me.”

“Oh no, I’m not threatening,” Lando said, his smile sickly sweet. “Yet.”

Pierre laughed. Yuki didn’t, his eyes flitting between the two Brit’s momentarily.

One mistake, and it could all fall apart.

They talked numbers next — shipments, timing, how many people were on Pierre’s crew, what kind of muscle they had, whether they had clean fronts or needed cover. Pierre answered everything easily, like he’d been rehearsing for this moment.

Lando noticed it,  clocked it, but didn’t call it out.

Pierre’s boys had made their pitch, and Lando—cool, unreadable, two steps ahead as always—had picked it apart and rebuilt it in his favor. On paper, they’d be allies. In reality, Gasly’s Garage would be working under him without realizing it. Lando had danced circles around sharper men. Pierre might’ve been slick, but Lando was surgical.

He slid his hands into his coat pockets, posture relaxed. Beside him, Max gave the faintest nod, as if to say we’ve got this. Across the concrete skeleton of the unfinished club, Pierre was still talking—something about logistics, runners, trust but Lando had mostly stopped listening by then.

They’d already won. His work here was done.

But he let Pierre talk anyway, because letting a man believe he’s in control is often the final stroke in tightening the noose.

By the time they finished, the night had shifted — the air less hostile, the power still clear but… tentative. Like everyone had shown their cards, but kept a few aces tucked into their sleeves.

Yuki appeared more closed off, standing more like a protective Doberman by Pierre’s side, while it was Pierre who approached so he and Lando could shake on it..

“Looking forward to working with you, Lando.”

“We’ll see,” Lando said. His designer shoe clacked against the concrete underneath as he too took a step closer, and then—

“Lando—”

Two clicks sounded before Oscar’s voice crackled to life in his ear – urgent and out of breath.

Why was he out of breath?

Lando barely had enough time to wonder when Max looked at him with a matching expression of realization.

“It’s an ambush! You guys need to get out, now!”

a/n: yippee! a new chapter, and some new (familiar) faces! what do we think?

[emoisthenewemu]

YUTA OKKOTSU SMAU SERIES

SUMMARY: It seems like everyone is beginning to catch on to your lovely stalker, everyone except you of course.

TEXT AT THE BOTTOM!

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

。。。・゜★

Later on in the evening you walk to the convenience store for a late night snack run with the girls, Yuta finds himself rushing to see you. He was right—Gojo went on forever about the responsibilities of being a special grade, how the higher-ups expect sorcerers these days to act nonhuman, the way they are treated as weapons. It felt more like a therapy session than anything, clearly the white haired man was going through some stuff and Yuta just figures that he trusts his student enough to talk about it. He does appreciate the sentiment, although he would be lying if he said he listened to most of it. More than half of that time was spent thinking about you.

He feels like something bad is going to happen, chest heavy with guilt. The teen is no stranger to anxiety but lately it has all been so much worse. He's not sure if It's the constant lying is getting to him or if it's all the missions. He has nightmares, people question the bags under his eyes but no one knows the things he has seen. But you, you are his escape.

Perhaps that is too much pressure to put on a person, especially one he cannot admit his feelings to. If only you knew just how much he cared. 

The second thing on his mind was the phone. The stupid phone he threw out the window and has not seen since. It has to be somewhere on Toge's person. He'll find it, that's what matters. And speak of the devil, he happens to run into Toge—who is exiting Itadori's room with Panda.

Meanwhile Itadori is trying to make more room for everyone to get comfortable-throwing random crap in the closet and shuffling everything around. Megumi watches judgmentally.

"You invite everyone over and you didn't even clean your room?" He scoffs.

"I honestly thought no one would show up"

Thud! Something falls from Toge's bag, a phone with no case and no screen protector—it's all cracked up.

"Jeez what the hell is this?" Yuji picks up the device. "What business does Inumaki have carrying two phones around" Megumi grumbles, too disinterested to give an answer. Until Yuji gasps. "Do you...think he's selling drugs?"

"What? No, you idiot!"

"Well then for what?" Yuji unlocks the phone with ease, no passcode necessary. He laughs, immediately going to the messages.

Yet he only finds two message threads, one of the contact names reads 'Gojo Sensei'. Okay, makes sense. But the other one reads far more peculiar; Angel. Clicking on it shamelessly he is met with weeks worth of texts, he giggles, figuring Inumaki has a secret girlfriend or something. Oh, they are sooo about to clown on him. However the more he scrolls the more he realizes who this Angel person may be. Throw in the regular use of the word 'stalker' and creep, and it is all starting to click.

The pink haired boy gasps again, this time more dramatically. "Oh my god!"

"What?" Finally, Megumi's interest is peaked.

"Inumaki is yn's stalker!"

"What? There's no way!" Fushiguro stands up from his spot on Yuji's bed—grabbing the phone to see for himself. "I.....thought it was Okkotsu.." He admits, a bit discouraged that he was wrong for once. He thought it was quite obvious actually. Yuji nods in agreement.

"Put it away before he comes back!" Itadori tries to snatch it back.

The door flies open, it looks as if Inumaki was pushed through it. Megumi and Itadori are caught like a deer in headlights, Okkotsu shoves Toge to the side rather aggressively. He looks mad. The first years look...guilty. They avoid eye contact for reasons unknown. Itadori's hands are stuck behind his back, almost like he is hiding something. Yuta's eyes dart down to the unzipped backpack, he looks back up at them. They are practically having a conversation with their eyes, Yuji's eyebrows furrow—very obviously confused, Megumi gives nothing as always.

Toge cannot help but notice that Yuji seems to be holding something. He pulls his scarf down. "Show me your hands".

Thud! The phone hits the floor as Itadori extends his arms out, Panda gasps.

"Ohh shit" He laughs much to the dismay of Yuta who picks the phone up in one swift motion, careful to hold it away from Toge.

"What did you see?" Okkotsu questions.

"Nothing!"

"You're yn's stalker" Megumi deadpans, the complete opposite of his friend who is currently sweating bullets.

Toge laughs, squeezing by his stunned friend who is frozen in his place. He pats Megumi on the shoulder, a sly smile on his face. Panda finds himself a seat, very obviously amused with the situation. "So glad this is all out in the open now" He breathes a sigh of relief. "All this lying stresses me out"

"Stressing you out?" Yuta groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Imagine how I feel"

"Why don't you just tell her?" Yuji queries.

"Yeah, tell her you're a weird stalker. That'll go well" Megumi scoffs. "What were you thinking Okkotsu?"

"I wasn't thinking" He shakes his head, thinking back to that fateful day. For some reason, it all seemed like such a good idea back then. But now, looking back he thinks that maybe he is his own worst enemy. You seem to like him, the real him—without any strange text messages. You would probably be so hurt to know that he is actively lying to you every chance he gets.

"I'm gonna tell her"

"What? No you're not!"

"Tell who what?" Maki raises an eyebrow, Nobara and yourself in tow-all clutching bags of snacks.

"Yeah! Tell who what?" You chime in, unaware that it was Okkotsu he was speaking to in the first place. You plop yourself on the bed next to Toge, handing him his treats from the store. "Don't be lame! Tell us!"

Yuji and Megumi look at each other, clearly undecided on if they should tell you the truth or not. However, Yuji figures now might not be the most perfect time. You are happy, looking forward to a night of fun with your friends, he'd hate to ruin that. "Uhh we were just sayin' how pissed Nobara is gonna be when she finds out we're watching Human Earthworm again"

"Ugh NO!" The girl gripes. "I have seen that piece of crap enough already! Please don't make me sit through it again!"

"I'm not watching that dumb shit" Maki scoffs, grabbing the remote from the bedside table to shuffle through the movie titles. "I'll choose something"

"I like it" You pout, they look at you as if you are crazy. "It's campy and funny!...you wouldn't get it" You sigh.

"See! This girl knows what she's talking about!" Yuji says a bit too enthusiastically, giving you a friendly side hug. "You're a real one yn, don't ever forget that" He gives your shoulder a squeeze as you look up at him, offering up the bag of chips he asked for.

It is that moment that Itadori suddenly becomes aware of the harsh glare coming from Okkotsu, almost grimacing as his eyes remain stuck on where the two of you touch. He gets the message, letting go of you quickly—putting his hands up so that way the special grade could see them. Mouthing a 'sorry'.

Yuta was unaware that he failed to hide his distaste, silently scolding Yuji to put his hands down. This is exactly why he did not tell him, the boy does not have a smooth bone in his body. Okkotsu looks around as everyone makes themselves comfortable, you pat the spot on the bed beside you, beckoning him over. He gladly accepts, painfully aware of the way all of the guys are staring at him. This is going to be a disaster of a night, in this moment he does not trust any of them to keep his secret.

"Heyy" Your soft voice snaps him out of hit, you speak low enough that he is the only one who hears. "Missed you"

He chuckles nervously, immediately feeling his heartbeat speed up. "Yeah?" He asks earnestly, he cannot comprehend that fact that you think of him in situations he has no control over. He wishes to know what you say about him when he is not around.

"Mhm" You nod, giving your best smile. Somehow, you have grown more confident in your 'flirting' abilities. You no longer doubt every little thing you say, he makes you feel comfortable—like you can be yourself. Who knew that being yourself and turning him into a blushing mess would coincide? "Was thinking about you today"

He chokes on his spit. "Thinking about what?"

"Nothing too crazy" You shrug. "Just how nice you are"

He laughs softly. "Well uh thank you...m'glad you think that" Yuta is suddenly aware of how close the two of you are sitting, faces dangerously close to one another. He knows you are only leaning in to hear him better over the loud chatter of your friends, but another part wonders if you are doing it so he can stare at your plump lips (which he definitely was not doing). "And however much you missed me...I probably missed you more"

You giggle, breaking eye contact finally. Only to look over at Nobara who silently claps enthusiastically at the interaction. You are thankful his back is facing her. "What's there to miss?"

"A lot of stuff" He speaks honestly, you consume his mind most days, especially as of late. It is an annoying itch which cannot be scratched, a part of him thinks that maybe it is a bad thing to act like such a lovestruck fool. But then again he would not have the pleasure of knowing you, so he will take his chances. He is clearly lost in thought thinking of any example possible but all he can focus on is the sweet smell of your perfume. "Got such a pretty face....think about that a lot"

You giggle again, looking away and hiding your face—obviously not expecting an answer like that. You almost feel embarrassed.

That feeling soon doubles when Panda shushes the two of you as he turns the lights off. "You two! Quit flirting, the movie's about to start!"

If it had not been for the lights being out, you would have immediately caught notice of the boy's reddened cheeks at the sudden call out. Yet he does not stop that from making himself comfortable, soon lying down and even sharing a blanket with you. Your friends tease the two of you but you ignore the comments, an occasional 'shut up' when someone decides to bring it up again.

That doesn't stop him from holding your hand beneath the blanket either.

。。。・゜★

It is pretty late when the group decides to wrap things up, Maki and Nobara are unsurprisingly the first ones to go, seeing as they were not too keen on joining in the first place. They ask if you want to just head back with them so you do not have to walk by yourself. Okkotsu (of course) takes it upon himself to say that he will make sure you get back to your dorm safe. So you wait for him out in the hall as he argues with Toge about something you aren't too sure about. Honestly, you're too tired to care—a yawn escapes your lips as you rub your eyes lazily.

Yuuji and Megumi come walking out, both of them freeze when they spot you out there alone. Yuji already told himself he was not going to spill the beans. He wants to redeem himself seeing as there was definitely a reason Yuta chose to keep this information from him. Both Megumi and Nobara have told him how terrible he is at keeping secrets before so it's really no surprise to him. Megumi however, feels as if he is morally obligated to tell you the truth. His arms are crossed as he fights with that voice inside his head telling him to just say it.

The last thing he wants is to get involved in this mess, truly. But he cannot help but think that he would do it for any one of his friends, and you would likely do it for him too. No one deserves to be lied to. "Hey yn! Gotta tell you something" He calls out.

You look up from your phone that you were previously scrolling on to kill your boredom.

"L-later guys I'm going to bed" Yuji shuts his door behind him.

You find yourself standing there with Megumi, who stares at you blankly. You can never get a read on him, he's friendly enough. Just so painstakingly quiet that you feel like you have not connected much with him. "Yeah?"

The door suddenly opens, Itadori ushering the rest of his guests out before slamming it behind him hurriedly. Yuta notices the way the two of you are stood there, talking about something—hopefully not him. He picks up his pace a bit, purposefully bumping into Megumi's arm to catch his attention.

Fushiguro looks at him, eyes narrowing in pure judgement. He wants to call him pathetic for not having the balls to just be honest with you. Looking back at you, he sighs, finally accepting the decision to just let it be. Not get himself involved in something that is clearly not any of his business. "I was just wondering if you still have that book I lent you, need it for an assignment"

You gasp softly. "Ohh yeahhh! My bad, I totally forgot I had it. We can meet up tomorrow so I can give it back!"

"Don't worry about it" He dismisses. "But uh sounds good, see you tomorrow"

"Bye Fushiguro!" You wave the boy goodbye as he turns heel back to his dorm.

Yuta breathes a sigh of relief. It felt like he was holding it in all that time. Well, it still kind of feels that way. He walks you home, the two of you talk about nothing important; how school was, plans for the weekend, updates on your stalker. You're about halfway through when his fingers brush against yours, seemingly asking for something without using words. You're going on about some show Nobara watches that you just cannot get imto, he laughs as you imitate the ridiculous dialogue between the characters. His fingers find their place with yours, softly intertwining them together. Neither of you acknowledge it except for a shy smile from both sides.

And when you arrive at your dorm he gives a tender hug, mumbling in your ear about how he'd like to see you this weekend if that's okay with you. You give him a kiss on the cheek before slipping into your room.

Neither of you acknowledge that either.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

TAGLIST: @loveyislost @ravenbc @practicoi @chiefinvestigatoremma @gradmacoco @yuzurixx @isuckatmakingnames @pumpkintoad @digitaltrippers @sexylexy12 @sttaejoon-blog @galactacium @kekeanna266 @jfbwiwndinrkaidbrnskzhr @2dmenfr @love-me-satoru @kaidostwin @timascorner @artsjiwoo @underlinedkasis @lightbluefog

LMK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

[bloomzone]

📍. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

It’s finaaaaaal tiiiiiime 🙆🏻‍♀️ cooked ikr , students with finals in May or June, this is your sign.If you’ve been slacking, if you’re behind, or if finals are creeping up way too fast, now’s the time to get serious. This is the Marathon Challenge your chance to lock in, focus, and finish strong. No more waiting, no more excuses.It’s time to show up, get your grind on, and make these next few weeks count. You’ve got this. Let’s go.

as alwwwaaaays let's start with ..

💡 What You Need to Succeed

Success doesn’t wait for the perfect conditions it shows up when you do. If you want to save ur GPA if you want to be proud of yourself this year, it starts now in the smallest actions you repeat every day, like sitting at your desk and deciding, “I’m not giving up on myself today.”You need a clean space that signals: this is my focus zone. Not your bed. Not the couch. Set up your desk with intention. Have your notebooks, pens, highlighters, water, flashcards, sticky notes, and past papers ready. These are your weapons. Make sure everything you need is within reach so your study time isn’t spent standing up every five minutes to look for something. Little habits like that are what kill your flow.Now about your subjects. You’re not just going to study randomly. You need to learn how to handle each kind. Theory subjects? Use repetition, write summaries, and test yourself after reading. Don’t just re-read—recall. Problem-solving subjects? Practice. You can’t just understand you have to do. Solve, mess up, understand why, and do it again. Languages? Daily input. Speak, listen, write. Mix passive learning with active production. You won’t master anything overnight, but with 20–30 minutes daily, you’ll build real progress.And you’re going to rotate. Don’t do ten things at once. One or two subjects per session is enough (go down the blog !) . Block out time for each make sure your day includes focused study, lighter review, and time for your brain to rest. Don’t wait to be in the “right mood” to start. Make it a routine. You’re not cramming you’re preparing. Show up at the same time every day if you can. Even one hour done right is better than five hours of distractions.And don’t ignore your energy. This is not just about studying but also sleep move your body eat real food ! . Take 10-minute walks. You won’t retain anything if your brain is fried. You are not a machine you are a student And that dream in ur heart is worth fighting for. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be consistent. You just need to get up again, every time you slip. That’s how we win.

🔴 Things You Need to Avoid

The biggest danger in this challenge isn’t your exams. It’s you. The part of you that keeps saying, “later.” The part of you that scrolls for 20 minutes, then pretends you don’t know where your time went. DELETE SOCIAL MEDIA You have to protect yourself from your own distractions. Don’t keep your phone near you when you’re studying. Put it away. Far. Turn off notifications. You don’t need to see what your friends are doing every second. You don’t need to answer every message instantly. You’re in focus mode now. Not everything is urgent. And don’t mistake “being busy” for “being productive.” You can highlight pages for hours and still not learn a thing. Passive studying doesn’t work. Reading your notes ten times without testing yourself is not the same as knowing them. Don’t lie to yourself. You need to use the knowledge, not just collect it.Avoid multitasking. It splits your brain. Study one subject at a time. Fully. Then switch. And avoid unrealistic goals. Don’t try to study six subjects in one day because you feel behind it won’t work sweetheart. You’ll burn out, feel guilty, and start again tomorrow feeling worse. Be honest about what you can do today, and actually do it.Also, don’t fall into the “perfect plan” trap. Some people spend more time rewriting their planners than actually studying. Make a plan, yes. But start. Progress happens when you move. It doesn’t matter if the page isn’t aesthetic. It matters if you learned something.Avoid comparing. Some people will always seem ahead. That’s not your lane. You don’t know their story, and their success doesn’t take away from yours. Focus on your own page, your own pace. Avoid toxic productivity the kind that shames you for taking breaks. Rest is part of the work. And please don’t joke about failing because you’re scared of trying. That fear is loud, but it’s not stronger than your effort.And avoid giving up just because the first semester didn’t go your way. Maybe your grades were bad. Maybe you gave up halfway. Maybe you feel ashamed. But guess what? The year isn’t over. Your comeback can start today. Don’t let the fear of failing stop you from even trying. You still have time to make yourself proud. You still have time to change your story.

Let's cb !!

Step 1 : Understand What You’re Facing (Take 1 day)

Before anything, you need to know what you’re dealing with.

Sit down with a notebook or blank doc this sooooo important, ask:

✒️ How many subjects am I preparing for?

✒️ What type is each subject? (theory, problem-solving, or language-based)

✒️ Do I still have school during the week?

✒️ How many hours a day can I realistically study, including weekends?

✒️ When do my finals start?

This step is private. No one needs to see it. It’s just you being honest with yourself and even if the answer is like “I barely remember anything” that’s still a starting point. And starting is enough.

Step 2 : Divide Your Time Into Weeks

Let’s imagine you have about 5 to 6 weeks until finals (this is random) . That’s what this challenge is built around. If you have more or less time, you can shift things.

We’ll divide your time like this:

Week 1–2: Review + Build (this is where you catch up, organize, and lock in )

Week 3–4: Practice + Recall (this is when you get into past papers, self-testing, and applying knowledge)

Week 5–6: Polish + Prep (this is your final push: reviewing weak areas, final practice, and rest)

WEEK 1–2: REVIEW + BUILD

This is where you:

Review all your materials slowly

Study from the beginning or wherever your school started teaching from

Organize everything into one clean system (digital folders, notebooks, binders, anything)

Begin your study blocks (pomodoro 50 min rest 10 )

Choose:

2 to 3 subjects per day (depending on your energy and schedule)

At least one theory subject

At least one problem-solving subject

And if you’re doing a language, add that on lighter days

Start by studying in blocks:

45–50 minutes of deep focus

10–15 minute break

Do 3 to 6 blocks a day depending on your life (school , tuition , work ... )

If you’re tired and have school do 2 blocks after school. That’s enough to stay in the race.

If it’s the weekend or you’re free aim for 5 or more.

During this time, focus on:

📓 Understanding big ideas

📓 Taking clean notes (you can use handwritten, typed, flashcards, voice memos whatever works for your brain)

📓 Fixing the messy gaps in your learning

WEEK 3–4: PRACTICE + RECALL

This is where it gets more intense but in a focused way, not a stressful way.

Now that you’ve studied the chapters or lessons at least once, it’s time to:

Test what you remember

Practice doing actual questions

Go deeper into weak spots

For theory subjects:

Try writing practice answers without looking at your notes

Explain concepts out loud or to someone else

Review your notes by testing, not just rereading

For problem-solving subjects:

Do practice practice practice!! sets and time yourself

Review mistakes carefully and do them again

Focus on how to think through problems, not just memorize solutions

For languages:

Review vocab using spaced repetition

Practice reading, writing, or grammar drills

Speak or record yourself if possible (even for 5 minutes a day)

The goal here is application don’t get stuck rereading your notes a million times. You learn best by doing.

If your schedule is full, keep rotating:

Weekdays: 2 subjects a day + light review

Weekends: 3–4 subjects with deeper practice

WEEK 5–6: POLISH + PREP

Now you're not learning anything new. You're reviewing what you already studied. You're sharpening your skills. You're preparing your brain.

This is the time for:

Final mock exams (once or twice per subject, if you can)

Summarizing weak topics

Creating a “quick revision sheet” per subject (like 1–2 pages max, to look at before the exam)

If you're exhausted cut the time, not the intention. Do 2 hours of deep study instead of 5 hours stressed.

That’s your marathon.

You:

Walk in slow with Weeks 1–2

Level up with action in Weeks 3–4

Lock it in with focus in Weeks 5–6

REMEMBER 💌

You can do this. Whether you have weeks left, whether you're ahead or behind this is your challenge to take, and you have everything you need inside of you.Don’t get caught up in comparing your journey to others. Forget about following every single plan you see online. Some might work for you, but some won’t. You know your rhythm better than anyone else. You know what feels right for you. So build your own plan , tailor it to what works for YOU. Don’t worry about the perfect schedule; just make it real for your life. Maybe you’ve got 10 subjects to tackle. Start with the hardest ones, the ones that are worth the most marks. That’s where your focus should be.Don’t let panic take over. I know it’s easy to feel overwhelmed when you think about the mountain of work ahead believe me, I’m in this with you. I’ve got finals in May, too, and I can’t even count how many subjects I have. Nine? More? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we show up every day. We keep going. And if you haven’t started studying yet, don’t panic. It’s not too late. We have the internet, we have YouTube there are endless resources waiting for you. So, search. Watch lessons. Take notes. Organize your timetable. But always remember: You’re doing this to learn, not just to pass.And don’t forget the small stuff always have a water bottle with you, take breaks, and don’t feel guilty about those breaks. They’re necessary for your focus. The marathon is long, and you need your energy to stay in the game.You’re not alone. We all have those nerve-wracking finals coming the separate tables, the silence, the pressure. But don’t let that fear stop you. You’re capable. You’re strong. You can handle this. Just take it one step at a time. Organize, plan, focus. And, most importantly believe in yourself.

You’ve got this. I believe in you.

Let's finish strong together !

@bloomzone

[star-5truck]

Your relationship with Alexis Ness was close to perfect if you do say so yourself. Arguments, decision making, date reschedules? No matter what happened, at the end of the day, you and Ness still loved each other to the moon and back. You knew you were lucky when you started to date him because as much as you hate to admit it, Alexis Ness loved you more than you could ever love him.

Ness was doting, paying attention to every little detail about you. He knew you better than anyone and that was something he took immense pride in. Your favorite color, your habits, hell, he even knew your sleep schedule. So it’s safe to say that when one day when he doesn’t get any notification from you, it scares him. 

He’d left early for practice that morning, and when that happens you usually send him a ‘good morning’ text. Yet when he checked his phone during break, nothing. No text, no stupid TikTok, not anything. It’s completely normal, he assures himself, but it’s you we’re talking about. You were never off your phone, after all. Rude, he knows, but it’s the truth and he loves you either way. 

When practice comes to an end and his phone is still quiet (it’s actually filled with notifications, but not the one he wants) he’s outright overthinking. Do you hate him? Was he not worthy of your time anymore? Oh the questions could go on.

He arrives at your shared apartment and is already hyperventilating before he even gets opens the door. He walks in and you’re not in the living room, which is typical. He finds you in the bedroom, hunched over your table so engrossed in something. This somehow makes his thoughts worse. You weren’t asleep, clearly wide awake, so why the lack of updates from you?

He walks over and wraps his arms around your waist, settling his chin on your shoulder. You’re aware of his presence now as you stop whatever you’re doing. “Welcome home, baby. Practice hard today?” You asked with the sweet voice that Ness adored.

He simply hummed, it was always hard being away from you, anyway. “Are you mad at me, liebling?” 

You furrow your brows, turning your head to look at him. “Mad? Why do you ask?”

He thinks before he speaks this time. It’s honestly embarrassing to admit that he wants a notification from you. “Just asking. Seems like you were ignoring me this morning.”

You don’t reply to him, opening your phone then your chats with him. You make a small ‘oh’ sound as you realize that your lover is correct. “Sorry baby, I was busy. And must’ve forgot.” You tell him as you give him a kiss on the cheek. “I promise I’d never ignore you.”

Ness relaxes at that, right, you were just busy. He should’ve took that into account. You speak up again, putting his undivided attention onto you. “You really pay attention to those things?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He says as if its fact. And you simply giggle before telling him to go change.

You forget that your boyfriend overthinks every little thing. You don’t mind giving reassurance, reading him that you love him unconditionally. Because in a world full of 'boys will be boys', Alexis Ness gives you nothing but the best.

[readerihardlyknowher]

In Every Universe | Pt. 2

Two in one day? Whodda thunk it.

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: Terrible southern and australian accents in writing WC: 1,669

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

“What’s up!” Amanda’s character, Edwin O’brien introduces himself. They’re back in the next generation of the Legacy: Betrayal series. Unfortunately, both Chanse and Shayne were unavailable today for shooting, so you and Spencer had to step in. You were given about an hour to come up with your characters before the video started, and once it did, you were incredibly nervous. It wasn’t that you’d never played TTRPGs before, but rather your first time doing so in front of a camera. But nevertheless, she persisted. You sit in Shayne’s chair next to Amanda, watching as she finishes up her intro and her turn, before it’s now Spencer’s. He’s dressed in a cowboy outfit, topped with a cowboy hat, which he tips before speaking.

“My name is Johnny Whittmore. I’m here on account of my city dwellin’ brother, Hugh, on account of his melanomas.” Everyone at the table eyes him curiously, breaking a little towards the end of his intro. Spencer/Johnny go on to poke fun at city-folks and create a general hostile energy, before taking his turn. The camera pans to you next as you begin your intro in a thick, and poorly done, Australian accent.

“Crikey mate, that’s a sad sad man right there. My name is Margot Brawne, I’m here because me uncle, Clyde, passed away a few years ago ‘ere, and my dear ol’ dad wanted me to solve it because I’m an unwed daughtah.” Your intro makes the cast groan and laugh at the poor accent and high-energy character to match Amanda’s. Spencer, however, does not break character and instead shakes his head as he stares you down.

“These goddamn city folk always tryna dig around in other people’s business.” His serious delivery makes you huff out a laugh and respond in character. “Sorry mate, I ain’t a real city folk. I grew up wrestlin’ crocks and grillin’ shrimp on the barbie.” To this he nods a few times and turns his glare to Angela’s character. “See, now that’s what a real woman should look like.” 

“Hey! Don’t talk to my wife like that!” Amanda shouts. You laugh at this, before it’s Angela’s turn to introduce herself and her renewed character. The whole time your eyes keep wandering over to Spencer in his cowboy outfit, as well as his freshly trimmed beard. You can’t deny how handsome he looks, especially with that accent. It brings you back to a few months ago, when you both talked to an Arthur Morgan chatbot and you confessed your crush on the cowboy. You get caught in your staring when Spencer turns his head to you, shooting you a glare that makes your cheeks burn. His accent comes out strong when he says, “what’re you lookin’ at, woman?” You laugh to cover up your embarrassment at being caught staring with everyone now looking at you.

“Shit mate, didn’t mean to stare. Guess I just got caught up in that strange apparel you’ve got on there. Looks mighty fine on you though, I have to say,” you finish with a wink. It manages to make Spencer break, his iconic laugh spilling out as Amanda, Angela and Damien all “ooh” you both. He pulls himself back together with a cough.

“Well, little lady. Can’t say you’re the first to catch a taste of us country folk. We’re refined, unlike these fuckin’ city folk.” He shoots another glare to Angela and Amanda, who begin to yell at him. Amidst the chaos, you turn and look at the camera with wide eyes.

“This fella is rude and a little arousing. Not sure how to feel about that,” you snicker out, making Amanda smack your arm in retaliation as she shouts “Hey!” at you. You shoot her a confused glare because she has said far worse, and not playing a character. Angela shouts a little before it’s her turn to play, making the laughter die down some more.

That’s one thing relieving about working at Smosh, how on camera, none of it feels like work. It’s just hanging out with your friends, playing games, and having fun. Well, you do have to change the tone a little bit, make things more entertaining for the audience, but that’s not too difficult after many years of practice. Definitely your on-screen continued romances with Spencer and his characters has been one of the most infamous things you’re known for. You’re not remiss to the youtube comments, the tiktok thirst traps/ship edits Courtney sends you, but you’re also not too put off by them. Spencer has been your guy for forever, you both know how much chemistry you have both on screen and off screen, it’s why he’s your best friend. Even if you have to ignore the rush of blood whenever you see those edits.

“Margot!” Amanda’s voice breaks your thoughts. “It’s your turn, little lady!” You shake your head of the thoughts and begin to move your character throughout the rooms of the manor, discovering a new one. You hear Angela’s voice speak up next.

“Sweetie, don’t be calling other girls little,” her uncharacteristically soft, feminine voice rings out. Amanda leans back in her chair immediately, hands up in defense. Her voice is loud as always as she chuckles out a response, “Woah, babe, you know you’re the only little lady in my life! My eyes would never stray.” She turns to the camera. “God, I love when she gets possessive like that.”

You laugh and turn to Angela, addressing her as you speak, “I’m terribly sorry ms, I have no intention of taking this… man from you. I may be a croc wrestler, but I ain’t no homewrecker.” Angela’s soft face breaks out into a dumb smile at that, she goes to speak, but Spencer cuts her off.

“Now, that’s my kind of lady,” his voice is a little out of breath as he takes the cowboy hat off to fan himself. You turn to look at him, fanning yourself with your hand as well, before looking over to Amanda.

“Am I the only one kind of attracted to his energy?” Immediately Amanda and Angela both nod.

“Yes, you’re the only one,” Angela yells before going back into character. Your shoulders shake as you silently laugh, only to hear Damien declare that it is now Spencer’s turn. You watch as he moves his character across the manor and for a moment, his mini-fig is in the same room as yours before moving onto the next one over.

“Don’t you worry woman, I’ll protect you,” his serious tone makes you blush a little, so you play it up for the cameras.

“Crikey, you’re makin’ my heart flutter, mate. I’m sure I’ll be alright though, I’ve been wrestling ‘gator before I could count to ten,” you announce, a little out of breath. Angela laughs, shaking her head and muttering, “Wait, crocs or gators?” to which you just shrug. Spencer smiles and shoots you the least angry look than you’ve seen on him all day.

“Ain’t ne’er heard of a lady doin’ none of that. A woman after my own heart it seems.” At that, you pretend to pass out in your seat, which prompts Amanda to chuckle and lightly shove you with both her hands, saying, “enough of that you two.”

You snort out a laugh, Angela points at you in loving mockery, but watch as the game continues. So far, everyone seems to be a little screwed. You’re honestly pretty sure that everyone in this game is going to die, which makes it a little fun because it means that there’s no real risk. It seems that Damien’s noticed so as well, but he’s doing an excellent job at keeping the energy from feeling hopeless.

After a couple more rounds, the most tragic event happens. Johnny Whittmore dies. Your heart is a little broken at the fact that he wasn’t in the game for much longer, as he was a very entertaining character for you, and you were wanting to keep the chemistry going. But alas, the game continues on without him for another five minutes before you too kick the bucket, dying to the tick tock card. Upon death, you groan and slouch back in your chair. You knew it was coming but it was still incredibly disappointing to die on your first game here. Not that you were about to reveal your genuine disappointment on camera though, so you prepare to just sit back up and go on with the game with a smile. Well, you were going to, until you heard Spencer psst at you loudly, enough to pull everyone’s attention.

“Hey there, pretty lady. Glad to see that even as a ghost you’re still the finest woman in the southern hemisphere. I don’t reckon you have a man you’re waiting for in the afterlife, do you?” His voice is laced with a smile as he speaks this time, a level of softness you hadn’t heard from this character yet. Once more, your cheeks felt warm as you pulled in a heavy breath and blinked a few times to process. 

“Crikey, mate. I sure as hell don’t have no fella here,” you manage to get out, seeing the look of excitement on Angela’s face across from you and hearing the quiet chuckles of Amanda beside you. Spencer then takes his hat off and places it on the table in front of him.

“Well then, mind if I keep you company in this here afterlife?” He’s smiling softly as he says this, eyes almost teasing, but as always, perfectly in character. You pause to think of an adequate response, before deciding to reach over and grab the hat from in front of him, bringing it upon your head, and tipping it to him.

“Don’t mind one bit, mista,” you finish with a wink, this time making him fake pass out in his seat. While Amanda teases Spencer for it, Angela turns to the camera and loudly exclaims.

“Love is blind!”

“Eleanor, babe, wrong series.”

[berryispunk]

Cracks in the Wall

Chapter 4 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to ???, banter, they're both disasters, Frankie being an idiot, heartbreak, feelings denial, i hate(love) them, it's getting worse before it gets better

notes: prompts I used for this one were: Sixteen-A lost bet with high stakes

word count: ~ 1,5k

You shouldn’t be here.

Not perched on a fire escape two floors up, legs dangling into the warm city night, a drink sweating in your hand, and Frankie Morales sitting far too close beside you.

You’d sworn—after that argument in the rain, after the sting of his words sank beneath your skin and sat there like a bruise—you’d keep your distance. You walked away that night soaked and shaking, your heart heavy with all the things you didn’t say.

The look on his face still lingers in your memory—raw and masked all at once. That stupid flicker of hurt he buried so fast.

You didn’t say everything either. It shouldn’t still sit with you. But it does.

You haven’t talked about it, not really. There was the usual snark when you ran into him again. A few jabs. A shared drink. The bar, the laughter of your mutual friends, the haze of alcohol. Somehow, the sharp edges between you dulled just enough to land you here.

Most of the group has either left or passed out in various corners of Monica’s apartment, and somehow, you and Frankie ended up here, half-heartedly sharing the last warm beers from the cooler.

You sit next to him, knees almost brushing, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. Just charged. Familiar in a way that annoys you.

He tilts his head, a beer bottle resting on his thigh. “So. Admit it.”

You glance over. “Admit what?”

“That you missed me this week.”

You snort. “Yeah. Like I miss traffic jams and paper cuts.”

Frankie grins, undeterred. “You wound me, Summer.”

“You’ll live. Probably.”

“You’re in a great mood tonight.”

“I’m always delightful. You’re just usually too busy being insufferable to notice.”

He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer, eyeing you over the rim. “Nah, this is different. You’re softer. Almost nice. It’s unnerving, honestly.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe I’m just too tired to fight you.”

“Or maybe,” he says slowly, leaning back, “you actually like me.”

Fucking hell, why did your heart just skip a beat?

You shoot him a look—part venom, part amusement. “Now you’re drunk.”

He just raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t insulted my hair once tonight. That’s real progress.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “It’s because I’ve accepted your fate as a mop.”

And then—he laughs.

Really laughs. Head tilted back, eyes crinkled, unguarded and entirely too handsome in the dim streetlight.

And something about that makes you laugh too—short and sharp at first, and then full, genuine, almost unwilling.

He freezes. “Holy shit. Was that a real laugh?”

You try to recover, but he’s already grinning at you like he’s just discovered a new species.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, warningly.

“No, no way. That was a full-on laugh. With teeth. This is the seventh world wonder.”

You nudge him with your elbow, trying—and failing—to hide your smile. “You’re such a pain.”

“But a hot one,” he says, nudging back. “Admit it, ice queen. I’m growing on you.”

You shake your head, the stupid smile refusing to leave your face. “Like mold.”

“Sexy,” he says, all boyish grin and zero shame.

You look at him—and this time, the moment sticks. Your smiles fade, but the warmth lingers, hanging between you in the quiet hum of the city and the soft thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

His hand brushes yours—maybe on accident, maybe on purpose—and you don’t move away.

“Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?” you ask, voice lower now, serious despite the lightheartedness of the moment.

Frankie shrugs, but there’s something too honest in the way his gaze holds yours. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be.”

And then it happens—

You both lean in, drawn by whatever’s been slowly, stubbornly building for months. His breath is warm, laced with beer and something earthy—like warm ground after rain. Like sunshine, if sunshine had a smell. A feeling.

It matches this version of him. This rare softness.

Your lips are just about to meet when—

The fire escape door swings open.

“Hey—oh. Shit, sorry!” Will’s voice jolts you apart like a slap.

You pull away fast, heat flooding your face. Frankie clears his throat, runs a hand down his jaw. His other hand twitches—like he almost reached for you, but didn’t.

You shoot to your feet, the tension between you popping like a bubble.

“I should, um. Yeah.”

Frankie doesn’t stop you. Just watches you go, his face unreadable—like whatever just almost happened knocked something loose inside him, too. But he stays rooted in place.

Behind you, the echo of your shared laugh lingers—like maybe, if things had gone just a little differently, it could’ve turned into something real.

You just wanted a drink. A breath. One minute away from the noise, the laughter, the way he kept glancing at you across the room like you were some secret he was still learning how to keep.

Your chest felt tight—it was getting harder to breathe by the second. Something had shifted. Somewhere between the usual banter and that unfiltered, delicate moment outside, the lines blurred.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

Not when you’d spent so long convincing yourself that Frankie Morales was the last man on earth you could—should—fall for.

You didn’t mean to stop outside the kitchen. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

But then you heard Benny’s voice—loud, smug. “You’ve got what—ten days left?”

And then Frankie’s laugh. Familiar. Dismissive. “Please. I could wrap this up tomorrow if I wanted, but I savor it.”

The words don’t hit—they slice. Quick and clean, like a blade across skin.

You freeze in the hallway, blood rushing to your ears as Benny chuckles.

“She’ll crack. They always do.”

And just like that, something inside you shatters.

You take a step back like it might help, like distance could soften the blow. But it doesn’t. It never does.

The fire escape. His laugh. The way your hands touched.

You’d let your guard slip. Let yourself believe maybe he was different. Maybe this was different.

God, you should’ve known better.

He’s a primitive man after all—barely one evolutionary rung above a monkey.

And still. Minutes ago, for one fragile second, you were convinced he meant it. That maybe, stupidly, he felt it too.

This tiny, contradictory thing between you—too small to name, too big to ignore.

By the time you return to the living room, your expression is unreadable. Controlled.

Like always. Like before him.

You slide back into that old coldness like armor, and head for the door.

Then—footsteps.

“Hey,” Frankie calls, catching up. “You want me to take you home?” All soft eyes and the exact version of him you wanted to believe in.

You glance at him. And for a second—just one—you wish you didn’t know what you know. That you could go back to the way his eyes used to make you feel safe. Seen.

But you can’t.

“No,” you say, sharp. “I’ll walk.”

He frowns. “It’s late.”

“I’m aware.”

You turn, but stop with your hand on the door—just long enough to twist the knife. “I should’ve known,” you say, voice quiet. “That’s the worst part.”

He blinks, confused. “Summer?”

“You didn’t even have to try that hard, did you?” You meet his eyes now. “The jokes. The fire escape. Letting me think you actually gave a shit.”

He opens his mouth—but you’re already shaking your head.

Then, a breathless, bitter laugh. “I hope the money was worth it.”

And then you walk. You don’t wait for him to explain or chase or offer whatever version of the truth he thinks might fix this.

You just step out into the night—and that’s when you feel it.

The drizzle. Cold, familiar. Almost mocking.

It clings to your skin like déjà vu, and suddenly it’s all rushing back—your soaked clothes that night, the streetlamp glow.

You thought you’d moved on.

But this? This feels like a sick, cosmic loop.

And you keep walking to create distance between the ache in your chest and the boy who put it there.

The rain isn’t heavy, just a steady mist. The kind that seeps into your clothes and settles beneath your skin.

You wrap your arms around yourself, but it doesn’t help. Not with the cold. Not with the anger. Not with the way your throat burns from holding everything in until you were far enough away to fall apart.

Your shoes splash through shallow puddles, your breaths coming quick, ragged.

And all you can think is: How did I fall for it again?

You let him in. You let him matter.

And for what? A bet. A laugh. A handful of dollars and a bruised ego wrapped in pretend affection.

Your chest twists with something sharp and humiliating.

God, you were trying. You were soft with him. You let yourself believe in something, even if just for a little while.

I should’ve known.

You whisper it again like a prayer, like a punishment, like maybe if you say it enough it’ll hurt less.

But it doesn’t. 

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist

most recent work

tags: @dendulinka6

[sakurabraches]

I keep thinking of Glinda getting killed while she and Elphaba are on the outs, like maybe during No Good Deed, so one second, Elphaba is busy being bitter and angry at her, and the next, Glinda is dead, Elphaba is having an even worse mental breakdown, and she can’t stop thinking about how the last time she saw Glinda, they fought. Forget kidnapping a child, the entire country is going down.

this is lowkey kinda the position glinda is in at the end of the book. her last interaction with elphie is her calling out to her trying to mend things over and elphaba ignoring her. and glinda deals with it by straight up pretending this didn't happen and being complete delusional abt the state of their relationship and it's sad but also very glinda

im thinking abt a situation in the musical where glinda is the one who has the house fall on her, so the last time elphie saw her would be when she fled the wizard's palace with fiyero. and it also makes the part where fiyero's like "don't worry you and glinda will make up" so much sadder cuz she never gets the chance

she never had the opportunity to explain that she wasn't actively having an affair with fiyero, that she really wanted to them to be together again, that she loved her and missed her every day they were apart

there's also something horrible about killing glinda specifically not just because she's glinda and elphaba loves her, but glinda didn't get on the broom. glinda hid her love for elphaba, she played the part of the good witch. and they saw her hugging elphaba when they reunited in the palace and decided that was too much and they needed to take her out

fiyero was a traitor and nessa was a dictator, but glinda was perfect and beloved by everyone and elphaba's touch was so poisonous that they still killed her

and not only that, the wizard and morrible framed her for the death, so she's constantly being taunted by posters telling her that this was her fault, that she's the reason glinda is dead. oh, and now all of oz is trying to kill her as revenge for what she did to their precious good witch

and i don't think elphie is the kind of person who would just be able to repress that. she would go mad with guilt. like she's taking out all of oz and then herself

[readngandweepng]

talking about ftm (high honor) arthur going through a pregnancy !!

some nsfw included but this is 90% sfw so still, minors dni. warning for lots of pregnancy talk and afab language. no pronouns for (top) reader mentioned. i’m not educated on pregnancy so bear with me on this. tbh this isn’t that interesting of a read, but i randomly started fixating on the topic of pregnancy and really wanted to do this. kind of long, only half proofread because i like to live with blissful ignorance.

btw the plot isn't really that fleshed out lol kind of due to it being formatted like a diary? but just imagine this in an alternative timeline where the gang is a lot more settled down. this is also entirely fluffy shit because i hate angst sorry,,,

i feel like arthur would be such a child magnet. completely against his will, town kids will flock to him and ask to see him shoot his gun or let them ride his horse. he’d return to camp with braids in his hair and crumpled flowers among weeds stuffed into his pockets. he’d be giving his silent blessings to abigail everyday realizing this probably isn’t even half of what she goes through everyday taking care of not only jack, but her own husband. arthur can’t blame you for the way you have to hide your laughter at the sight of him. he can’t catch a break, not only does he have to deal with the man-children at camp but he also has the admiration of kids he passes by occasionally in town who now have his face and horse memorized to the point where they’re waiting for him by store entrances. even more so than the bounty hunters, he thinks.

eventually they grow on him and he stops grumbling every time they stop him to ask to get piggybacked. and eventually, arthur starts to wonder just what it would be like to have a child with you—it’s a thought he brushes off just as fast as it came, but he can’t just brush away the dreams he has. soon, he starts thinking of hypothetical names; he meets a luther, sam, olivia, alexander, josephine. every person that introduces themselves, he stores them in the back of his head, just in case. because what if you had a daughter named dorothy? what if you had a son named jasper? would you name your children after charles, javier, mary-beth? it makes his heart ache thinking about it, but once the thoughts come flowing in they don’t stop. would your children have his eyes or yours? would they have curly hair or straight? would they have your smile? he hopes to god they do. he becomes so busy mulling over these things it gets you worried, wondering if something was wrong, if he was thinking of bad things. his face flushes beneath his hat when you ask and it quells your concerns. he can’t tell you what he’s thinking of though. honestly, he probably wasn’t even aware just how much he had on his mind. you leave him be, but your concern only makes his thoughts worse because it reminds him of how kind and attentive you are. he thinks about how good of a parent you would be and how good you’d be to him. 

he’s thought of pregnancy before, but it felt almost mythical—in what world would an outlaw like arthur morgan have a child? if you’d raised the idea to someone like sean or john, they’d surely laugh in your face, probably spitting out their beer in the process. however charles and hosea, they’d entertain it; encourage it even, under certain circumstances. of course he wonders what kind of father he’d be. in his mind he’d certainly be a deadbeat, something akin to his father perhaps, and with the kind of life he lives how could he be so selfish to even entertain the thought? it hurts his heart in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. he thinks about the weight that lifts from his shoulders when he’s with you. he’s spent so much of his life being loyal to someone who even he knows doesn't completely deserve it. he sometimes feels unworthy of having a better life for himself, but letting you wiggle your way into his heart gives him the courage to move forward and take the opportunity to finally do something good for himself, because maybe, just maybe arthur morgan does deserve something nice. so he brings up the whole, having a kid thing.

of course arthur isn’t going to just straight up ask you, he’s going to beat around the bush a little. it’s an incredibly difficult thing for him to articulate, so he just sort of goes like, ‘you ever think about what it’s like being a parent?’ and maybe you start talking about john and his less than ideal role as a father and the work abigail puts in to take care of both jack and john, and even half the camp if you’re being honest. and then eventually after some foot tapping he asks if you would ever want children someday. he doesn’t specify whether with him or not, but the implication hangs in the air. you shrug with a simple ‘maybe’ as your answer before flipping the question onto him. he tilts his head down to hide his face with his hat as he tries to find his words. it’s endearing how shy he can get with conversations like these, and his reaction proves he’s been pondering the question a while already. you’d have to reassure him as gently as you can manage for a man like arthur. “with you, i’d do anything.” it would make his heart swell. tears would prick at his eyes but he’d be happy. and for once, hopeful.

there’s a chance you’re probably not going to tell anyone at camp just yet. at least not until you have no other choice where it’s completely unavoidable to talk about the bump arthur would be bearing. this would be a private affair between you and arthur, which is almost humorous to say considering what the hell even is a private life at camp with people like sean and uncle loitering around looking for gossip to drink to? he won’t ask for a night in a hotel but he also won’t be opposed to the offer. he’ll get embarrassed if you try to be too romantic with him but he does appreciate the gesture(s). even though it’s not your first time together he’ll be acting like it is. suddenly his body feels hot at the softest touches, your lips on his neck make him feel like he’s melting. it all starts to feel extremely real to him. arthur, with some convincing, will sit back and let you take care of him as you slowly open him up with your fingers and tongue. he’ll be cursing under his breath the whole time, barely even being able to look down at you without his entire face blossoming red. he’ll flutter around your fingers when you tell him how handsome he is, but arthur will have to kiss you to shut you up when you start talking about how pretty he’s gonna look pregnant. 

when your cock slides into him he has to hide his face in your neck because he can hardly take it. his heart is racing and his palms become clammy but he doesn’t want you to stop. you go slow, making sure to bury your cock deep into him with every thrust. it’s not entirely different from your normal sex with arthur, however this time you do feel a different sense of urgency and desperation. his pussy sucks your cock back in every time you pull away with such ease, as if his body knows you plan on impregnating him. arthur’s legs shake beneath you but he denies that it’s from the nerves, until he double backs and tries to say, well, maybe it is because of the nerves so that he doesn’t have to admit his legs are shaking because your cock is hitting him so deep that he feels like he’s going to cry from how good it feels. 

arthur’s perfect for this sort of thing. he’s so obedient about laying down and staying still so that you can fuck him. he doesn’t ask you to go faster or to slow down, he just keeps his legs open and takes your cock, which is why you know that regardless of whether or not he gets pregnant the first time around, he definitely will eventually. you fit so well inside him that a part of you wonders if he’s hoping he won’t get pregnant just so you can fuck him like this again. arthur quickly gets very blissed out. his moans become sweeter and he’s much more complacent, easily responding to questions he’d previously be too shy to answer; as his orgasm builds so does his confidence. his legs wrap around your waist and he looks you in the eye as he bucks his hips into your thrusts. when you tell him you’re close he kisses you, encouraging you to cum inside him. you grab his hips with one last thrust, burying yourself deep before you cum. arthur holds onto your wrists as he gently rocks up into you, his orgasm following. he’s out of breath and his legs are even more shaky as he slumps against the bed. you don’t pull out. the both of you stare at each other before you exchange one more kiss, one much longer and candid. you gently lay down atop him and he wraps his arms around you as you feather kisses to his neck. his body is still flush with shades of pink and red but you keep the thought to yourself. after a minute or two you ask how he’s feeling and by now he’s back to his usual self, keeping his eyes down as he answers you. for a second he insists you stay inside, but with a little convincing he allows you to pull out. he tries not to look, but he can’t help himself; your cock is shiny with fluid and he can feel you twitch inside him one last time, and then he’s empty, aside from your cum that keeps him feeling warm and full. you lay down beside him and instinctively you rest your hand on his stomach. the action has arthur shooing you away with a bashful look but he does the same. he surveys his stomach, and you can see just by looking at his face what it is he’s picturing. 

a week later you and arthur have sex again. it’s at camp this time, in the comfort of your shared tent. he’s laid down on his stomach as you lift his hips up to fuck him. he takes you effortlessly, only occasionally having to keep his face to his cot to drown out a stray moan or two. before you finish you pull his hips up just a little bit higher, making sure you’re nestled as deep as you can go before spilling into him. the feeling of your cock pulsing against his walls makes arthur cum. his pussy convulses around you, making sure it squeezes out every drop. you both collapse back onto the cot as you pull out and roll off him to rest at his side. arthur immediately relaxes into the blankets when you softly drag your fingers down his back. his eyes open to look at you as he swallows, “think it’ll, y’know—work?” you swipe away the loose strands of hair that fall in front of his face and give a reassuring smile. “i hope so.” is your response, and it soothes him. 

about 2 weeks later arthur comes up to you talking about a nauseating headache. he’d just got back from a trip into town and you could see from the way he’d been clasping his forehead on the way down from his horse that he’d been hurting for some time. you fetch him a cup of water as you sit him down on your cot, planting a gentle kiss on his temple as he takes slow sips from the cup. “have you been hurting anywhere else?” he shakes his head no. you ask him if you can write something down in his journal and he flips to a blank page before handing it to you along with his pencil. you mark down his headache at the top. it’s not confirmed whether he’s actually pregnant or not, you both know this, but you make note of it anyway. unbeknownst to you, as arthur reads what you’ve written his heart skips with every letter. he feels an almost childlike excitement at the thought of filling the page with symptoms of his (hopefully) developing pregnancy. you ask him if he’ll be okay, and he tells you yeah, he will be. arthur says it with such confidence it alarms you momentarily but the giddy smile on his face cuts your words of concern short. his headache is gone by the time pearson calls for dinner.

arthur doesn’t bring up the fact you’ve begun to hover over his shoulder the next few days. he hasn’t experienced any further symptoms since the headache and he can tell it’s driving you a little crazy. you try not to make it obvious when you ask him if he’s been feeling ‘different’ but he can see through it right away. admittedly, you may be getting a little too overbearing about things; for god’s sake he’s not even showing yet, he doesn’t need to sit down after lifting one damn hay bail. your attempts at beating around the bush have caused some eyebrows to raise at camp. arthur will remind you a lot that he’s perfectly fine and that he can take care of himself. he doesn’t need people poking and prodding at him on top of you stressing out to the point of not even letting him get up on his own horse alone. he appreciates the gestures, of course not admitting that he finds your concern endearing, but he also is his own man who needs some space every now and then. you respect his wishes and (try to) lay off the mothering. 

the 4th week rolls in and arthur starts to experience some body aches. he wakes up some mornings and his hips and shoulders hurt like he slept on a boulder, which unfortunately dampens his mood for the rest of the day. you once reminded him a little too happily to write it down in his journal and he gave you a look so hauntingly sour you didn’t say another word to him for the next six hours out of fear. however you started offering massages to him that he gladly took after long days. one of these massages led into sensual heavy petting that resulted in you and arthur having sex almost three times in one night, where the next morning he woke up with a throbbing headache (which you wrote in his journal when he wasn’t looking). arthur had occasionally reminded you that his pregnancy wasn’t yet set in stone. despite his eagerness to become pregnant, he’d developed a habit of denial to protect himself from the disappointment of possible failure. however at the end of the week, abigail came up to him sipping a cup of coffee, another cup in her other hand, still in her night clothes. she handed him the full cup that he took with a quiet thanks. they stood in silence for a moment before abigail asked him if he’d been feeling alright. “just.. you need somethin’, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?” arthur tells you about the conversation and it makes you smile. he reminds you not to get your hopes up but the both of you know that by this point it’s a little too late for that.

a day into the 6th week and arthur throws up. he’d been making his way over to the stew pot for a bowl of dinner and the smell stopped him dead in his tracks. he stepped off behind some trees, vomited, and went to bed hungry. in the morning you brought up the idea of breakfast which unfortunately triggered another wave of nausea. you gave him some water to take sips from and let him have an hour before offering up an oatcake. he rejected it but didn’t vomit at the thought, so you urged him to have a bite or two to at least get some food in his belly. though reluctant, he ends up eating two oatcakes and on top of that stomachs a cup of coffee and eats a can of peaches you’d recently bought for dinner. the waves of nausea end up continuing on and off the rest of the week, resulting in a lack of appetite. he has to go to bed early because he can’t stand the smell of pearson’s stew. last night of the week you hold him against you, being sure to gently rub his stomach in slow circles. you place a kiss on his neck as your hand on his stomach stills. “so.. maybe?” your voice is quiet. he turns his head to kiss you on the lips. “maybe.” 

by the end of the 7th week, arthur has told you about chest soreness and muscle cramps. he says they’re not so bad, but it’s the nausea that keeps a hold of arthur. he’s thrown up almost every morning and it’s starting to grab the attention of others at camp. you and arthur have felt abigail’s eyes on you for days now but by now you’ve gotten used to it. however a new face appears one late morning. “sit down a minute.” it’s hosea who ushers you over to one of the empty tables where he sits with a newspaper in hand. “how have you been?” you tell him you’ve been fine. he hums. hosea’s face almost looks sculpted in the early sun. “and arthur?” you hesitate a second. he’s been fine. you look away from hosea’s stone-cold gaze. he sighs. hosea tells you a little story, something about him and bessie. he tells you how bessie had always wanted children but due to his lifestyle they decided not to have any. “we already had john and arthur.” you nod. you definitely understand that. he’s quiet for a moment. “it was like looking in a mirror,” he turns in his seat. “seeing you and arthur.” you stare at him. there’s a melancholic look in his eyes, but there’s also wisdom and gratitude, one you have grown to respect and admire. later in the day you see arthur grab himself a cup of water. going up to him you remind him to take small sips which he stubbornly abides. you don’t tell him about your conversation with hosea, at least not until arthur tells you about his own. though neither of you are surprised by hosea’s spot-on observations, you are surprised by the lack of lecturing. apparently hosea had told arthur something about the strength of parenting and the importance of children to our future. arthur’s retelling is unenthusiastic, but you can tell hosea’s words won’t be forgotten despite arthur not really getting it. you go to bed after having dinner. you bought an apple just for arthur but he didn’t have the energy to bite into it so you sliced it up and, to his chagrin, hand-fed it to him and chased it down with some crackers. before settling down to sleep you flip open arthur’s journal and write down his pains and nausea. he’s asleep by the time you finish.

week 8 and arthur’s nausea hasn’t gotten any better. he now wakes up an hour earlier than he usually does. it’s a schedule you’re still getting used to, but you’re motivated by your new ritual of hunting rabbits just to make a meal out of it for arthur. at the moment rabbit is the one meat he can stand to eat without getting sick, and he seems to have developed a strong liking for peaches of which you’re sure to pop a can open for arthur to eat on the side. he hasn’t been eating as much as he used to, but thankfully you don’t seem to notice any weight loss as of yet. your eyes are on him like a hawk the second he takes his shirt off to change, which embarrasses your lover to no end. arthur told you he’s convinced you would notice if a single freckle on his body disappeared and you don’t deny the statement. you tell arthur to write down what he eats and what foods he can think of without feeling sick. by the end of the week, he doesn’t write down much besides peaches, rabbit, strawberries, almonds. so at least there’s something new. you spend the first day of the ninth week in valentine, popping into saloons and bribing the bartenders in letting you pay for a pound or two of almonds. you return to camp and make arthur a meal that he delightfully scarfs down before asking for another plate. that night arthur gets a little restless and you two have sex, however the morning after arthur gets so nauseous even dutch told him to take the day off to rest. 

throughout the 9th and the start of the 10th week, you could see slight visible changes to arthur. one morning you’d woken up an hour later than him. you could see him hanging around the fire as he spoke to john, both of them sipping on a cup of coffee. you made your way over to them, and right when john turned to leave your eyes immediately darted down to arthur’s clothed chest. “what?” he asks, prickling under your gaze. for a second you couldn’t pinpoint what it was until it hit you. “your breasts got bigger,” arthur is dumbfounded as he hushes you down. “what the hell are you talking about?” your hands awkwardly fan out towards arthur but he just clicks his tongue and lightly shoves you. “don’t say them things,” he doesn’t have a hat on so he turns away to hide the color on his face. as he’s about to walk away you tell him to write it down and he damn near throws the coffee in your face. the rest of the week he still mentions some soreness in his chest (where he also curtly declined your offer for a massage..) and more hip pain. he also said he’d been a lot more tired lately. you told him to take it easy and rest early, which he normally would have declined, however the second he laid down he slept through the rest of the day and woke up to scarf down another rabbit and peach meal. 

the 11th week moves forward and arthur starts to wake up a little more tired than usual. abigail has begun stopping by your tent occasionally with a cup of tea. “it’ll help,” is all she says. he says the tea tastes like ashes and dirt but he drinks it anyway and the lingering soreness of his body slowly dissipates like water trickling from a spilt canteen. one early morning you wake up at the same time as arthur. it’s before abigail comes around to give him some tea so you help him unbutton his shirt to ease some of his muscle cramps. upon doing so your gaze fixates on his stomach. you maneuver yourself behind arthur, wrapping your arms around him. he asks you what you’re doing and you just settle your palm on his stomach. “arthur..” you attempt to whisper but you can barely contain your excitement. “you’re starting to show!” he looks down at himself in amusement. “looks the same to me,” your palm cups the faint bump. “i swear it’s different—” he bats your hand away. “it ain’t!” but he’s got a warm smile on his face as he looks back at you. you offer to make him a meal but he sighs at the suggestion and asks if you happen to have fresh peaches on you. unfortunately you don’t, so you spend the next hour buying fresh peaches for him. he ends up eating about two a day and has to carry a full canteen with him due to his increase in thirst. after downing lots of water, he’s able to work up the energy to do chores around camp. once or twice he’s stopped by micah or bill so they can badger him about not doing any work but hosea is quick to put a stop to it. you’ll have to help convince arthur to take it easy because he hates feeling useless, although he doesn’t want any small, measly tasks handed to him either. take him with you to town and arthur’s mood will lift. also, give him the opportunity to pick something out to eat and he’ll take home a little bag of treats of which he ends up savoring for so long that sean somehow sniffs them out and eats the last one.

the 12th week you go hunting with arthur for slightly bigger game. arthur still hasn’t eaten any other meat besides rabbit, but you’re hopeful that you can maybe get something more in his diet. you’d originally planned on getting turkey but arthur insisted on deer so you decided to get both. by the time you’ve hunted and killed a deer as well as two turkeys, you’re far enough away from camp that you decide to set up a tent and camp out for the night. arthur’s already gnawing on a hunk of venison the second he gets it cooked but you still take out a peach from your satchel and slice it into pieces so you can occasionally hand him a slice. unfortunately he can’t finish the venison before he has to get up and vomit so instead you let him eat the rest of the peach and grab some leftover rabbit from your bag to cook. despite the slight nausea, arthur tells you he’s fine. you both talk for a while before you go to bed. you hold him close to you, covering him in a warm blanket. he can feel you smiling against his skin but decides not to say anything. he clasps your hands together and falls asleep, only waking up once or two to down a few gulps of water.

the 13th week dutch has you and arthur meet him at his tent where he sits with a book in hand. he rolls off some evelyn miller excerpt before closing the book and urging the both of you closer. “now, i want the two of you to understand that we are family. alright?” it’s nothing he hasn’t said before, but his words sound almost solemn with care. he goes on about sticking together and working to sustain the life that we worked for! he looks between you as he says this, looking into your eyes but not really making the mental contact. it’s all sort of nonsense, something arthur is definitely used to by now. still, the conversation brings relief. it means that one, dutch knows arthur is pregnant which is most likely hosea’s doing (who you pray to god gave a convincing argument to settle any concerns of dutch) and two, you and arthur’s child will have a home. you’re positive abigail is ready with her arms open to assist with whatever is to come, and with hosea’s support you at least have two, if not three when you count dutch, people who are willing to help raise a child, especially arthur’s. you two share a look when dutch dismisses you, but you don’t get a moment to talk before grimshaw is in front of you, her foot already tapping with irritation, though she greets you politely nonetheless. just the woman you wanted to avoid. she’s sporting her typical who do i gotta yell at to get any work done around here? look, however she doesn’t yell or sneer, she simply asks, “how have you been keeping?” the question is directed towards arthur who nods his head with a ‘just fine, miss grimshaw’. she purses her lips. “i see you’ve been busy.” your heads drop as you shuffle in place; you should have known it’d be arthur who got the heat. you open your mouth to speak but she cuts you off with a dismissive hand wave and a little scoff. “though i rather we had discussed this beforehand, what’s done is done—you won’t be leaving camp any time soon, mister morgan, not until that baby comes out. there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done ‘round camp.” it’s not what you expected to hear but you’re grateful nonetheless. you can’t argue further so you walk arthur back to your tent and gesture for him to sit down. no doubt the news will reach the rest of camp soon but it’s expected. at the very least arthur will have things to do while he’s forced to listen to people blathering nonsense in his ears all day. 

14th week and you finally convince arthur to speak to strauss. you dislike the man as much as he does—if not more—but your concern for arthur’s health outweighs your disdain. you’d originally suggested a doctor in saint denis but the distance is what concerned you, figuring it’d be better to wait until arthur’s nausea was at its lowest before taking the risk, among many other things. so instead you kiss arthur goodbye as he makes his way over to strauss’ tent while you get on your horse and ride out of camp to find supplies you might need for the baby. now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, or what you were supposed to be looking for, but you waltzed into rhodes’ general store with confidence anyway. it’s the same as it always is, supplying the few things you usually get, however this time your attention is caught by the dolls that sit in the centerpiece. is it too early to buy something like that? what if your child doesn’t even like dolls? would they even have time to play with them? you move on. the cashier greets you, gesturing to the catalog of which you flip open. after going through the pages, among the cigarettes, soap, and ammunition, you find a few products that catch your eye; baby powder, more soap, blankets, clothes—not a lot, but some. the advertisements were foreign; you’re only just now realizing your lack of knowledge on child care. oops. as you scan the page(s) you hear the cashier retort some comment you ignore. what the hell is soothing syrup? you close the catalog. you decide not to make any decisions yet, at least not now—you’ll bring abigail with you next time—however you don’t leave the store empty handed; you cave, buying one of the dolls, one with a blue dress and dark, empty eyes. you figure you might give it to jack, see if he likes it. maybe him and your child will share toys and play together? feeling disappointed with just a doll in your satchel, you take the next few hours touring the tailors in saint denis. there wasn’t anything too interesting, only a small section for children’s clothes that didn’t offer much at all for a baby, but the experience was insightful nonetheless. on the way home, out of pure desperation you ransack an abandoned cabin. it was small, most likely only homing one or two adults. inside you find some blankets that you fold into your satchel, and sitting beside a rundown armchair, you spot a woven basket filled with yarn and fabric. the sight suddenly makes you feel guilty for taking it, as if there was anyone present to mourn its loss. you take it anyway, keeping it held close in front of you as you ride back home. the sun has begun to set, and arriving into camp you’re greeted by the smell of fresh stew. you make your way to your tent as subtle as you can with a basket in hand, and within it is arthur who’s nursing a bowl of stew. his mouth is full so your question comes first. apparently pearson decided on rabbit as tonight’s main course, as well as tomorrow’s. with a grateful smile, you gently set the basket down and greet your lover properly. 

15th week and you’ve gotten swamped with work. you’ve begun fulfilling arthur’s jobs on top of yours and damn is it exhausting. you don’t dare complain though, not with arthur around else he’ll jump to his feet and tire himself out, so you power through it. you knew that arthur’s role around camp was a significant one, but you weren’t expecting so many people asking you for things; train robberies, got that easy. stage coach, even easier. possible money stashed away in a fancy suite in saint denis, sure, whatever. but then you have the girls asking you for things, simple stuff like jewelry or things they’ve lost, things with barely anything to go off of. and then there’s micah who’s deliberately sending you on wild goose chases just because he knows that you’ll do it, basking in your blind obedience with beastly perversion. right now on your metaphorical list you need to find oleander, a pocket watch, a pen or two (one hopefully with red ink and one with black, of course) several books, some type of yellow flower (god knows what) some spices, thyme, and then pearson needs you on hunting duty for fish and venison and everything and you’ve only just gotten a sliver of what arthur has to deal with in his day to day life and though you’re happy you’ve taken this weight off of his shoulders you are overwhelmed. you hardly get to see arthur with his new sleep schedule and your now packed one, but some mornings he’ll drink a little more coffee than usual just so he’ll stay awake long enough to kiss you goodnight and fall asleep with you holding him.

the beginning of the 16th week you almost get yourself shot trying to rob a stagecoach with bill, and somehow arthur could tell despite you not saying a word about it. ironically, the most difficult part of taking arthur’s load of work is trying to convince him not to intervene. his nausea has started to subside, but he’s still on a lackluster diet. you’ve tried sneaking in protein packed meat alongside the rabbit but his pregnancy seems to have granted him a laser-eyed tongue that can detect the slightest discrepancies. strauss had suggested possible foods to keep arthur upright and make sure he doesn’t become underweight, but he’s hardly touched anything you’ve given him besides the rabbit and peaches and almonds. which is why it’s almost a miracle when arthur starts craving something he didn’t used to care much for: violet snowdrop. you asked him if he’s ever even eaten some before and he just shrugs. no, it doesn’t exactly make for the most hardy meal ever, or like, really make a meal at all, but it’s something new and that’s good enough for you. you get on track right away, riding out to annesburg and picking as many as you can find. arthur eats it up like he hasn’t eaten in days, using it as an extra flair to his rabbit. the girls come by occasionally, offering different herbs and fruits that arthur might take a liking to. you’ve learned that (at least during his pergnancy) arthur HATES pineapple. just looking at a can of it makes him double over, so you keep stocking up on the fresh peaches and almonds. on one of your tracks to find a stagecoach, you came across a small farm, one that harbored a single bush of strawberries among their crops. it lights a fire in you, and you make sure that its owner(s) don’t spot you as you pick the few full-grown ones and wrap them in a piece of fabric within your satchel. again, not the most fulfilling food ever, but it’s something new, and anything that arthur will eat is something you’ll protect like glass. when you bring them out to him, he visibly lights up. there weren’t a lot on the one bush, but arthur is satisfied anyway. after he eats you retreat to your tent and sit down with him. he sighs when he sits, immediately leaning his full weight onto you. you can see the faint outline of his bump beneath his vest and it fills you with pride. you unbutton it and pull his shirt up just enough to show his stomach. you can’t stop smiling and it makes arthur bashful at the attention, but he instinctively puts his hand on his bump, most likely feeling as happy as you are in the grand scheme of things. 

throughout the 17th and 18th week, mary-beth and tilly have come by your tent to check up on things. you can tell they’re excited, if not nosy, about the baby. mary-beth goes on about how romantic it is to raise a child with the person you love and tilly keeps asking about baby names. they’ve offered their ideas—most of them being names you’re certain are straight out of their fantasy books—and even their own names more so as a joke, though you’re not opposed to either tilly or mary-beth as a girl’s name. sean joins this as well, and every week or so he likes to remind you and arthur about how heroic the name sean would be for a baby boy. their investment is sweet and relieving, especially grimshaw’s when she bounds her way into a conversation however arthur doesn’t seem too happy about having to be reminded to wash up every day and drink as much water as he can handle. you’ve gotten your fair share of scolding although you can’t help but feel grimshaw is just going a little bit easy on you due to your hard work around camp if her screaming at uncle and reverend lazing about is any indication. she certainly is keeping the others in line, shooing away sean and the girls and anyone who tries badgering you within her sight. thankfully, no one’s been too pissy about it. you get an occasional comment from bill about giving us another mouth to feed but the malice dies down after a while and he starts to hang around like he’s invested in a story and is waiting for what happens at the end, along with kieran; you can feel his eyes on you when you’re with arthur, like he wants to be included and ask what’s up but fears rejection. you and arthur have deliberately not made any public announcements, instead resorting to let the news carry around naturally. it’s hard to keep things on the downlow when mary-beth is swooning at the thought of you taking care of arthur, and especially difficult when a drunk sean is going around offering to be the next one bed-ridden just so he can get out of doing chores like arthur. you suspect javier knows because he insists on singing specific songs while arthur is sitting by the fire, like he wants your baby to memorize them—and who knows, maybe your child will develop a love for music, become a pianist in a saloon, something like that (anything but an outlaw). regardless, things around camp are strangely serene, not as hectic as it may have been months before, and you can’t help but wonder if arthur’s pregnancy has somehow created a new environment, one more domestic and hopeful. sure, you get the occasional covetous looks from molly, or a passing comment from uncle and micah, but it’s nothing real. there’s something different being lifted into the air, something the gang hasn’t felt since blackwater. the future feels bright, and with the good word from strauss about arthur’s health, you’re no longer afraid, but at home. 

the 20th week you return to camp after a short (and slightly uneventful) stagecoach robbery to see arthur being swamped with attention by the girls. now that arthur’s bump is starting to become noticeable even under his usual attire, he can’t avoid the excited squealing every time he’s in line of sight of either mary-beth or tilly. he could deal with just them two, but now he’s even got karen standing over his shoulder insisting he lets her put a hand on his stomach to see if there’s really something in there; her words, not yours. it’s a sweet sight, even when arthur harbors a look that would put an o’driscoll to their knees; the girls are unaffected, much to his dismay. when you get closer you can hear mary-beth going on about how something is ‘just like in the fairytales!’ you can’t imagine what arthur has had to put up with while you were gone, but at least you don’t have to worry about your child growing up with a lack of attention if the sight of karen holding arthur’s bump and urging the other girl’s forward to feel doesn’t prove it. upon seeing you, arthur heaves a sigh of what looks like both relief and frustration (probably because you’re just watching this all happen and not doin’ anything about it). tilly and mary-beth retreat back to their original positions as they greet you with a frivolous tone. “go on, girls. arthur—and the baby—need some space.” they walk back to their stations, and a comment from karen seems to cause the other two to burst into giggles. you can tell arthur’s exhausted so you lead him back to your shared tent. next to the woven basket you found, you see a small folded blanket. with flushed cheeks arthur tells you the girls made it. “you know, for the baby.” he says nothing else to you as he pulls his journal out, most likely to write about his day. it makes you feel a bit giddy. not that you weren’t interested in the life that is held within his journal, but the thought of you and your unborn child being on his mind and possibly recorded on the thin pages is a feeling you’ll be happy getting used to.

for the rest of the 21st week, it’s all chatter among the camp. there’s barely a moment of silence aside from when everyone’s asleep. arthur’s developed a habit of putting his hand on his stomach every time he sits down or gets up that almost always raises a comment he has to brush off with rosy cheeks. you can tell things are livelier—molly and dutch haven’t been fighting, abigail and john are spending more time together, even reverend, of all people, has stopped asking for money. people are drinking in celebration (precisely sean and uncle) who thankfully have been less obnoxious than usual aside from sean’s occasional ribbing, “o’l morgan’s got himself knocked up, did he?” yet, with a bottle in hand, he welcomes the two of you over to a table anyway and doesn’t mention it further. dutch seems to be in high spirits, laying it low on the planning and scheming and letting everyone catch a break. you haven’t left arthur’s side in days, your mother-henning even making abigail shake her head in amusement. a lot of camp members have to talk you into giving arthur space, grimshaw and hosea especially. sadie comes up to you occasionally with warmth in her eyes and praise on her tongue. despite her disinterest in children, she offers to find supplies in your place to allow you time with arthur. your heart fights its love for arthur and concern for sadie, but she gives you no choice in the end. at the moment, you are surrounded by friends and family. arthur keeps trying to turn mary-beth and tilly’s attention to you instead of his ever-growing stomach (from what you can make out they’re trying to guess whether the baby will be a girl or not) until hosea makes a short toast that shoos them away once more. the lack of quarreling makes being at camp relaxing, not only for the overworked (and cain, whose arrival makes bill and jack lively once more) but especially for your poor lover. his body aches strike back like lightning, but for once he can sleep without feeling like there’s work he needs to do and people he needs to help.

week 22 and arthur’s pains start to flare up again. he wakes up with it in his hips, shooting up to his back and down to his ankles. they seem to be worse than they first were, judging by the amount of time he spends lying in the same position, trying to stay still so as to not irritate it. you can only assume it’s helping to ease the pain, because arthur refuses to expand on it, most likely to keep you from worrying. unfortunately, it only worries you more. you practically throw strauss out of bed in furious concern, but he says the pains are normal and hold no real threat. you retreat back to arthur to hold him in your arms, smoothing your hand over his hips and thighs to try and massage the pain away. he hums, melting before your touch. you strike up a conversation in hopes it might distract from the aches. you first ask him if he’s hungry, and though he says yes, he doesn’t let you get up from your spot which you hope means that what you’re doing is helping. after a pause, you ask him how he’s feeling about the pregnancy. there’s a bit of back and forth as he tries to change the subject to you, but eventually he starts answering. he’s got his doubts and fears, but overall he’s happy. he’s satisfied, or at least the closest he’ll ever get to it. he’s unsure of himself, but one thing he knows is that he loves you, and he loves his child. his child, the baby. his chuckle is sardonic. you still haven’t picked a name yet. you’re not sure when you’ll settle for one, or if you’ve even put enough thought into it with all that’s been going on. you make a joke about naming them after dutch or molly and he elbows you with a smile. now, hosea isn’t the worst option. neither is charles or susan, or even abigail. sadie, too. arthur thinks of john, though he knows if he named his child after him he’d never hear the end of it. regardless, he reminds himself to write them all down in his journal later. you suggest a name or two, just ones you’ve heard in passing that you thought were interesting. he doesn’t say much as he ponders them, but his hand goes to his stomach as if he were trying to imagine it. his body has stopped aching for the time being, though despite the crick that has now formed in his neck he turns over to kiss you. your massaging of his hips and thighs turn into playful squeezing as you kiss his neck. the two of you mutually decide to spend your morning in bed until either dutch or grimshaw calls your name to get the day moving and the work started. 

the start of the 24th week, arthur and you are eating breakfast together, away from the main campfire and away from the noise and smells. he’s eating strawberries that charles had found on his way back from a hunting trip. arthur finishes eating and wipes his hands on his jeans before he makes a surprised uhf! sound that has him staring you down with a tell anyone about that and it’s over for you kind of look on his face. you ask him what’s wrong and he tells you something about cramps in his stomach. you must have looked worried sick because he immediately adds that it’s not painful, just weird, like there’s a fish flopping around in his stomach. his description has you putting your hand on his forehead that he swats away like he would a mosquito. he means that it feels like there’s something moving—like the baby? a soft silence falls between you as you put your hand on his stomach. you feel nothing. he clicks his tongue, you ain’t feel it just yet  because that’s what abigail had said. you smile anyway, and he shakes his head with a little laugh. you keep your hand in place as you admire him. he becomes bashful under your gaze but doesn’t stop you. you only pull away when you hear the crunching of dirt behind you as javier calls the both of you over to join the others in some early-morning bickering.

funnily enough, it’s not until the 26th week that jack finally learns about arthur’s pregnancy. “i thought you were just fat, uncle arthur!” an ego-killer for sure, as innocent as it was. abigail hushes him the same way she hushes john who you can only guess learns the news about the same time as his son, silently questioning arthur with a look that practically screams wait, you’re pregnant? though it’s better not to talk about it, for john (and abigail’s) sake. your break gifted by dutch is nearing the last of its days (or perhaps hours, depending on any bright ideas he comes up with) so you spend them with arthur and arthur alone. sadie and charles have done you wonders, charles going out to hunt and gather arthur’s current favorites and sadie robbing as many folk as she could find to spare you extra dollars, something you’d been afraid to attempt in concern for your possible absence to arthur and your baby. she also found what looked like a doll made of fabrics and yarn; some threads had been pulled from its scalp of which sadie commented upon it looking like uncle. you don’t exactly disagree. arthur’s appetite has grown. he says it feels like he’s never getting full, being able to eat three plate-fulls of food and still be hungry for three more. this makes arthur feel extremely guilty, fearing that he’s eating food that could be used to feed someone who’s “truly” hungry. it’s difficult to knock arthur out of these thoughts, but bringing up the baby and how, in reality, it’s most likely the baby that’s hungry, he finds it a little easier to eat just one more peach. the herbs he craves aren’t filling enough, but charles gave you some advice on how to feed arthur something hardier while keeping the taste that he desires. you thought it’d never work, using a thick rub for the meat you cooked for him. you just assumed he’d notice right away and spit it out, but arthur’s intense hunger wins him over. thankfully, no one really makes any harsh comments on arthur’s eating habits aside from the typical jokes thrown from sean or john, or micah even. sometimes jack will see arthur holding one of his peaches and he’ll ask if he can have a bite and of course arthur just gives him the whole peach because he just can’t reject jack like that, not when his emotions are all over the place and he’s thinking about his future child asking him for a peach he’ll probably still have a shit ton of left over (though god knows after his pregnancy is over arthur is probably never going to want so see another damn peach again). jack ends up being a lot better company for arthur, asking him questions that are difficult enough to answer that arthur can swerve around them with ease, much to jack’s frustration. as arthur eats, he thinks of his baby, mostly of their name. and then he thinks of his mother, beatrice. beatrice ain’t too bad a name. arthur doesn’t say it, but from then on he’s silently rooting for his child to be a girl. maybe a girl would have a better chance of living a civilized, pain-free life, anything unlike his own. as long as they grow up to be as kind as mary-beth, strong like sadie and intelligent like charles or hosea, arthur will be happy. though he doesn’t view himself to be much of a father figure (lord knows he didn’t exactly have much to look up to) arthur promises to protect his child with all that he has until his very last breath. he doesn’t plan on making the same mistakes again.

the 28th week, hosea manages to convince you into taking arthur out of camp. you decide on strawberry, deeming the quaint town to be one of the safer options. there, the first thing you do is take arthur into the general store to buy him some clothes. he’s not far along to bust out of his clothes just yet but you want to make sure he’s got something comfortable for when the time comes. the shirts you buy him are a size or two too big, and though you get a glance or two from the shopkeeper as he watches you drape the large flannel over his body to see if it will ‘fit’, you leave the store pleased with your purchases. there aren’t exactly a large variety of things to do in strawberry which you are silently grateful for; boredom means safety. you and arthur walk through the town, stopping occasionally to give arthur a rest so that he can sketch some flowers and birds in his journal and whatever cat or dog passes by, giving them a pet and a scratch as they make their way through the road. after you tend to your horses, you rent out a room as well as a bath for arthur of which you keep watch outside the door (arthur insisted on washing up alone, much to your disappointment). you practically have your ear pressed against the door before arthur opens it to reveal that he was in fact, still in one piece. strawberry’s hotel was beautiful and homey. in your mind it perfectly encapsulated arthur due to its warmth and closure. in the amber lighting, arthur is like dripping honey, sweet and alluring. in fresh clothes and still somewhat damp from the bath, his body fills out the cream-colored shirt perfectly. the faint outline of his swollen breasts urges you forward and you spend the rest of the night in bed, snuggling into the warm blankets after a slow, passionate endeavor between the sheets. arthur’s out like a light in your arms, his soft breathing like a lullaby, but you don’t get much sleep, instead keeping your eyes on the door and your ears out for any danger. his grasp is comforting, like his presence alone could cure any ailment. your hand falls to his side, just slightly cupped beneath his stomach above his hip and you can feel the faintest thump against your hand and then one more before it’s gone. now you can blame your lack of sleep on the excitement you felt waiting for arthur to wake up to tell him the news. 

around 30 weeks is when arthur’s pregnancy takes a small turn. he’s been anxious for the baby since the start, but he’s now suddenly gained this excitement that has his typical pains and nausea pushed away to make room for his new schedule. you return to your shared tent to hand arthur a cup of coffee when you see him cleaning down the tables and cups. some of the clutter had been organized, the pictures safe, pushed the farthest away from the edge as possible. the lantern you kept had the same treatment, unlit and unlikely to fall from the edge. the basket you’d found is tidied, clothed with a soft blanket ( that you assume had been freshly washed considering you vaguely remember seeing it hanging from the clothes line) and set atop a table that rests right next to your cot. the doll sadie brought you sits next to it, still ratty as ever. usually the canvas falls down for complete privacy, but arthur had pulled away one of the ends to keep the sunlight shining in. he always looked ethereal in the morning, as if the sun shone entirely for him. he’s so focused on wiping down every surface he can touch in the tent he doesn’t see you approaching. when he notices you, he doesn’t stop cleaning but he keeps his head down with a shy smile on his face as he greets you good morning. you ask him if grimshaw made him do all this but he shakes his head and tells you with a soft voice, “jus’ felt like it i suppose.” you know that arthur is riddled with anxiety, but his words are just so sweet that you want to hold him close and cry. afterwards, you end up taking the girls into town. you originally only planned for you and abigail to go, but tilly and karen claimed to be painfully bored so now it’s them three, mary-beth, and sadie all tagging along with you. abigail helps you look for baby supplies as the other girls pop into saloons, probably finding folk to rob blind. at some point sadie ends up in the shop with you after throwing some drunkard into an alleyway and leaving with his pocket watch. it feels oddly comforting, just being in town with your friends and shopping for things for your child. you only wished arthur were with you, but the sound of yelling paired with the sight of tilly slapping a man flat across his face right outside of the general store makes you grateful he’s not. thankfully the trip wasn’t for nothing. though you’re not completely prepared (mainly due to the limitations imposed upon you by the lack of baby-prep valentine’s stores possess) you’ve got just about all that you need. and with what can be made by hand right at camp, clothing your child is no longer a concern even with so few store options. on the way back home, abigail had offered you some words of advice. they were blunt, but her words softened upon memory of the bond you shared with arthur. at least you had the choice—her final words of the day evoke a certain strength from you. back with arthur, you watch him eat peaches and strawberries, his hand resting on his stomach. his cheeks are rosy from the sun, and they only become more flush when you tell him how beautiful he looks, like he doesn’t look beautiful every second of every day anyway.

despite your compliments, arthur certainly doesn’t feel beautiful. at 32 weeks, arthur feels horrible. everything hurts, his hips, ankles, back, neck. he can hardly sleep, waking up multiple times at night due to an active bladder, most likely caused by all the kicking and fussing going on in his stomach. grimshaw has been on his heel more often, barking orders at him to sit and lay down if he’d been up on his feet too long. you’ve become victim to more and more of her scolding, partly due to your occasional absence when going out to gather food arthur will eat, and partly due to your ignorance as a soon-to-be parent. thinking about it, the whole camp has been facing grimshaw’s wrath, mostly the slackers who have now been distributed some of your work, allowing you to give arthur more attention. it’s frustrating how much he insists he’s fine, but at some point he can no longer keep up the facade, allowing you to slip a rolled up blanket between his thighs as he rests. he’d been getting a lot more hot at night, so you’ve kept a small tin of water by your bed to dip a rag in to lather some cool water onto his skin. at the very least, arthur’s nausea hasn’t worked itself up again, and he hasn’t thrown up in weeks. his headaches are back however, so you make sure that you bring arthur food he’ll eat enclosed within the comfort of your tent. every now and then you have to run sean or uncle off because they stink of alcohol but are too drunk to get the idea that arthur needs to be left alone. abigail is back to bringing over some tea she’d stashed away, generously letting arthur have the few amounts she had left. it’s definitely the most difficult part of arthur’s pregnancy either of you have had to endure. at least for the most part camp is relatively quiet, the only noise really being some of the chatter during breakfast and dinner, however groups begin to dissipate once the day really gets started and everyone splits off to do their chores. the best you can do for arthur is pull his hat down over his eyes to help with his headache and massage parts of his body that are in pain. unfortunately it’s not much help, the pain only subsiding naturally after hours have passed before coming back the next morning. you’ve tried several different sleeping positions, and only two have helped to lessen the pains, though not by a substantial amount. even through his exhaustion, arthur can look into your eyes and tell you he doesn’t regret a thing. there’s a bit of sarcasm on his tongue to mask his vulnerability, but you know it’s the truth. arthur morgan was never much of a liar anyway. his pains fade away with time, only leaving a dull ache in their wake. peaches are a good distraction, and though you were only able to get him the canned kind, he eats them anyway. he even has enough energy to sit with everyone by the fire before they all head to bed for the night. 

2 weeks later at 34, arthur is very exhausted. not only mentally, but physically. the pains are on and off, varying to last for hours or minutes. when he does finally catch a break he doesn’t know what to do with his time. when he has the energy to walk and stand about, he gives his horse some attention like usual, petting them and making sure they’re brushed and that they’ve been fed. his horse bathes in his care, pushing his head into his hand and flicking its tail. his stomach’s big enough that he has to take smaller steps to get around, so it is just a little bit entertaining to see arthur try and bend over to grab some hay for his horse. he can’t blame you for laughing, but he definitely can blame you for getting him pregnant and making him go through all this pain and he will dodge around the conversation when you bring up how it was his decision as well. he has to go sit back down despite only being up for like five minutes, but don’t bring it up or he’ll kick you out of your tent for an hour. arthur becomes a little snuggly between the pain intermissions, he’ll try to scoot as close to you as he possibly can with his belly getting in the way. it’s kind of revolutionary when you discover you can very slightly lift arthur’s belly. it’s relieving enough that arthur can drift off to sleep and not wake up at the times he usually might. he still gets kicked a lot, and laying down with arthur you’ll hear him cursing his unborn child out a lot under his breath. you definitely know what their first words are going to be and it ain’t gonna be pretty. he does think it’s endearing how excited you get when you can feel the baby kicking beneath your hand, but at the same time he’s really grumpy and is momentarily really allergic to fun, sending you a glare everytime you giggle or smile. it’s kind of silly how much of an old man arthur starts acting like when he’s in pain, but you better believe the second the pain goes away he’s feeling like this baby is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he starts tearing up a little. arthur’s really convinced that he’s not deserving of most good things so he becomes a little anxious, thinking about all the things that might go wrong. the third trimester is a really tough one for him, probably one of the worst states the gang has ever seen him. arthur’s not the easiest guy to lift the mood of but it really does warm his heart at your care and attention when you attempt to put him into a position that might put less stress on his body. he ends up keeping a grumpy reputation even when he’s walking about painlessly but most people like to joke about how pregnant arthur isn’t any different to normal arthur, complaining about back pain and acting like everyone’s a nuisance. which isn’t entirely unwarranted, considering even you find yourself having to drive away some of the nosier camp members who offer ‘assistance’ to get out of doing any real work outside of drinking and sleeping all day. hosea’s told you that everything is under control. him and dutch have probably had hundreds of conversations since they discovered arthur’s pregnancy. hosea most certainly doesn’t blame arthur for his work leave, but you can only hope that at least dutch will give him a break to let him rest after he gives birth. you envision dutch with his hands on his hips, barking orders to your newborn. it’s not particularly something you'd look past him doing.

36 weeks and grimshaw has finished setting up a separate tent for arthur. it’s mostly empty at the moment, aside from a cot that resides in the middle. there aren’t many supplies inside but she says she’ll get everything when the time comes, that time being when arthur goes into labor of course. tilly’s become a little anxious which you guess is because she’s been assigned grimshaw’s backup to help with delivering arthur’s baby alongside abigail. mary-beth also seems a little on edge, though she appears just a bit more excited than tilly. grimshaw’s ordered you to keep close to arthur, saying that if anything goes wrong he needs you there to assist her in helping him. all of a sudden the cheery atmosphere at camp turns into a dark cloud of anxiety that seems to only be raining over you and arthur. grimshaw’s cynicism is expected, though you’d hoped there’d be a little less to be worried about than your brain was telling you. abigail tries to ease your worries realistically. birthin’ ain’t easy but his body will know what to do. abigail’s still here ain’t she? and so is jack, and they’re fine. you don’t expect his birth to have been anything less than long and difficult, but she’s not wrong. arthur is strong. he’ll get through it. and if he doesn’t then his baby will, because arthur won’t let anything happen to his child, you know that much. you try your best to spend the last weeks of his pregnancy as normal as possible. arthur’s appetite hasn’t budged, he’s still eating peach and rabbit with violet snowdrop rubs and some sort of herb that charles managed to get arthur to eat without causing a wave of nausea. strauss says his diet could be better but at least he’s eating. he seemed a little underweight but not dangerously so. his belly is the typical size for thirty-six weeks, fat and round and in the way, as arthur likes to mention. his flannels keep him warm at night despite the occasional hot flashes. oddly, he doesn’t seem all that worried. you consider the idea that he might have just tired himself out worrying the entire first two trimesters but arthur tells you that for the second time in his life he’s entirely sure of what he wants (the first being you) and what he wants right now is his damn baby. it’s very heroically arthur, the way he says it with his drawl hanging off his words and his mouth full of peach. you don’t know how he does it, always staying strong despite the misery he’s forced to put up with. his fly is folded down to make room for his stomach that looks like it’s threatening to pop the damn buttons off his flannel but he’s still resilient as ever. even when he finishes his can of peaches and looks at you with such dejection as he reluctantly asks for another, he is absolutely gorgeous. 

38 weeks and arthur wakes up with some, what you realize now, are contractions. it’s early in the morning where the only people awake are grimshaw and dutch. in about an hour or so the rest of camp will begin to stir. arthur doesn’t wake you up at first, assuming they were just regular pains. when the first wave rides out, he takes a deep breath and gets up to try and start his day. he’s not hungry, though he’s incredibly thirsty so he downs two cups of water before another wave of contractions begin. you’re not entirely sure how long they last, or how long they’ve been lasting, but by the time the sun has risen half the camp is awake now, and more importantly the girls and strauss are awake. you hurry over to grimshaw first and she has to ask you to slow down so you can properly tell her what’s wrong. she says something about it being early, early in the morning? early in the pregnancy? you can’t hear straight at the moment. arthur is trying to take deep breaths and the pain seems to be getting to him. you feel like you want to cry at the sight. grimshaw strikes you across the face, not too hard but certainly not delicately. it wakes you up and you can hear her now as she speaks to you. more hours have passed and arthur has been moved to the new tent. you’re crouched at his side, hovering but staying out of the way as grimshaw makes her way between strauss’ tent and the one arthur resides in. you try to stay calm so as to not pass your anxiety onto arthur, but he seems right as rain, breathing through the pain and letting you hold his hand that starts to feel wet coated with your nerves. you seem to be more scared than arthur, which both worries you more and also fills you with pride at his courage. you can only focus on arthur and the sweat that drips down his forehead, either from the pain or heat or stress. in an odd way you’d rather not know which one. thankfully he’s wearing a particularly large shirt so it doesn’t look like it’s too tight around his stomach. you unbutton it anyway, giving him some breathing room. at some point grimshaw takes off arthur’s pants, but she doesn’t seem concerned. from where you’re sitting you can’t see what’s happening. she’s focused, not talking unless she tells arthur to sit or lay down a certain way. at the very least she doesn’t mention anything about bleeding. at some point she tells you to get out to give everyone some space and you almost yell at her to let you stay but arthur is the final voice of reason who looks at you with such conviction you can’t even get a word out. you’re hesitant to go but charles comes in with a bowl and towels in hand and reassures you that everything will be fine. your legs move on their own, mary-beth even guiding you out of the tent before she’s directed back in by grimshaw. you’re at least greeted by hosea whose voice drowns out the chatter behind you. he walks you to a table, his hand on your back with friendly sentiment. some of the other camp members drop their chores to talk to you (only for a moment though, knowing grimshaw will get on their case if nothing gets done) but everyone’s presence just feels ghostly, like nothing is real. your blood runs cold. your hands are shaking so much you have to hold the cup of water hosea offers you with both of them. you can’t even take a sip because you’re certain it’ll just wind up on the ground and be a total waste. you keep looking back at the tent, it’s so far away you can’t hear the chatter but you occasionally see mary-beth coming out to fetch something from strauss’ wagon. when your eyes focus enough you can see some blood on her dress. 

it’s hours before abigail comes up to you. you’re not entirely sure how long it’s been, having been dozed in and out of sleep, but when you stand up your legs are numb and shaking from the stress put onto them. thank god, the first thing she tells you is that he’s alive, and so is the baby. you almost faint pushing through the tent, your eyes jumping to arthur’s exhausted form. he’s holding your baby in his arms who’s currently wrapped up in a light green blanket. you have a healthy baby girl is what abigail says when you crouch down next to arthur. she’s got some dark hair on her head, almost reminiscent to arthur’s where there’s some shimmery, somewhat gold color that shines through when the light of the lantern hits it. you’re so close to arthur that you can feel the heat radiating off of him like he’d been doused in melted copper. he’s crying, or he was crying since you can see his eyes are glossy and tinted red at the corners. he offers you to hold the baby, and hesitantly you take her into your arms. she’s so small and fragile. her skin looks flawless, her puffy face perfectly crafted. she’s making the softest noises, almost so quiet you can barely hear them over the sound of you and arthur breathing. grimshaw tells arthur something you can’t focus on enough to hear. your daughter wriggles gently in your hands and (very delicately) arthur takes her back into his own to help feed her. tilly’s beside you now, taking arthur’s abandoned clothes to wash them up. before she leaves she asks you what you’re gonna name her. it’s not much of a question by this point. beatrice, of course. you’d read it somewhere in arthur’s journal and his lack of reaction to her question proves to you that the name had been set in stone for a while now anyway. beatrice’s eyes peer up at you, hazy and pure. they bloom with color, blue and grey like a cloudy sky with the sun peeking out to burst into gold just slightly. she makes a little huff that has your face finally cracking into some emotion. knocked awake out of your daze you can see arthur’s color on his cheeks, his eyes still glossy and hopeful and alive. he looks at you with so much love as he wipes away the tears falling from your eyes. later in the night, beatrice is whisked away to be swaddled into a new blanket of which the next morning she bursts out of with a stronger perseverance than you expected out of a newborn. dutch luckily grants both you and arthur some time to spend with each other and beatrice. it takes immense effort to get everyone away, and though unfortunately a few strays make their way into your tent to say hello to your daughter, things don’t feel as bad anymore. arthur doesn’t bother trying to get on his feet, not even to defend his daughter from curious eyes. you've had jack on his tippy-toes trying to see her, mary-beth gushing with a little toy in her grasp as she attempts to entertain beatrice, and even kieran and sadie among the shadows to observe in silence, but arthur only sighs in a stubborn acceptance. grimshaw’s presence alone is reassuring of her safety, but your confident voice and tender expression is what helps arthur drift to sleep to get at least an hour or two of rest. he doesn’t tell you the details of the birth, though the lack of yelling and screaming should probably be enough to reassure you things went fine for the most part. arthur is tense in sleep, every coo from beatrice causing a stutter or jolt from his body. still, he eventually wakes with high-spirits, his eyes sunken but filled with solace. your daughter still breathes, alive and healthy, along with arthur. you don’t take your luck for granted—both you and arthur got more than you could have ever imagined possible. beatrice is heaven scooped up in your arms, and though arthur can’t speak due to a mouth full of peach, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

[enwoso]

does gio and Luca know Harrison broke lovie’s heart?? Or does Alessia just keep to herself and Leah to not make the situation even more worse than it already is?

i feel like alessia wouldn’t tell them just because she wouldn’t want to draw attention to it and make it a big thing considering the views her family hold on harrison but they would find out.

luca would just find out by alessia just accidentally spilling it in conversation, like she’s not even realised she’s said it as she busy doing other things while luca just standing around and his face just drops in anger.

and then like gio facetiming less late at night due to the time difference between the uk and australia and him being like, ‘why has he done that for?’ and less is just so confused being like ‘what? who are you talking about?’

[seenoversundown]

Insidious : Eight

Jake Kiszka x Rory (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut, some cute banter, fluff, intrusive and suggestive thoughts, pet names, flirting kind of if you squint really, smut warning time- look away now if you don’t wanna see it- masturbation, suggestive language, slight praise kink, special pet names.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: grab a cold bev and a sweat towel, babes! 🤭

Albuquerque, New Mexico | Day 2 | Show #2

I spent the bulk of the day running around to make sure everything was ready for the show tonight. Choosing to not stay out was probably for the best, considering how busy I ended up being today. 

Once I get the rest of my shit back onto the bus since we’re leaving after the show tonight, I run into the bathroom to touch up my makeup real quick before it’s time to go inside the venue. 

“You’re beautiful enough!” Josh sings as he wanders through the bus. 

I laugh, turning my head to holler back, “My husband could be in there, ya know!” 

“And he should love you regardless of your appearance!” He hollers back. 

I will say, despite the situation the other night, I do really enjoy my friendship with Josh. I haven’t been ready to bring it up to him yet, but I wish he had been the one to tell me what happened. 

Obviously, Jake was really the one who handled it, which I still don’t know what happened fully and frankly, I don’t think I want to know. But Josh was right there when I woke up and he could have easily told me what was going on. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I digress. 

We definitely had fun together and I’m trying to focus on that. Even the other boys have lightened up toward me and it's a nice feeling like I’m just part of the group. Hoping that it sticks throughout the tour, but I can’t imagine anything that would really make me question them. 

“You ready to go inside?” Sam asks, leant against the doorframe as I’m dropping my mascara back into my bag. 

I smile at him as he gestures for me to walk past, “Now, I am.”

Once they’re all happy and situated, I decide to go watch the band that’s on for a few. I figured if we’re gonna be doing this for a while, I may as well go listen to the rest of them too. Plus, having the ability to stand side stage, rather than out front, I’ll take any opportunity for that. 

There was always something about live music that truly just felt different to me. Getting to watch everyone on stage having the time of their lives and the crowd being just as into it. I always felt really lucky that I managed to get into the industry and now I get to witness it all the time. 

“Hey,” being whispered close to my ear making me jump. My head whips to the side, seeing Jake laugh as he stands next to me. 

I lean over closer to him, “Warn me next time, Jesus christ.” 

We both stand there for a few minutes just watching them, until I have questions for him. Leaning over to ask them where he can actually hear me. He returns the gesture so he can answer the question, but his hand sitting on my lower back had me a little distracted. Not that I necessarily wanted him to touch me, but I’m definitely a physical person and it’s been a while since I.. anyway. 

He pulls me out of the way of someone, and I knew it meant nothing, but the way he left his hands on me for a split second longer than he had to, my stomach was turning. I need to calm down, good lord. 

The band starts their last song of their set and I feel an arm plop down over my shoulders, glancing over to see Sam smiling at me. I don’t know why him hanging on me doesn’t give me the same feeling but, I’m not going to think that hard about it right now. It’ll only make things worse. 

“I’m heading back,” Jake says close to my ear and I just glance over at him and nod. Leaving me there with Sam, who is just happily vibing to this bands closing song. He pulls me with him as the set ends, so we can get out of the way before they start swapping out gear. 

Oddly enough, all the boys were in an eerily good mood today, but if we’re being honest, I wasn’t going to question it. Something must have happened at the bar for them to all be like this and that is a story for another time. I’m just grateful that nobody seems angry or needing me to really organize them at all now that we’re here. 

I follow them as they walk out for their set, sitting off to the side as they walk on stage. It’s still wild to me that Josh can do what he does on stage, considering what a bundle of joy he is off stage. 

The show today felt a bit better, and I don’t know if it was the good mood they all were in or if the crowd was better or maybe I was less nervous this time since it wasn’t the first show anymore. Regardless, it was more fun to watch them this time. 

They’re all pretty energetic on stage which definitely helps, and I know that it gets the attention of people in the crowd for sure. It makes me laugh when they acknowledge me off stage though, even if nobody else can see who they’re looking at. But watching the way Sam would point his bass at me while playing and then laugh, he really was a precious man. So carefree and goofy when he wanted to be, it was admirable for sure. 

Danny was way too locked in for him to be looking over, but the twins definitely took their turns. Josh walking closer to me, but I was hidden enough that the crowd wouldn’t know who he was screaming to. The big smile on his face as he lets out these foul sounds is hysterical to me. Making dumb faces as he faces me and then clocks back in when he turns back to the crowd, it’s like i’m getting my own personal show really. 

Jake would occasionally walk back to his amps and usually that is when he would either mouth something to me or widen his eyes, never anything crazy. I found myself watching him intently when he would go back though because he kept a few things sitting on his amp. But, mostly because he would pull up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face quickly and just the glimpse of his hip tattoos would make my mouth run dry. It’s a shame he’s as hot as he is, really. Or I’d watch him drink from the cup he had sitting on the floor, and just being able to see his jaw flex while he did was really doing a number on me. 

I hadn’t realized how long I had been watching them when I recognize the song they started. Well, I may as well stay for the last song then. Tonight’s show definitely made me more excited for the rest of tour, which is a relief after the first few days. 

Joining them as they leave the stage, following them back to the greenroom to grab all their stuff before we had to pile back into the bus again. Rowdy as hell, they are all having a good time as they cool off for a minute before we get out of here. 

“Where are we going boys?” Danny hollers. 

A jumbled response from a handful of them, some of the opening band members also joined us in there. Hard to believe any of them actually formed a plan, but they must have with the way they all rotated through the showers and got dressed again. 

Being one of a few women in the back stage area, it was absolutely wild to be surrounded by all these musicians. Most of them half dressed and just wandering about. A handful of the girlfriends had joined them backstage and I was lucky enough to say ‘hello’ to them finally, and they all seemed sweet– which is great for me, because I’ll have more people to talk to at shows. Thank god. 

“Are you gonna come with us, love?” Josh asks me as we walk out of the venue finally. 

I shake my head, telling him, “I think I’m gonna pass tonight. Just kind of want to lay in my bunk for a bit before all of you pile in there.” 

He laughs at me for a second, but then admits, “We are a bit rowdy sometimes. I don’t blame you, get some rest!” 

I walk over to our bus, and our driver is so sweet. Saying my nightly ‘hello’s to him as I get on. Chatting with him for a minute about his day, he really was such a good dude. Sam sneaking past me to grab something from the back before he quickly comes back up.

“Josh said you’re staying here?” He asks, a small pout on his face. 

I breathe out, “Yeah, I’m taking the night off from drinking, I think.” 

“Okaaay! Well, enjoy your nap then!” 

The driver looks over at me, “You’re staying here?” 

“Mhm,” I hum out. Realizing that he probably takes advantage of this time if the boys want to go out for a bit. “Oh, don’t let me stop you. Feel free to do whatever, I just want to lay down anyway.” 

“Works for me,” he lets out. Holding up some over the ear headphones and shaking them, “I will just watch my movie with these so I don’t bug ya!” 

I chuckle to myself, “Perfect.” 

Laying in my little bunk felt so good tonight. Something about how small it was just made it more comforting to me. I scrolled on my phone for a bit, just one of my headphones in so I could hear if anything happened. I did hear the doors open and close a few times, with footsteps in there. But the bus had been quiet for a while and all I could hear was the occasional quiet laugh from the driver, which had slowly turned into light snores. He really is such a cute older man.  Deciding I should put on a random playlist that spotify suggested, trying to give myself something to focus on that wasn’t his snoring. 

My mind wandered as I lie there, thinking about the way Jake’s hands were on me earlier today. Remembering the first night I met him and how smooth he was, god if only Georgia hadn’t knocked. I hadn’t been touched by a man for a while before that night and I haven’t since then either. 

The way he looked on stage, sweating and the facial expressions he would make while he was playing. And lord, don’t get me started on how nice his hands are– made my knees weak to watch him. But that could have been a combination of not getting laid for a while. 

Either way, as I lie here and he floods my mind, I reluctantly slip my hand under the waistband of my shorts. Turning my music down so I can hardly hear it, but I can definitely hear if anybody is trying to come onto the bus. Once I hear another snore from the driver, I let my hand wander down. 

Lightly running my fingers over my clit, which barely even touching it, I was fighting a moan. Taking a deep breath in as I finally add a little pressure, slowly and gently playing with it. The thought of Jake that night in the bathroom plays in my mind. The way he was so gentle to hold my leg as he cleaned me off but then pulling me off the counter with my legs wrapped around his waist. I would have let him do whatever he wanted. It’s like I can almost feel how soft his lips were against mine, the feeling spreading through my body as I sit on that thought. 

My hand adding a bit more pressure now, my throat letting a quiet ‘mmm’ slip out. But thankfully, the sound of a light snore still graces my ear right after so I know it’s safe. Letting my mind wander back to Jake, curious of what would have happened if we didn’t get interrupted. Those hands all over me and sliding into my shorts, I can’t help myself when another moan comes out, a bit louder this time. My eyes shut tightly as I lie, wishing I hadn’t played so hard to get that night so I could be day dreaming about so much more. 

Every moment feels better and better, fighting moaning too loud but I had to let some out because the pressure was killing me, but nothing would have prepared me when I heard, “Mhmm, how good does that feel?” 

Oh my god, Jake. 

Pausing my hand for a moment, just letting out shaky breaths until he says, “Keep going.” 

Is he also or.. My hand is moving a little faster this time. The sound of his voice makes my thighs tense up. Knowing he can hear me, I choke back the noises trying to escape. It only takes a minute before one sneaks out of me, and I can feel my face redden at the sound. But only until I heard the rustling sound coming from the bunk next to me. 

A low, ‘Mmm,’ hits my ears, and my mouth falls open at it. He’s.. 

Just the thought of him stroking himself six feet away from me, I can feel myself inch closer to an orgasm. Seeing him walk around in his boxers, I know that he’s blessed and then picturing that in my mind as I play with myself– my subconscious betrays me, “mmm Jake.” 

My eyes shoot open when it comes out, oh no. But I can’t stop my hand at this point, I’m too close. 

“Yes, baby,” his voice low, and the sultry tone to it making everything overwhelming. “I wanna hear you.” 

My breath falls out of me at his voice, the feeling getting stronger. Trying not to overthink the situation, I keep going. 

“Come on, Rory,” he starts. “Need you to come for me, I know you want to.”

My head is spinning as he’s talking me through it. 

“Just let it go,” he groans. “I just know you’re so fucking wet right now.”

The feeling starting to trickle through my body, my breathing picks up and I can’t help myself when I let out, “Fuck me, Jake.”

“That’s my girl,” he moans. “Fuck.” 

I can still hear the light sounds of him stroking himself, as I lie here trying to breathe through what just happened. Something possessed me when I whispered, “You sound so sexy, Jake.” 

His little groans littered the air. My legs tightly crossed as I kept teasing him. 

“Please, come for me,” I start. “I was so good for you.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. 

The smile grew on my face, knowing he had to be almost there. Taking a deep breath and then pulling out the only move I felt like I could in this position, when I moaned, “Mm yes, daddy.” 

His breath hitches at my moan, the rustling from his bunk stops. I lie there in silence when I hear the light snore from our driver again, and I try not to laugh at it. Finally, hearing him get up and the bathroom door shutting rather quickly. 

How am I supposed to look at him?  

What felt like hours, was maybe another forty-five minutes, when I hear the bus door open and the rest of them stumbling onto the bus– I know that’s my cue to get up. Going up to the front and plopping down in my normal spot next to Josh, his arm hung over my shoulders. 

They recapped how the night went as the bus driver got situated and got us back on the road. I giggled at the stories that they have from the maybe two hours they were out. Sam telling us all about this girl that he almost brought back but then he realized she looked a little too much like his ex and got the ick from it. 

It was only a few minutes before Jake finally joined us and the two of us avoided eye contact. At least it isn’t just me. Trying to look at him, and he’s shirtless, which is already difficult for me, but then I realize he's in some joggers, sat low on his waist. 

“Jake, what did you end up doing?” Josh asks. “You don’t usually turn down going out.” 

I decide to be brave and look over at him, my heart pounds as I do. His eyes met mine for a second and there’s no way my face didn’t flush a little. 

“Oh, just hung out,” he says casually. “Needed to take a load off, y’know?” 

I almost choke on my drink when he says it. Feeling his eyes on me, looking back at him, he slowly winks at me. 

This is going to be a long fucking tour. 

Seven

Masterpost

Taglist: (reply or dm to be added)

@gvfsstardust @myleftsock @imleavingyoufornewyork @dont-go-home-without-me

@literal-dead-leaf @lizzys-sunflower @mackalah @klarxtr

@edgingthedarkness @writingcold @takenbythemadness @i-love-gvf

@earthgrlsreasy @peaceloveunitygvf @gretavanfan @musicspeaks

@jazzyfigz @smoking-jakelane @demonrat444 @hollyco

@josh-iamyour-mama @wrldabomination @broken0mens @whereiskeara

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@sanguinebats @nicoleghost18 @lightmy-love

@monkeylaura627 @myownparadise96 @cheersdannyx2 @dyslexicchild13

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@i-choose-the-road @demolitiondanchipsversion @godly-sinsx

@joshylanefleet @alantern-inthenight

@justwantjosh

[b4kuch1n]

glorioso from last years twitterin

[sludgekludge]

still thinking about how millie's biggest criticism from the audience has always been that she's the 'moxxie's wife' character and has little development or things going on vs the male leads. one of the 2 episodes we get focusing on her development specifically is about her relationship to the men in her life. they know this is a major criticism directed at millie's writing and execution. they know people want her to have a character outside of the men in her life.

anyway we have diagnosed our undeveloped, male-accessory woman character with pregnancy plotline

[daftpatience]

one thing I have learned about being poor is that you cannot for a moment stop thinking about it

[girlivealwaysbean]

i think growing up is just life repeatedly sucker punching you and saying bitch you thought things were gonna better lmao no you're so naive and stupid for having hope in 20 years the world will be flaming bag of garbage and no matter how hard you work you'll get eliminated at some point