#balancing act band

[davemcfukinstrider]

"stop mixing your niche interests, nobody cares" WRONG. the band balancing act makes loads of curtwen-esque songs and im SICK of hiding it

[basu-shokikita]

maybe i have not seen the content people complain about but when i see talks about the fandom infantilizing toki i'm confused cause like...didn't canon start that...with every passing season toki become more and more child-like until age regression was essentially confirmed in aotd...

[pagan-stitches]

Today’s blogging and stitching soundtrack:

[sorrymomband]

[musique-electronique]

so... I've ordered the hyperdrama mag (and am considering getting the tsugi special edition).

would anyone be interested in helping me recoup the cost—of shipping, to be more precise—in exchange for early, full access to scans? I'm thinking about setting up a discord chat or server where I can share these for folks to browse, with select uploads going public here at a later date (end of this year at the earliest). excess contributions would be donated to orgs helping folks in gaza.

shoot me a dm if you're interested.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[spotlight-if]

Lights, Camera…Chaos.

[PLAY HERE] (October 23rd, 2024) Act 1, Chapter 1, 64.2k words.

For as long as you can remember, your dream has stayed the same—you want nothing more than to make it as an actor in Hollywood. After years as an overlooked, overworked talent, your big break comes from an unlikely source. And it’s one that changes everything, for better or worse.

Hollywood is its own character within this world—sometimes it loves you, sometimes it wants nothing more than to see you crash and burn. Navigating this ever changing landscape while balancing your own interpersonal relationships is only half the challenge. The other half is memorizing your lines.

Navigate the red carpet, bloodthirsty paparazzi, cut-throat tabloids and complicated relationship dynamics with A-list celebrities (who may or may not be completely insane.)

But, hey: isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

Key Features:

- Customize your Actor: are you a classic Hollywood heartthrob? An eccentric and unconventional recluse? Are you kind and genuine despite the fame, or a cutthroat diva with undeniable talent?

- Navigate scandal, paparazzi, and stan culture: dodge or embrace the flashing lights. Interact with your fans, or distance yourself from them for your sanity. Wait—who are they shipping your character with?

-Build your legacy: choose between the stability of superhero blockbusters or turn into an indie darling. Or, maybe forgoe both to become a household name in the horror genre.

- Network and build relationships: whether they’re manufactured by your well-meaning publicist or spawned from real feelings, forge dynamic and ever changing relationships with other industry icons.

- Try to manage your mental health: the dark side of the industry lurks in every corner—the highs are high, but the lows are ever lower.

Characters:

Kendall Mays (gender selectable)—ever the loyal best friend, Kendall followed you into the throes of showbiz without hesitation. From fighting over toys on the playground to helping you run lines for a major motion picture, you can always count on them to have your back. That is, before they met Mason—their ever-present boyfriend who demands more and more of their time. You were never that great at sharing.

[Note: Kendall is not a romance option.]

Sutton Foster (he/him, she/her)—child star turned award winning powerhouse. Sutton Foster has everything an actor could want—well, minus the countless stays at rehab centers around the world. It’s undeniable that Sutton is a generational talent, but what’s even more notable is their messy personal life. You yourself have been caught in Sutton’s gravitational pull, once upon a time. The question lies in whether or not you’ll pull yourself away.

Wyn Grace (he/him, she/her)—on stage, Wyn is electric. The same cannot be said for Wyn off-stage. The lead singer of the up-and-coming Indie band is struggling with their meteoric rise to fame. As the awards pile up and the crowds get bigger, Wyn is unraveling at the seams. All they wanted to do was make music with their friends, but the fame makes them reconsider it all.

Lex Moreau (he/him)—an older, award-winning director with an…eccentric disposition. Yet despite his volatile nature and obsession with perfection, anyone who’s anyone would kill to work with him. Lex is always in search for a muse, a great beacon to pour all of his artistic vision into. And now, he thinks he’s found that in you. Lucky you?

[C is a conditional character, only appears based on choices you make.]

Carlo/Carmen Mencina (gender selectable)—C is harder to pin down than a stable acting gig in LA. When you’re together—it’s kismet. The problem lies in when you’re apart. C’s frequent disappearances abroad leave a bad taste in your mouth, and when a shocking truth comes to light, it’s not just your relationship in the spotlight—it’s your life, too.

Flings and other mini-romances will be available as well. But these I will let be revealed as the story progresses.

When writing this game, I knew what themes I wanted to focus on, and the care/detail needed to do so. Hence, this game is strictly 18+.

TW: death, substance abuse, suicide, bullying, explicit language, violence, and explicit (skippable) sexual content.

Thank you for reading my intro! Reblogs are welcome, and my ask box is open (:

And major thank you @thecutestgrotto for the gorgeous headers!

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Fatboy Slim - Praise You 1999

"Praise You" is a song by British big beat musician Fatboy Slim, and was released as the third single from his second studio album, You've Come a Long Way, Baby (1998). It reached number one on the UK Singles Chart and in Iceland, number four in Canada, number six in Ireland, and number 36 in the US. A total of six samples are used in the song. The song features a prominent vocal sample from the opening of "Take Yo' Praise" by Camille Yarbrough, as well as a prominent piano sample from the track "Balance and Rehearsal" from a test album entitled Sessions released by audio electronics company JBL in 1973. That recording session was for "Captain America", sung by Hoyt Axton; a snippet of Axton's vocals humming the "Captain America" melody can be heard in the album version of "Praise You." "Praise You" also features a guitar sample from the opening of "It's a Small World" from the Disneyland Records-released album Mickey Mouse Disco, the theme from the cartoon series Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids, the electric piano riff from "Lucky Man" by Steve Miller Band, and the drum beat from "Running Back To Me" by Tom Fogerty. In a 2021 interview with the website WhoSampled, Yarbrough said that she liked "Praise You" and its use of her vocals, feeling that Cook kept the essence of "Take Yo' Praise".

The accompanying video for "Praise You" was directed by Spike Jonze with Roman Coppola. Jonze starred in the film, under the pseudonym Richard Koufey, along with a fictional dance group: The Torrance Community Dance Group. The video intro described it as "A Torrance Public Film Production". The video was shot guerrilla-style – that is, on location without obtaining permission from the owners of the property – in front of puzzled onlookers outside the Fox Bruin Theater in Westwood, Los Angeles, California. In the video, a heavily disguised Jonze and the dance group, acting as a flash mob, dance to "Praise You", much to the chagrin of a theatre employee who turns off their portable stereo.

The video reportedly cost only US$800 to produce. It won three major awards at the 1999 MTV Video Music Awards: Breakthrough Video, Best Direction, and Best Choreography. It was also nominated for, but did not win, Best Dance Video. In 2001, it was voted number one of the 100 best videos of all time, in a poll to mark the 20th anniversary of MTV.

"Praise You" received a total of 80,6% yes votes! Previous Fatboy Slim polls: #12 "Weapon of Choice".

[p0orbaby]

It Doesn’t Get Any Easier

summary: you’re the new physio, tasked to help leah one on one with her recovery; but lines start to blur the longer you spend with one another

warnings: none

a/n: i enjoyed this one. also trying out a slightly different style so let me know what you think

word count: 2.8k

-

Leah comes in every morning just after 7:30, always a little earlier than the rest of the team—well, what’s left of the team—who roll in around 8, give or take. You start noticing her patterns by the second week. It’s not intentional. It’s just that she’s hard not to notice. The way she slips into the room quietly, moving like a shadow, like she’s trying not to be seen even though she’s Leah Williamson and there’s something impossible about Leah Williamson going unnoticed. You’re not sure she’s aware of it, or maybe she is, maybe it’s part of the act, something people like her learn over time—how to balance being seen and unseen simultaneously. Either way, she always acknowledges you. It’s a brief nod or a soft “Morning” that comes out like a sigh. But it’s there. And you nod back because it’s professional, it’s polite.

You’re the new physio, brought in because someone higher up decided that ACLs are the new pandemic, and Arsenal’s hit hard by it. One by one, players dropping like flies—tears, rips, stretches that aren’t supposed to stretch. Someone needed to focus on rehab, on these slow and tedious one-on-one sessions. So, here you are. Your life has become a revolving door of knee braces, resistance bands, ultrasound machines, and cold compression therapy. A strange, repetitive kind of intimacy.

Leah is assigned to you. "Take care of her," they say. She’s a captain. She’s the face. There’s an unsaid urgency that comes with her, an invisible asterisk by her name. You feel it in every briefing, every passing mention of her progress. Everyone’s waiting for her return. Waiting for her to be fixed.

Your first session with her is awkward. Stilted. You’re overly conscious of how she sits, her knee elevated, her eyes on the ceiling, like she’s counting the tiles instead of looking at you. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and that weird plastic-y scent that medical equipment always has. You ask her the standard questions: pain level, range of motion, any stiffness. She answers with one-word responses, tight-lipped. There’s a distance between you that you can’t quite figure out if it’s professional or personal. Maybe both.

-

Weeks pass, and the routine becomes muscle memory. You know when to push and when to pull back. How to make her laugh, how to coax her into stretching just a little more without her getting defensive. You start to notice the little things about her. Like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts after you adjust the brace on her leg, or how she clicks her tongue when she’s frustrated, a soft noise that barely registers unless you’re paying attention, which you are. You’re always paying attention to Leah.

It’s in the middle of a session that things shift. You’re guiding her through a series of exercises—balance work, stuff that’s boring but essential—and she’s sweating, biting her lip as she focuses on not wobbling. You’re right there, hands out, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She doesn’t, but the proximity is there. Too close, maybe. Your fingers brush her waist as you correct her form, and she inhales sharply. You freeze, but she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice lower than usual, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the weight of her stare, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice sounds strained, like she’s not sure it’s the right answer. She’s not looking at you anymore, her focus now on the floor, her hands gripping the sides of the bench like she needs to anchor herself. The room feels smaller, the air thick.

You pull back, step away, putting space between you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the echo of her skin under your fingers, the heat of her proximity. You clear your throat, force a smile. "Let’s take five”

She nods, doesn’t say anything, just grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink, her throat working, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. You turn away, pretend to be adjusting something on the ultrasound machine even though it’s perfectly fine, just to give yourself something to do, something that isn’t thinking about how her skin felt under your hands.

-

The next time around is more tense. There’s an unspoken tension now, like a line has been crossed, or maybe it hasn’t, but it’s close. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of skin. Leah doesn’t mention it, but there’s a change in her too. She flirts, subtly at first—offhand comments, jokes that land just a little too close to something more. You laugh, play along, because it’s harmless. It’s nothing. Except it’s not.

You catch yourself watching her more. The way her muscles ripple under her skin as she moves, the way her lips part when she’s concentrating, how her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if she notices you doing the same. You wonder if she feels it too—this thing simmering between you that’s becoming harder to ignore.

One day, after a session, she lingers. The rest of the team has filtered out of the gym, and it’s just the two of you, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

"Thanks for today," she says, her voice soft. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, her knee still wrapped in the brace, but she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. There’s something in her eyes, something you can’t quite read, and it makes your chest tighten.

"It’s my job," you say, but the words feel hollow. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks now, trying to convince yourself that this is just work, that this is just another injured player, another knee to fix. But it’s not. You’re not sure when it stopped being just that, but it has.

"Is it, though?" she asks, and her voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A challenge.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

She stands, slowly, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s close to you now, too close again, and you don’t step back this time. "I think you know what I mean," she says, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You don’t have an answer, or maybe you do but you don’t trust yourself to say it out loud. The air between you crackles with something electric, something that feels inevitable.

She leans in, just a fraction, and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You could close the distance. You could kiss her, right here, right now, and no one would know. It would be easy. Too easy.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back. You force a smile. "We should stick to the plan. Don’t want to push the knee too hard too soon”

It’s a cop-out, and you both know it. The shift in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the brief flicker of disappointment before she masks it with a shrug.

"Right. The knee," she says, her tone casual, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a thin thread ready to snap. She doesn’t push it, though. Instead, she grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and heads for the door. But just before she leaves, she glances back at you, her eyes sharp, like she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide if this is a game or something else entirely.

You stand there for a long time after she’s gone, the gym feeling too big, too empty. You can still feel the weight of her gaze, the heat of her body close to yours. You tell yourself it’s just work, just rehab. But deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

It’s never that simple.

-

The sessions after that are different. There’s a push and pull now, a tension that neither of you acknowledges but is impossible to ignore. Flirting turns into something sharper, more pointed, like you’re both testing the limits, seeing how far you can go before something breaks. But nothing breaks, not really. Not yet.

Then one night, you cross the line. It’s late, the training ground is empty, and Leah’s the last one in the gym. You’re both exhausted, worn down by weeks of slow progress, of frustrations mounting. The conversation starts off innocuous—something about her recovery timeline, how she’s feeling. But it shifts quickly. There’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that cuts through the usual banter.

"Why do you keep pulling back?" she asks, and there’s nothing light in her tone now. It’s serious. She’s serious.

You blink, thrown off. It’s late, the harsh fluorescent lights above cast everything in this sterile, washed-out glow that makes you feel like you’re in a hospital, or some kind of waiting room where nothing feels real, nothing matters. Leah’s standing in front of you, close but not too close, not like before, but close enough that you feel it—the weight of her presence, the space she occupies, the air between you vibrating, charged with something neither of you is willing to name but it’s there. It’s been there for weeks. Maybe longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but it’s a lie and you both know it. You’re tired, too tired to come up with something convincing, and it’s the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s seeing through every excuse you’ve built up, every wall you’ve thrown up between you because you know you have to, because you’re the physio, you’re supposed to be the professional, the one who stays detached, clinical, objective. You’re supposed to care about her body, her knee, not the rest of her. Not this.

But the truth is, you do care, too much, and it’s bleeding into everything. Into the way you touch her during sessions, the way your fingers linger just a little too long on her skin when you’re adjusting the brace, or the way your pulse speeds up when she leans back on the bench, sweat glistening on her forehead, the tendrils of her hair stuck to her neck, and you wonder what it would feel like to brush them away. You know you shouldn’t, that it’s a line you can’t cross, but the line’s blurred now, so faint you can barely see it anymore.

Leah narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s wearing an old Arsenal training kit, the fabric worn and soft, the logo faded from too many washes, and you notice that she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s frustrated, twisting it around her fingers like she’s trying to keep her hands busy, like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something vulnerable, like she’s exposing a part of herself she doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. “You know exactly what I mean”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. You’re not stupid. You know why you’ve been pulling back. Why you’ve been keeping your distance. It’s because this—whatever this is—is dangerous. It’s complicated. It’s wrong in a way that’s hard to define but easy to feel, like a low hum in the back of your mind that you can’t shake. And yet, the more you try to stay away, the more you find yourself drawn to her. Like gravity. Like something you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, and your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You’re aware of how this looks—two people alone in a gym, the air thick with unspoken tension, the kind of tension that feels like it’s been building for a long time and is about to spill over. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s almost 10 a.m.—and you wonder how it got so late, how time seems to bend around her, how hours slip by when you’re with her but still, its never enough. There’s always more, always something unsaid hanging in the air between you.

Leah uncrosses her arms, taking a step closer. You can see the faint scar on her knee, the way the skin’s still a little pink, a little raw, and it’s a reminder of why you’re here, what your job is, but all you can think about is the way her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching. “I’m not asking for simple,” she says quietly, and there’s an intensity in her voice that catches you off guard. “I’m asking for honest”

The word hangs in the air, heavy, and you feel something in your chest tighten. Honest. You think about what that would look like. What it would feel like to stop pretending, to stop playing this game where you act like you don’t notice the way she looks at you, the way your body reacts to hers. You think about what it would mean to cross that line, to give in to what’s been building between you. The consequences. The fallout. The way it would shift everything irreparably, and yet, the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You take a breath, slow, steady, trying to collect yourself, trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in your head, a mess of things you can’t say, shouldn’t say. “Leah,” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence, because there’s no good way to say what you’re thinking, no good way to explain the way your heart speeds up when she’s near, the way your skin prickles under her eyes, the way your mind drifts to her at night when you’re lying in bed, staring into the darkness, replaying moments in your head that shouldn’t matter but do.

She’s watching you, waiting, and you can feel the weight of her expectation, the way she’s daring you to say something real, something that matters. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of pretending, tired of holding back, but something inside you cracks, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over themselves like they’ve been waiting to escape. “Because I have to. Because I don’t know how else to do this without—” You stop, shaking your head, because it sounds ridiculous, it sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is. “It’s not just about your knee,” you say finally, and it feels like a confession, like something you’ve been holding onto for too long. “It’s about everything else”

Leah’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe, or relief, or something else entirely. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she steps even closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her sweat mixed with the scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, and it hits you like a wave, overwhelming in its simplicity. You feel the pull again, stronger now, undeniable.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, and her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that cuts through the haze in your mind. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

The words hang between you, suspended in the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the gym, the team, the world outside this room. It’s just you and her, and the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

Leah reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something you’ve been trying to suppress for weeks, months. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you disappears, and her lips are on yours, and it’s like everything snaps into focus all at once.

The kiss is rough, urgent, like it’s been building for too long and now there’s no stopping it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of her body against yours, the way her breath mingles with yours in the small, stolen space between kisses. It’s messy, frantic, like neither of you can get enough, like you’ve been starving for this and now you’re finally letting yourself have it.

You don’t think about the consequences, about what happens when this moment ends. You don’t think about the power imbalance, the lines you’re crossing, the mess you’re making. All you can think about is the way she feels against you, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

[kirain]

I decided to make adult designs and "where are they now" stories for all the child tieflings who are confirmed to survive to Act 3.

Unbeknownst to her, Arabella was a latent sorcerer with a natural connection to the Weave. Her powers likely would've manifested at puberty, but touching the idol of Silvanus imbued her with wild druid magic, multiclassing her prematurely. This caused an internal struggle between the two powers, which threatened to rip her and anyone around her apart. Fortunately, with Withers' guidance, she set out to follow the Weave and found balance in her new, strange abilities. For years she traveled Faerûn alone, honing her skills and making peace with her past. Eventually, she became known as the "Wondering Storm", so attuned to nature some would mistake her for Silvanus' Chosen. Those who crossed her, however, would swear she was Jergal's Chosen; able to end a life with a single stare. Though not unkind, Arabella became feared by many for her stoic personality, mysterious presence, and peculiar command of the Weave. It seemed that wherever she was needed, she would inexplicably be.

Though Raphael went silent, Mol continued to enjoy, and perhaps abuse, the gifts from her patron. With the Absolute defeated, she quickly clawed her way up the ranks of the Guild, eventually becoming a pseudo ward to Nine-Fingers Keene. For years she would sharpen her skills, mentored by Keene and her most trusted associates, until she challenged the notorious crime lord to a duel for leadership. Much to her surprise, Keene lost, and was therefore forced to relinquish command to the young tiefling. Seeing the move as a betrayal, however, the Guild's loyalty was split, causing the criminal powerhouse to fracture. This led to a dark time for the Guild, with many in Baldur's Gate referring to it as the "Outlaw Civil War". Much blood was shed during this conflict, but eventually Mol turned the tides in her favour, running Keene and those still loyal to her out of the city. She would go on to rebuild the Guild in her image, successfully and more fearsome than ever; though, when she approached her old colleagues with an invitation to join, they all declined.

Once he managed to enter the city, Mattis tried to find his companions from the Grove, but he ultimately turned his sights to conning rich families with "panaceas from the hells". For a while, he flourished under this racket, until his scheme was exposed by jealous competition. This led to him being violently assaulted by angry customers, nearly ending his life—he only survived by rolling into a rapid canal. After being saved by a kind, impoverished couple who fished him out of the water, he spent nearly three months confined to a bed. His recovery was slow and agonizing, but hardly discouraging. Instead of succumbing to his misery, he took the time to plot his revenge. With the couple's help, he learned the laws of the land and revived his strength. Then, when able, he cut his hair, disguised his face, spied on the man who wronged him, and subsequently tricked him into signing his business over to the couple. Together, they turned the questionable business into something respectable. Mostly. Mattis' silver tongue finally became an asset, rather than a survival tactic, though he was never above a good swindle.

Ide and Umi took up arms during the Absolute's attack on the city, each of them basking in the action. Realising that Umi had developed an insatiable bloodlust, and itching for more battles herself, Ide suggested they enlist into the army. Though technically too young, the new General—appointed by High Duke Ravengard after the fall of the Absolute—accepted them as apprentices until they came of age.

Though their time with the Flaming Fist was imperative to their training and survival, they found the rules and hypocrisy of the troop disheartening, and even more so when the General died. Eventually they deserted, leaving Baldur's Gate entirely and starting a small band of vigilantes. To some, they were a menace. To others, they became heroes of the Sword Coast. No matter the case, Ide and Umi were inseparable, never seen apart.

Inspired by his saviours, Mirkon continued to write stories about his time in the Grove and his rescue from the harpies. He never found his parents, but he refused to live in the slum's orphanage. Life was hard for the young tiefling, often forcing him to grovel for food and coin. On the worst days, he found comfort turning his stories into songs, which he slowly morphed into a semi-profitable street act. This eventually caught the attention of Alfira, who one day happened to be passing by. Recognising his talent, and overjoyed to be reunited, she took him in and taught him how to play the violin. Together, they created a lucrative show that expanded well beyond the Elfsong Tavern, which aided Alfira in opening her dream college. She and Lakrissa would soon adopt Mirkon, and he would later become one of the most beloved and celebrated instructors at the college.

Though working as a hawker for the Baldur's Mouth kept Silfy fed and relatively sheltered, she grew listless. Dealing with rude and racist customers hardened her enough to snap back, resulting in her termination. With nowhere to go, she found herself wandering into Ramazith's Tower, where she implored Rolan for a job. Feeling for her plight, Rolan put her to work stocking shelves and filling orders. It wasn't exciting work, but she was safe and satisfied, until one day a customer's tome exploded, causing a flurry of rainbow flames that whirled into the shape of a unicorn. This event, though frightening, would inspire Silfy to start reading the books in the shop, with the help of Tolna and Rolan. To everyone's surprise, she proved to have an impressive aptitude for magic, and she soon found herself enthralled. Within just a few years, Silfy would be accepted into Blackstaff Academy, where she would excel in her studies and catch the eye of the great Vajra Safahr. She would offer Silfy a position in the school, as well as a mentorship, but Silfy would politely decline, graduate, and return to Bauldr's Gate. Her true home.

[bethsvrse]

★ WHISPER CHALLENGE ★

PAIRING Hugh Jackman x actress!reader

WARNINGS little spicy at the end but other then that it’s just fluff

The lights brighten, the band strikes up a tune, and the studio audience is buzzing with excitement. Jimmy Fallon’s voice cuts through the noise with his signature infectious energy.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Jimmy Fallon’s voice booms over the studio, pulling the crowd’s attention back to the stage. “Tonight, we have a very special guest with us! She’s an incredible actress, a producer, a writer, and she just so happens to be starring in the new film Little Light. Please give it up for Y/N Jackman!”

You step onto the stage, beaming as the audience erupts into cheers and applause. You wave, offering them that warm, genuine smile you’ve perfected over the years. Settling into the guest chair, you take a moment to appreciate the atmosphere—there’s something so alive about being on Jimmy’s show.

Jimmy beams at you, leaning forward in his chair, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “I have to say, Y/N, it’s great to have you back. You’re always such a fun guest, and now you’re starring in Little Light — which I’ve heard so many incredible things about. It’s a powerful story.”

You nod, crossing one leg over the other as you settle in. “Yes, uh Little Light is really close to my heart. It’s about a mother who experiences a miscarriage and finds an unexpected connection with her neighbor’s granddaughter, who’s staying with her grandmother for the summer.”

Jimmy nods, looking thoughtful. “That sounds like such a moving story, I’m so excited to watch it. And—if I’m not mistaken—you’re starring in the movie alongside your own daughter, River?”

A smile crosses your face, a mix of pride and affection filling your voice. “Yes, that’s right. River plays the granddaughter in the film, and she’s absolutely phenomenal. I mean, I’m biased, obviously, but she blew me away on set. She’s 16 now and really coming into her own as an actress. She’s got such natural talent, and working with her… it’s been such an incredible experience.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and Jimmy grins, his eyes widening in that playful way he has. “Sixteen?! She’s already acting with her mum—how cool is that?”

“Yeah, sixteen going on thirty, I swear,” you joke, shaking your head with a smile. “But, to be honest, it hasn’t been easy. With her rising career, my work, Hugh’s work, we’re constantly on the move. It’s hard to balance everything sometimes. And right now, she’s back at the hotel, actually. She wasn’t feeling too great, so she’s watching this on TV, probably critiquing every word I say.” You chuckle and wave at the camera. “Hey, sweetie! Get well soon, I love you.” You added with a small kiss to the camera.

Jimmy leans forward conspiratorially. “So, does she give you notes after interviews like this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “She’ll text me after every appearance like, ‘Mum, why did you say that?’ or ‘You looked a bit awkward there.’ She’s brutally honest. But I love it.”

Jimmy laughs along with you before shifting in his chair. “You know, something else I heard… and you can tell me if this is true… you haven’t seen Hugh in almost a year?”

“Sadly, that is correct,” you say with a wistful sigh. “With Little Light being an Australian movie, we filmed it there—which, don’t get me wrong, was absolutely amazing to be back home—but it meant that River and I were always across the world. We’d typically be filming in America, so a 10-hour flight was manageable to visit Hugh. But an 18-hour one? Neither of us could do it with filming so it’s been tough. FaceTime has been our best friend at the moment,” you joked with a small laugh, trying to lighten the tension in the room that Jimmy could definitely feel, not so much the audience though.

Jimmy looks genuinely sympathetic. “That’s gotta be so hard, especially after all this time together. But you two… you’ve been through a lot, and you always seem to make it work.”

You nod appreciatively. “We do. We’ve been married for a long time now, and we’ve gotten pretty good at the long-distance thing. But it’s never easy. The reunions, though… those are always something special.”

After some more laughs and talking about the movie, it’s time for the commercial break. You sip some water, chatting briefly with Jimmy off-camera, as the stagehands move around preparing for the next segment.

As the cameras roll back on, Jimmy is already in game mode. “Alright, Y/N! You know we love to play games here, so I figured we’d try something a little fun,” he says, holding up a pair of headphones.

You laugh softly, already anticipating whatever wild challenge is coming. “Oh boy, what have you got in store for me, Jimmy?”

“We’re gonna play the ‘Whisper Challenge!’” he announces, holding up the headphones for the audience to see. “I’m going to wear these headphones and try to guess what you’re saying while I listen to loud music, then it’ll be your turn. Sound good?”

You nod, leaning back in your chair with a playful glint in your eyes. “Sounds great!“

Jimmy slips on his headphones and gives you a thumbs-up. The music starts blasting in his ears, and you mouth the phrase silently, moving your lips in exaggerated fashion.

Jimmy squints at you, clearly baffled. “Uh… Salad dressing?” he guesses.

The audience erupts into laughter as you shake your head, mouthing the phrase again.

“Santa’s resting?” Jimmy tries again, causing another round of laughter.

You give him one more exaggerated mouth of the phrase. “Shopping center?” He said confused, “I’m so bad at this,” he said, much more loudly then he meant form the music coming from his head phones.

You repeated the words once more, putting on as much emphasis as you could and you watched as Jimmy’s face lit up. “Little Light! Little Light!” He said excitedly before taking off his headphones, “it was little light right?” He asked almost worried.

You let out a small laugh with a nod, “yes, yes it was little light.”

“Whew! I was worried I’d never get that one. I wasn’t even close as well, Santa’s resting? Where did I get that,” Jimmy chuckles, slipping off his headphones and shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, your turn!”

He hands you the headphones, and as you place them over your ears, you give him a grin. The loud music blasts into your ears almost immediately, and you can't help but laugh to yourself—this was definitely River’s favorite song. She’d been playing it nonstop in the car, at home… pretty much everywhere.

Jimmy raises his voice slightly to speak over the music, “What’s playing?”

You respond without thinking, still adjusting the headphones so they were no longer on your ears. “What? Oh shit—wait, are we playing yet?! Sorry for swearing! My bad!” you blurt out, the apology spilling out before you even register Jimmy laughing across from you.

“No, no! You’re good!” Jimmy reassures you, still chuckling. “I asked you what song was playing.” He repeated

“It’s murder on the dance floor,” you answered, “River absolutely loves this song.” You added, flashing him a sheepish grin before putting the headphones back on. The game begins, and as Jimmy starts mouthing words, you do your best to concentrate, squinting as if that might help you somehow decipher the movements of his lips.

“your husband is behind you.” He said, emphasing the word.

You tilt your head, not quite catching what he said. “The tour is behind me? What?” You shrug, honestly still a little distracted by the music.

The audience suddenly bursts into loud cheers, and you notice the energy in the room shift. Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back at Jimmy, who’s now practically glowing with excitement. He repeats himself slowly, exaggerating every word, “YOUR HUSBAND… IS BEHIND YOU.”

Before you can even process what he’s saying, you feel a pair of hands gently land on your shoulders. You jump slightly, your headphones slipping off as you whirl around—only to see Hugh standing right there, grinning down at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open in shock. Without thinking, you spin in your chair, shifting to kneel on the cushion so you can throw your arms around him. The audience erupts into applause and cheers as you hug him tightly, not even caring that you’re half-perched on the chair. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, savoring the moment of finally having him close after so long apart.

Hugh chuckles softly, his voice warm and full of affection. “Missed me?”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, still in disbelief. “You have no idea,” you whisper, your smile so big it almost hurts. “Oh my god.”

Jimmy laughs, clapping his hands together as the audience’s cheers grow louder. "Hugh Jackman, everybody!" he calls out, standing up and joining in the applause.

Hugh gives a small wave to the audience before turning his attention back to you. You’re still in shock, hands covering your mouth as you try to comprehend what just happened. The cameras catch every second of your raw, genuine reaction, and it’s clear to everyone that this moment means everything to you.

Jimmy, ever the showman, grins and says, “I think we just had the best Whisper Challenge moment in history right here!”

You laugh, watching as Hugh comes to sit next to you. “I did not expect that. You sneaky bastard,” you joke, playfully swatting his arm.

Hugh chuckles, his arm resting behind you. “I figured I’d surprise you, and when Jimmy reached out to me about it, I thought, ‘Why not?’ It’s been way too long.”

Jimmy leans forward, loving every second of this wholesome interaction. “So, Hugh, how did you manage to keep this a secret from Y/N?”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” Hugh admits, smirking. “I had to avoid every FaceTime call for the last few days so I wouldn’t slip up. But it was worth it.”

You shake your head, still smiling, feeling your heart swell with happiness. “I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

Hugh chuckles, taking your hand in his. “It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

Jimmy sits back down, looking at Hugh with newfound enthusiasm. “Alright, Hugh, now that you’re here, I’ve gotta ask—how excited are you to see Little Light?”

Hugh’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m thrilled! I’ve seen some early footage, and it’s incredible. I tried to get Y/N to show me more but she won’t budge.”

You laugh, looking over at him lovingly, “just because your my husband doesn’t mean you get special treatment.” You teased

“I showed you unreleased Deadpool and Wolverine footage!” Hugh defended with a smile.

“You wanted to! You said you desperately needed someone to talk to about it because Ryan was annoying you.” You replied

“I did not say that. Stop putting words in my mouth,” he says with a small shake of his head but still having a smile on his face.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth! If anything River is because she told me that’s what you said on the phone!” You said, Hugh letting out a laugh, muttering of course she did under his breath.

“Speaking of River, what do you think about her acting career? I mean, she’s following in her parents’ footsteps in a big way.” Jimmy asked with a smile

Hugh’s face softens with pride as he talks about his daughter. “I’m incredibly proud of her. She’s got so much talent and dedication. Watching her grow and develop her craft has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. She’s worked so hard, and seeing her succeed is just amazing. We have to get all of us in a film together.” He added with a soft laugh.

“I’m sure she’s jumping up and down in the hotel room because she gets to see her dad again.” Jimmy smiles.

“I can actually call her,” Hugh mentions casually as he brings out his phone.

“Oh my god, yes.” Jimmy nodded, leaning in as it rang.

“You can get mad at her for being sick,” you told Jimmy with a smirk.

The phone rings a few more times before River picks up, her voice immediately full of energy. “Oh my god,I can’t believe you’re here!” She explained happily. “I wish I was there. Why the hell did I have to be sick today of all days.” She sighed, “I do have to say that if you don’t come straight to the hotel after the interview I will genuinely never speak to you again.”

Hugh laughs softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "You heard that, right? No pressure or anything." He looks at you and Jimmy with a grin.

"She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?" Jimmy teases, leaning forward as if he’s sharing a secret.

You nod, chiming in with a smirk, “Completely. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

River’s voice comes through the speaker, playfully annoyed. “Mum, don’t gang up on him! I’m sick, remember?”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say, feigning seriousness. “I’m the one who had to watch The Office with you for the past two days.”

Hugh chuckles, shaking his head. “You love it, admit it.”

“I do, I do, I got to baby her again so it was great,” you confess with a laugh, before addressing River again. “Alright, sweetie, we’ll come straight to the hotel after this, I promise.”

“You’d better,” River replies, her tone softening. “Love you both. Get through the rest of the interview, then come hang out with your sick daughter.”

“Love you too,” Hugh says before hanging up the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He leans back in his chair, looking content. “She’s always keeping us on our toes.”

Jimmy smiles warmly, looking between the two of you. “I’ve gotta say, you three are the definition of family goals. I love it.”

You glance at Hugh, sharing a knowing look before turning back to Jimmy. “We’re pretty lucky, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I think that’s a perfect note to wrap things up. Y/N, Hugh, thank you both so much for being here. It’s been an absolute pleasure. And Hugh, it’s always great to have you. Don’t forget, everyone—go see Little Light in cinemas August 14th, and mark your calendars for Deadpool and Wolverine on July 26th!” Jimmy says with a large smile.

The interview wraps with a warm round of applause, and as soon as the cameras stop rolling, you and Hugh exchange quick smiles with Jimmy before stepping off the stage. The lights dim, and the lively hum of the audience fades into the background as you make your way toward the backstage area. Hugh’s arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer as you navigate the narrow hallway.

As soon as you’re inside the dressing room, the tension hits like a wave. Hugh’s hand doesn’t leave your side, fingers brushing your waist like he’s scared you’ll slip away again. The door barely clicks shut before his lips crash into yours—no hesitation, no holding back, just pure need after a year of waiting.

You melt into him immediately, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging in as if you need to make sure he’s solid, that this isn’t just another dream of him that you’ll wake up from alone. The kiss deepens, hot and urgent, months of distance and longing pouring into it. The way he holds you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, makes your heart skip.

Your back hits the door with a thud, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss, breathless but teasing as you mumble against his lips, “You know... someone might hear us.”

His lips curve into a grin, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands slide down your body, fingers tightening at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. “Let them,” he breathes, voice low, almost a growl. “I don’t give a damn. I’ve waited a whole fucking year for this. For you. Let the whole world hear.”

Your laugh comes out soft, shaky, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to keep pace with his. You let your hands wander down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “I missed you too,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. Then you pull him back into a kiss—this one slower, more deliberate, but still burning with the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, feels like it’s pulling you deeper into him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself give in. His hands explore, tracing your sides, your back, reacquainting themselves with every inch of you. You respond in kind, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers mapping the familiar lines of his torso, rediscovering every scar, every dip and ridge of muscle.

The kiss breaks only when you’re both gasping for air, but even then, neither of you pulls away. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and for a moment, the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, the rest of the universe outside that door forgotten.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight as if he can’t believe you’re really here. “I thought about you every day,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper, rough with emotion. “I couldn’t stop. I tried. But nothing... nothing feels right without you.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cupping his face. “I know,” you whisper back, your voice soft but steady. “Me too.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. It’s not just about need anymore—it’s about the connection, about being with the one person who feels like home. You don’t need to speak; the way his hands hold you, the way his lips move against yours, says it all.

Looks like River might need to hold off a bit longer before she gets to see her dad again.

[beomiracles]

Hii! I was wondering if you could do a Beomgyu fic where Beomgyu and the reader have been best friends their whole lives. They are now at college together. Beomgyu also could be kind of a bad boy, stoner, emo type. He could also be in a band or something. I would say the reader is much more soft and kind of the opposite of beomgyu. Maybe he is slightly jealous/possessive. Also dom beomgyu?? This would literally make me soooo happy! Could be a combo of angst, fluff, and smut! 🩷🩷

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... this one might be one of my favourites so far hehe !! the ending is a little abrupt but if I didn't end there I would've continued for forever I fear >.< those pictures of him got me acting different.

wc -> 2k

pairings grumpy!beomgyu x sunshine!reader warnings implied stoner!beomgyu, themes of jealousy, reader is kinda oblivious, best friends to ???, fingering, neck kisses, soft dom!beomgyu

“Hey! You joining us or not?” Your friend’s voice calls out and you tear your gaze from your phone screen as you blink up at him. “O-Oh yeah, I was just checking if Beomgyu was done..” — Your friend scoffs as he pulls you along to join the others, “that junkie?” He wonders and you frown, “he’s not a junkie.” None of your friend’s were particularly fond of your best friend. Beomgyu was easy to judge if you didn’t know him, you supposed. But that didn’t make their comments hurt less, though you knew he couldn’t care less for them. 

“I really don’t get why you insist on hanging out with him, you guys are polar opposites”, your friend continues as his grip on your waist grows firmer. “I…uhm, well we..” — “And he’s so touchy with you, don’t you think it’s weird?” Your lips part in protest and your frown deepens, but before you get the chance to defend yourself, he tugs you even closer, making you lose your balance as you cling to him. “Don’t you think you should surround yourself with people more like you?” He says before greeting the rest of your small friend group, earning himself a couple of confused glances from everyone as their eyes fell on his arm around you. Your face contorts into an awkward grimace as you subtly try and wriggle yourself from his grasp. 

“Are you guys ready to-” Your friend is quickly interrupted by the low clearing of a throat behind him. The familiar hand on your shoulder makes your head snap over to Beomgyu who was watching your friend with distaste. “Beomgyu!” You exclaim as you free yourself from your stunned friend’s now loose grip. Hurriedly skipping over to him, you link your arm around his as you smile up at him, “how was band practice?” Your question is disregarded by your best friend as Beomgyu’s gaze narrows down on your friend, his jaw clenching when he swallows. “It was fine.” He states without sparing you a glance, his arm previously linked with yours sliding down to wrap around your waist. 

Awkwardly clearing his throat, your friend avoids Beomgyu’s intense gaze as he turns back to the rest of the group. “A-Alright are we ready to head out..?” He splutters and everyone quietly nods as they subtly try to peer in the direction of your best friend. “We won’t be joining you.” Beomgyu states and you shoot him a confused glance before shifting back to your friend who watched you expectantly. “No I… I guess we won’t”, you say before Beomgyu pulls you away, a scowl on his face.

“Christ angel, why do you even hang out with them?” He mutters as you walk down the empty hallways of your college building. “They’re my friends”, you object, and as you turn left, your mind slowly pieces together where he was taking you. Beomgyu scoffs, but his grip on your waist remains firm as you walk hip to hip, “and him?” — You frown as you glance over to him, Beomgyu’s expression remained stern and almost gloomy as he kept his gaze fixated forward. “He’s also my friend.” You mumble as your eyes drop to the floor in front of you. “Didn’t look like it”, he snorts before you reach the staircase leading down to the basement. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question as you near the door by the end of the steps. Beomgyu rolls his eyes as his free hand fishes up a small key. “C’mon angel, don’t be daft, he was practically smothering you”, he grunts as he twists the metal in the lock, kicking the door open with his knee. 

“You touch me like that too though?” The statement slips past your lips without much warning and you feel him go stiff beside you. He doesn’t say anything as he leans over you to flick on the light, illuminating the familiar studio, filled with all kinds of instruments pushed up against the walls. “That’s different”, he huffs as he lets go of your waist. You watch him walk over to the collection of guitars before picking one out, a confused pout on your lips, how was it any different if you were all friends? 

Beomgyu liked playing for you, and you liked listening. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to spend hours down here after class ended, the soft hum of strings filling the room as you listened to him play. But today was different. — Beomgyu had barely finished his second song before he turned to where you lounged over on the small couch. “Come here”, he beckons you over and you slowly pull yourself from the couch. 

“What’s up?” You wonder as you reach him, awkwardly shifting by his chair. “Why don’t you try”, he says as he tugs you onto his lap. Startled by his sudden course of action you instinctively reach for his shoulder as you steady yourself. “Me? But I can’t play I..” Beomgyu shakes his head as he readjusts the guitar over your thighs, his arms brushing against yours. 

Swallowing a small gulp you glance down to the instrument in front of you, desperately trying to ignore his warm breath on your neck as he peered over your shoulder. “Place your hand here”, he guides your fingers to wrap around the neck of the guitar. “We’ll start with an easy chord”, he mumbles as he shows you how to position your fingers over the strings. “Don’t press down too hard, it’ll hurt.” You slowly nod as you let your fingers relax under his. 

Your breath hitches as you feel his other hand glide along your forearm, “here”, his voice is but a low murmur as he shows you how to flick your wrist along the strings. “You need to be light with your movement, put more pressure on the first few and then loosen it as you go.” — “O-Okay”, you whisper as you let your fingers drag along the fine chords. The small note sings out from the guitar, and you find yourself smiling at your small accomplishment as you turn to Beomgyu, immediately bumping noses with him. You hadn’t realized just how close he was. “A-Ah sorry”, you mumble before turning back to the instrument in your lap, your face scorching with color. 

Beomgyu’s face is practically next to yours as he leans forward, his chest pressing against your back. “Let’s try another one”, he muses as he helps you reposition your fingers once more. This time his light touch felt almost electric and it sparked a wildfire within your body and you resisted a shudder. — Not until the soft sounds of the guitar filled the room once more did you find yourself relaxing again. 

As he hums behind you, Beomgyu’s hands on top of yours move to rest on your waist instead, the simple and familiar touch somehow felt oddly sensual. “Try altering between the two chords”, he murmurs, his words dancing across your neck and you bite the inside of your cheek. “Like this?” You ask as your fingers switch back into their former position. The hands on your waist readjust their grip as Beomgyu leans back against the chair, “exactly.” 

The next few minutes are spent in silence, save for the occasional adjustment from your best friend as he redirects your fingers on the strings. Soon you’re able to play four chords and you alter between them as a melody slowly starts to build. — But as you’re about to master the fifth chord, Beomgyu’s once tender touch to your waist carefully spreads down the sides of your thighs. Your fingers on the guitar still as you peer at him through the corner of your eye. “Keep going”, he sighs, “you’ve almost got it.” 

You swallow as you turn your attention back to the guitar, your arms suddenly feeling weak as you grip it tighter. His warm hands on your thighs felt a lot different than any of his regular touches did and your mind struggled to focus on the task at hand as he drew small shapes on your skin, though never breaching past the hem of your skirt.

At first it was only the faint whisper of his breath across your neck, barely there but enough for you to recognize his even breathing, then it grew hotter, he suddenly felt closer, then his lips finally pressed against your skin and you felt your breath hitch, you know he felt it too. “Beomgyu, what are you…” He smirks against your neck before carefully planting another soft kiss, “keep playing.” 

You weren’t sure you would be able to, not when his warm mouth trailed over your skin, when his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, not to mention the bulge in his jeans that pressed against your ass through the flimsy material of your skirt. Was this really something best friends did? You had known Beomgyu for the greater part of your life, and while you had admittedly had a little girl crush on him during your pre teens, you never considered it to be something beyond that. — You and him were too different, right? 

“You okay, angel?” His husky voice breaks your train of thought, you hadn’t even realized that you’d stopped playing, or that his hands had slipped beneath your skirt. You blink, once, twice, three times as you meekly clear your throat. “Y-Yeah m’fine”, you chirp and Beomgyu chuckles against your skin. “Tell me if you’re not”, he then adds, suddenly sounding serious and you nod, your lips parting in surprise when his fingers dip inside the cotton of your panties. 

“Why don’t you try the fifth chord again?” He murmurs against your neck as he presses another open mouthed kiss to it, making you shudder. “Okay”, you whisper as you distract yourself by focusing on the strings before you. You’d almost gotten it when his fingers suddenly rubbed up against your clit. Immediately you lose whatever small sense of composure you had left as your thighs squeezed around his hand, a high pitched moan being pulled from your throat. 

His warm breath travels up to the shell of your ear and he gives it a feathery kiss. His voice felt soft against the side of your face when he spoke again, “you still okay?” — Biting your lip, you nod as you carefully glance over at him. He was watching you with a tender expression, his lips curved into a faint smirk as he let his fingers glide between your folds and you feel the color on your face intensifying. 

His gaze doesn’t waver as he pushes a finger inside, his eyes fixed on your reaction as your mouth falls open, breathless moans falling from your lips. “Have I ever told you that you’re pretty?” He murmurs as he curls his finger inside of you, making you squirm on his lap as you grip the guitar tightly in your hands. — “Y-you have..”, you stammered as a small whine passed your lips. Beomgyu often called you pretty, or cute, you thought it was something friends did. But he shakes his head before sliding a second finger inside your wet cunt. “No, not like that.” — “Pretty like…well pretty like this.” His eyes glimmer as he watches the way your eyebrows scrunched together, your eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep them open.

He looks almost to be debating with himself for a brief moment before finally leaning in to tenderly press his lips against yours. Your eyes widen, if only for a split second before they close as you reciprocate the kiss. — “Beomgyu”, you cry as his fingers brush past the small bundle of nerves that made you throb. He hums against you as his thumb circles your clit, “‘s okay, angel”, he reassures as he feels you clench around his fingers, your orgasm soaring through you and you shudder as you moan into his mouth. 

Was this something best friends did?    

taglist ✎... @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @gardnhee @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @junimoa03 @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @369girlswannadrinkwine @gudboibeomgyu @flowzel @sthwaaberry @lit1esec @hwanghyunjinismybae @sanasour @celestialbeomgyu @f4iryfever

(if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!)

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ᰔ © all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[loveinhawkins]

Robin’s always had a soft spot for Eddie Munson, but up until recently it had been in a distant kind of way; she appreciated his class clown act, the way it had a domino effect of keeping the heat off the band kids, how he hogged the spotlight for any passing douchebag’s attention.

But then they both literally dive into The Upside Down, and her appreciation reaches a whole new level.

They’re in the Wheeler’s garage, thanking their lucky stars that four bikes exist in 1983 (and yeah, Robin’s sure that if she thinks about the whole time thing for half a second more her brain will promptly melt, so she doesn’t).

Each of them are pushing their chosen bike down the driveway, in a dazed sort of silence—the high of the Lite-Brite worn off in the face of another grim journey through The Upside Down.

Steve is flagging, Robin can hear it: his breathing’s growing laboured as he walks, an occasional unsteadiness to him that’s setting her anxiety off all over again, because what if they were wrong, what if it’s really rabies, and it’s too late, it’s coursing through his veins, and he’s—they’re gonna lose him—

“Hey, Harrington,” Eddie says, swinging a leg over his saddle, “wanna race?”

“… Hmm? Sorry, what?” Steve says.

There’s not even that long of a delay in him speaking, but the pause still has Robin’s heart in her throat.

Eddie’s got one foot on a pedal now, ready to set off. He looks back at them with a shaky grin—like he’s terrified, but he’s still gonna have some fun anyway.

“I’m throwing down the gauntlet, King Steve. Bet I’ll be faster than you.”

Steve scoffs, stands up a little straighter before he mirrors Eddie, balancing on the bike with one foot on the pedal.

“How much are we betting?”

Eddie huffs. “Oh, no money involved,” he says nonchalantly. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “This is just for the glory.”

And God, there’s that spark back in Steve’s eyes; it’s like Robin can physically see his competitive streak giving him strength.

Eddie Munson, you beautiful soul, she thinks, I could kiss you.

“Faster than me? Yeah, maybe in your dreams, Munson,” Steve says.

But Eddie’s already speeding off with a comical whoop; Steve curses as he hurriedly tries to catch up, yelling, “You dick, that’s cheating!”

“Not in my rulebook!” Eddie says with a cackle.

And for a little while, that’s enough to put Robin’s mind at ease: watching the pair of them taunt each other like kids—hearing Nancy laugh at the spectacle as she bikes alongside her.

But then she falls through the Gate, Eddie close behind her, and they freeze when Steve screams Nancy’s name with such fear.

Robin’s plunged back into a mind-numbing panic; she’s sure that her heart doesn’t even begin to slow until they’ve left the trailer park, until Steve’s control of the RV switches from ‘holy shit, we’re on the run, what have our lives become?’ to something more normal—the reliable, measured driving she’s familiar with, taking her to and from school or work.

Finally, she has time to, um… take stock. Of… things.

She wobbles her way over to Eddie, grabbing onto his elbow as Steve takes a turning.

Eddie instantly holds her up, a steadying hand around her waist. “Oh, hi. I’ve gotcha—” “Your music isn’t actually shit,” Robin says in one breath. “I know, um, on balance, it’s probably not the worst thing I could’ve said, but the delivery was—but, you know, considering I thought Nance was literally about to die, I’d say it was, like, kinda calm all things considered, but—”

Eddie’s chuckling. “Yeah, on balance,” he echoes teasingly, “you were pretty damn funny, actually. Uh, sorry for. Um. Screaming at you? Basically?”

“Basically,” Robin agrees. “Yeah, you were like impressively loud. Not quite eardrum-rupturing level, but y’know, I don’t actually know anyone who’s really had that happen to them; Amanda Wallis said she ruptured hers at the pep rally ‘cause she was standing too close to us—the band, I mean, but—”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s bull, there’s no way that’d be loud enough to—”

“—I think she just had a grudge ‘cause David C on mellophone got literally the tiniest bit of spit on her, and he was only—”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you sit in the splash zone at your own risk.”

“Exactly! She’s had plenty of time to learn marching band protocol.”

“Uh-huh, protocol,” Eddie echoes again, with a giggle.

He’s got a nice kind of laugh, Robin thinks: one where she’s never in doubt that he’s laughing with her rather than at her.

“That stuff you do’s pretty cool,” he says; with his free hand, he actually imitates her mime of playing a trumpet. “You must have good, uh…” She can see the exact moment that he’s having second thoughts about saying it, but he forges ahead anyway, with a hilariously uncertain, “Good… lungs?”

“Fascinating attempt at a compliment,” Robin says. “Luckily for you, I accept insults as, like, equal tokens of friendship.”

Eddie does a double take. He doesn’t go so far as letting out a questioning, “We’re friends?”, but he might as well have said it anyway: his eyes widen for a moment, like someone who’s just been unexpectedly asked out to prom.

Steve takes another turning; he does it smoothly enough, but even he can’t stop the RV from moving with it, and Robin stumbles again, very nearly ends up repeating how she toppled right onto Eddie in The Upside Down.

“Woah there, you’re good,” Eddie says, “just gotta find your, uh, what’s it called? Your equilibrium.”

“I don’t have any,” Robin says, all theatrical devastation, and Eddie snorts.

“Sure you do, Buckley. Look, just take my—yeah, that’s it, then just kinda straighten up… yeah, you’ve got it.”

And yes, after a minute or so, Robin’s footing does feel more certain, but she still keeps a stubborn grip on Eddie’s elbow, just in case.

“God, d’you know what I’m gonna do when all this is over?” Eddie says.

“Pray tell.”

“I’m gonna make a list. What was it you said, Madonna, Blondie…? Whatever, I’m getting all of them, m’never getting caught out like that again.”

“I’m hoping that needing music to evade the clutches of a serial killer from an alternate dimension is, um, strictly a one-time thing.”

“Don’t care,” Eddie says. “Still buying those tapes. Just in case.”

And yeah, it’s said partly in jest, but Robin can hear that he means it. Still, it’s the most optimistic that she’s heard him be so far: making plans for after, like he can really see a way through this. Like maybe he finally knows that they’ll help him get there.

“Need a list of tapes from you too, Buckley. You and Harrington.”

Robin smiles. Her first thought is of singing Total Eclipse of the Heart from the dirt-ridden floor of a mall bathroom, but then she thinks of every car ride with Steve, every time they’ve turned up the radio to belt along, and she knows that there are way too many songs to count.

“Forget a list,” Robin says, “I could fill a book. Same for big boy over there.”

Eddie blinks, like he’s suddenly taking stock, too. “Oh yeah,” he says, laughing lightly, “I did say that, huh?”

“Sure did. I was doubting my ears, too.”

Robin had been hoping they’d long since reached the point of being able to joke around with one another. But while Eddie does laugh again, he also starts biting at his thumbnail, glancing over at Steve in the driver’s seat.

“Um, hey.” Robin manages to keep her balance, briefly pressing her knee against his leg. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie.”

“No, I know.” Eddie huffs self-effacingly. “I’ve kinda got permanent foot-in-mouth disease, my report cards would tell you that.”

Well, if he wants to pass it off as sometimes I just say the darnedest things, Robin would be a hypocrite to deny him.

It fascinates her in a sad sort of way though, how he veers between joking and nervousness—like he’s worried he’s intruding on their group, of overstepping somehow.

She wants to tell him: Look, we all got dragged into this, but we chose to stick around, and you’re no different.

But she no longer has the aftermath of Russian drugs to help bypass her own nerves, to kickstart her sincerity.

“Hey, you’re awfully quiet back there,” Steve calls, and Eddie startles.

Robin shakes her head. “Not us, that’s his—”

“Hello? Henderson, I’m talking to you.”

“We’re not even doing anything!” Dustin shouts back in exaggerated affront.

He’s sat on the backseat of the RV, peering out the window along with Lucas, Erica and Max. Robin stifles a chuckle at the sight; they look like they’re on a field trip—the cool kids at the back of the bus.

“Yeah, well, just checking,” Steve says, amused. “For all I know, you coulda been building a gigantic radio again on, like, the roof of this thing.”

“Cerebro,” Dustin says, just as Eddie lets out a baffled, “Uh, again?”

But then they’re pulling into The War Zone’s parking lot, and any chatter abruptly dies.

Afterwards, Steve gets off the road to park in a reassuringly deserted field. They don’t head outside right away (Robin’s not exactly looking forward to prepping Molotov cocktails), instead staying in the RV to eat junk food they’d grabbed beforehand.

Robin discovers that Dustin’s somehow bought five more cans of Pringles and snorts, declaring, “You’ve got a problem.”

At some point, Steve tries to sneak off to the bathroom so he can change his dressings—“And use actual proper bandages!” Robin calls to him; no offence to Nancy’s resourcefulness, but the torn shirt strips only do so much good.

It becomes a more comical than horrifying event, although she’s sure that’s down to Steve deliberately making it so, like a sleight of hand trick: playing it down as he keeps talking to the kids throughout, never wincing even once.

He ends up having to keep the bathroom door open to continue an argument with Erica over which Scoops Ahoy sundae was the best of all time—then figures that he might as well just step out into the open anyway.

At least the wounds have stopped bleeding—although the sight of Steve cleaning around them with bottled water is one that Robin could personally do without.

The kids are entirely unfazed. They flock to Steve, peering at the glimpses he lets them see like he’s just got a cool tattoo. Robin supposes that after El and whatever nightmare wormy thing was in her leg, they’ve seen everything.

Eddie, however, is another matter. He keeps quiet about it, not obvious at all, but Robin watches his face grow paler and paler before Steve wraps the new bandages around his stomach.

Dustin, bless his precocious little heart, must also notice, because he quickly starts up a seemingly impromptu game of charades, meaning that Eddie is soon distracted by his ridiculously over the top gestures.

“No, Steve, how are you not getting this?”

“I thought the whole appeal of this game was that you’re not meant to talk, Henderson. Dude, watch it, you nearly took Max’s eye out with… whatever the hell that was.”

“Oh my god, it’s Back to the Future, obviously! Ow, Max, I didn’t mean to—uh, yeah, the mime needs to be that big, how else am I gonna project what—”

“Dustin, I swear to god, I’m about to project you out the window,” Steve drawls.

Eddie laughs, hides it behind his hand.

But Steve must catch it, because he glances over at Eddie and winks before he’s dragged back into guessing another movie title.

And Robin’s obviously seen Steve wink before—he does it all the time, so much so that she’s become quite adept at reading when it’s a friendly one for her, or if he’s sharing some kind of in-joke with one of the kids.

She’s also seen his attempts at a ‘smooth’ wink towards some girls at work—and look, he’s Steve Harrington, it’s not like he’s going to be bad at it.

But if you ask Robin, it’s never looked quite right, like he’s always performing to an audience he’s unsure of.

But this wink doesn’t look like it belongs to either of those categories. Well, it’s got something in common with the first: that it looks entirely natural, as if he’s doing it almost without thinking. Like it just feels right.

They go through some more rounds of charades—Dustin’s gestures, if possible, getting even more dramatic—and Eddie gradually goes from contributing a few guesses to none at all, curling up on the backseat. He looks utterly wiped out.

Robin tries to catch Nancy’s eye, and after a few attempts, she gets the message, stands up with a nod.

“Okay, let’s take this outside, guys.”

“Spoken like a true camp counsellor,” Max says.

Nancy acts like she’s offended, but her lips keep twitching into a smile. “Max, never say that to me again.”

“There’s more space outside,” Erica says, “so we can duck out the way of Dustin’s windmilling arms.”

“Hey!”

“I’m bored of charades,” Lucas says. “We could do another competition? Like, I dunno, cartwheels or handstands or something?”

“Oh sure, so I can show you up?” Max returns, grinning.

Steve scoffs. “Uh, if you’re doing a cartwheel competition, I would win.”

“Since when?” Dustin says, an obvious taunt that Steve predictably rises to, flipping him off.

“Save your athletics for Vecna, please,” Nancy cuts in dryly.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” Lucas gestures to Steve’s stomach, a little uncertainly. “You know, considering…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Under normal circumstances, I would kick all your asses.”

“Sure,” Robin says brightly, “but Steve, if you do literally anything more strenuous than sitting down right now, I’m gonna—”

“Uh, Steve would kick your asses, actually,” Eddie says slowly. His voice is muffled from the way his hand’s holding up his chin, partly covering his mouth. “He did gymnastics.”

Robin, surprised, looks to Steve; he’s doing that thing where he scratches at his cheek unconsciously, seems to be a mixture of embarrassed and pleased.

“How’d you know that?” he asks.

Eddie shrugs. “We didn’t have a cover for gym one time, remember? There was a whole group of us slacking off but you just kept doing, y’know,” he twirls his fingers, “tricks on that box thingy.”

“Vaulting box,” Steve corrects like he can’t stop himself. He’s sporting an almost abashed little smile that Robin’s never seen before.

Eddie shrugs again. “S’all Greek to me,” he says, interrupts himself halfway through with a deep yawn.

Steve’s eyes soften. And then he’s ushering the kids outside, “C’mon, you can do whatever competition you want for thirty minutes before we get to work.”

“Got it, coach.”

“Shut up, Mayfield.”

“I’ll be your stopwatch if you’re doing handstands,” Nancy chips in, bringing up the rear—she catches Robin’s eye again, subtly tilts her head in Eddie’s direction and mouths Stay?

Robin nods.

“Uh, that won’t be accurate at all,” comes Dustin’s rebuttal—he’s outside now, but his voice still carries. “Unless you can like accurately keep time in your head down to the second—”

“Oh my god, Dustin, you’re such a shithead.”

“Nancy Wheeler, I’m heartbroken.”

Steve’s chuckle floats through the open door. “She said it, dude, not me.”

“You say it all the goddamn time!”

And then the voices fade away until all Robin can hear is distant laughs and joyful screams. It’s relaxing, in its own way.

“No gymnastics for you, Buckley?” Eddie says.

“Nope, not since 7th grade. Managed two cartwheels before I broke my wrist.”

Eddie winces in sympathy. He’s slumping a bit more; Robin makes herself comfy in the opposite corner of the backseat, gives him the most space.

She feels a weird lump at her back, behind one of the cushions. A quick investigation reveals an issue of TV Guide Magazine.

“Ooh, we can find out what we missed while on the run,” she says, waggling it in front of Eddie.

He smiles with a small huff. “Doubt it. Says 1981 on the front.”

“What’s a little more time travel?”

Robin flicks through to the crossword. She’s all too aware that Eddie’s still sat more stiffly than anything else. With Steve, it would be so easy; she could prod him in the thigh with her toe, light touches until he took the hint and relaxed.

But even before they’d really become friends, they were tactile: a tap on the shoulder to grab attention, bumping hips to move each other out of the way whenever they were scooping ice-cream at the same time. It’d been done so unconsciously, like they were already learning to read each other’s minds.

With Eddie, it’s clear that a different approach is needed.

Robin had caught onto that after her misstep at the boathouse, a pit in her stomach at the sight of Eddie’s hands shaking.

But her instinct to reach out, to soothe, made her unthinkingly try again; as they walked in the woods, she’d heard his breathing quicken, and her hand lightly brushed his back. She drew back as he instantly flinched at her touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said hurriedly. “Just—just checking you were okay. Sorry.”

Eddie just stared at her before nodding hesitantly.

And Robin wanted to tell him that it wasn’t by chance, that he had people who cared about him; that she did, and it wasn’t a fluke or an accident—she was choosing it.

She keeps her eyes on the magazine, jots down a few crossword answers. It reminds her of summer days spent reading on her grandparents’ porch, not wanting to startle a cat her grandpa had rescued as it approached her. It was always so spooked.

“You’ve just gotta let him come to you, sweet pea,” her grandma would say.

After a couple minutes, she hears Eddie breathe out, the creak of the seat as he lies down. He rests his head right next to her thigh.

“S’good?” he asks, pointing at the magazine.

“It’s pretty easy.” One of the crossword clues is ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the?’ which isn’t exactly taxing. “I’m used to doing the cryptic ones.”

Eddie laughs. He kinda sounds fond. “Of course you are.”

“They’re not that hard, once you know how to read ‘em.”

“Hmm, I doubt that. Lay one on me, Buckley.”

She purses her lips in thought. “Oh, I got this one last week. Condition of Wyoming, five letters.”

Eddie lifts his head ever so slightly to give her a blank look. “Not a fucking clue.”

“State. Get it? ‘Cause ‘condition’ is the definition, and Wyoming is literally—”

“God, I’m surrounded by geniuses.”

“Well, I’ve got the advantage of a summer of code-breaking.”

Robin slowly raises her hand as she speaks—makes sure to do it in Eddie’s line of vision, spots that he doesn’t pull back, that he even gives the tiniest half-nod. She pats his head twice.

Eddie scrunches up his nose. “Sorry, my hair’s gross.”

“It’s not that bad,” Robin says honestly. “Y’know for being on the run, it’s holding up pretty well. I’m getting whatever shampoo you use.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure.”

“Yours is looking way better than mine did after, like, one day getting wrapped up in all this.” Again, without really thinking, Robin adds, “I had all this sweat and blood and puke in it.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed now. He makes an unhappy sound, prods gently at her knee. “You’ve all gotta work on telling me horrific shit. That should not be casual for you, Buckley.”

He sounds emphatic—protective, even. Robin feels unexpectedly emotional.

“Yeah, sorry. Bad habit.”

Silence falls, and by the time Steve enters the RV, Robin has filled in the whole crossword, Eddie dozing by her side.

Steve’s getting another bottle of water—actually drinking it this time. He’s got grass stains on his knees, and he’s sweating slightly, like the ‘stay still’ advice hasn’t once been taken.

His eyes soften again when he sees Eddie sleeping—he doesn’t need to linger, but he does.

Robin watches.

We need more time, Steve, she thinks suddenly. For you to keep looking at him like that—for him to be awake to see it.

Steve tears his eyes away. Lands on her.

She smiles, mouthing What?

Steve rolls his eyes. He imitates her ‘what?’ mockingly, but then he smiles back and taps at his wrist, mimes winding a watch on. It’s what they do whenever they’re slammed at work, wanting to talk, but only able to briefly catch each other’s eyes in the rush. Later.

She taps her wrist. Later, she promises.

He gives her a double thumbs up—what a dork—before heading back outside.

Robin quietly puts the magazine away. Ever so carefully, she lightly strokes Eddie’s hair, feels her heart swell and break at the same time when he sighs contentedly in his sleep.

You’d better look after yourself, Eddie Munson, she thinks. You’ve got people here. People who really want you to stick around.

[cgunderwearstories]

The cowboy swayed through the deserted streets of downtown, his boots striking an uneven rhythm on the pavement in the quiet early hours of the morning. His broad-brimmed hat tilted low over his eyes, and his blue jeans clung to his legs—well, mostly. What he hadn’t noticed in his drunken haze was that the entire left side of his jeans had torn away from the upper thigh to the waistband, leaving his underwear exposed in a scandalous, unrestrained display.

The torn fabric revealed his tighty whities, snugly hugging his frame with a level of exposure that seemed almost deliberate. The leg band was stretched taut around his thigh, framing a hefty bulge that leaned prominently to the left, standing out under the streetlight like a beacon. Unfazed, the cowboy continued his swaggering journey, completely unaware of how visible—and vulnerable—he had become.

Up ahead, a group of young men, out for a late-night laugh, spotted him. They exchanged amused glances, nudging each other and smirking as they took in the cowboy’s oblivious stroll, half-dressed and none the wiser.

“Hey, cowboy!” one of them shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Looks like someone got a little too wild tonight, huh?”

The cowboy stopped, blinking as he squinted through the haze. He turned around slowly, wobbling a little on his feet, finally noticing the crowd of men approaching with broad grins plastered across their faces.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” he slurred, pulling himself up straight. He tipped his hat back, a lazy grin spreading over his face as he tried to maintain a look of cool indifference.

“Your pants, buddy,” one of the men said, stepping closer and pointing at the torn side. “Ain’t every day you see someone sportin’ those good ol’ classic briefs like that. Real traditional, huh?”

The cowboy looked down, frowning in confusion as he noticed the gaping tear for the first time. His face flushed as he took in the sight of his tighty whities, unmistakably exposed, with the bold outline of his hefty package leaning leftward, perfectly framed by the torn denim. He fumbled with the torn edge, trying to pull the fabric over his underwear to no avail.

“Aw, hell…” he muttered, his cheeks turning red as he yanked at the loose denim, only to make the tear even wider.

One of the men stifled a laugh, folding his arms as he watched the cowboy’s pitiful attempts to cover up. “Laundry day, huh? That why you’re struttin’ around in those tighty whities?”

The cowboy shot him a glare, but his embarrassed expression betrayed his discomfort. “S’just… just a little tear. Ain’t no big deal.”

The group exchanged glances, their smirks widening. “Oh, it’s a big deal alright,” one of them said, chuckling. He reached out, giving the waistband of the cowboy’s briefs a playful snap. “You got yourself a real situation here, cowboy.”

The cowboy stumbled back, his face flushing as he tried to brush the man’s hand away. “Hands off!” he barked, though his slurred words and shaky stance did little to intimidate them.

“Hey, we’re just helping you out,” another man said, stepping forward with a grin. He grabbed hold of the remaining fabric on the left side of the cowboy’s jeans, yanking it hard. The tear split wider, and the cowboy stumbled as his jeans shredded further, exposing even more of his tighty whities.

“Whoa, hold on now!” he protested, swatting at the men, but his balance betrayed him, and he staggered to the side, clutching his exposed thigh.

“Look at him tryin’ to act all tough!” one of them laughed, reaching out to poke the cowboy’s exposed hip. “Gotta say, you’re makin’ a real statement with these tighty whities, bud.”

Humiliation boiled in the cowboy’s face, and in a moment of drunken bravado, he swung back at the nearest man. His fist missed, but he lunged forward, managing to grab hold of the man’s waistband. With one hard yank, he pantsed the guy, exposing a pair of sky-blue boy briefs covered in barnyard animals. The waistband was a contrasting, neon yellow, adorned with small, red stars—a detail that only added to the childish charm. The group erupted into laughter, the embarrassed man struggling to pull his pants back up while the cowboy stumbled back with a triumphant grin.

“Now who’s wearin’ the embarrassin’ underwear?” he slurred, his victory short-lived as he swayed unsteadily.

The men, now riled up, closed in on him. One of them reached behind him and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, grabbed the waistband of the cowboy’s briefs, yanking them upward in a vicious wedgie. The cowboy yelped, stumbling as the fabric dug into him, pulling tight against his skin.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” one of the men jeered, twisting the waistband even higher until the cowboy’s face was a deep shade of red.

The cowboy squirmed, managing to swat the hand away and turn around, but the men weren’t done yet. Another one of them lunged forward, grabbing the torn edge of his jeans and yanking hard, pulling the fabric downward in one swift motion. With a loud rip, the jeans tore even further, exposing nearly his entire left leg and leaving his tighty whities barely clinging to his hips.

But the worst was yet to come. One of the men grabbed the front of the cowboy’s briefs, giving the material a yank. The cowboy yelped as the white cotton stretched, the fly tearing open and leaving him in a humiliating state. His face burned as he struggled to cover his exposed cock, his once-proud swagger completely destroyed.

The group of men laughed uproariously, slapping each other on the back as they watched the humiliated cowboy fumble with his tattered clothes. He glared at them, his pride in tatters as he clutched the remnants of his jeans and underwear, knowing he’d never live this down.

And with that, the cowboy stumbled off into the night, his dignity left behind on the empty downtown street, the laughter of the men echoing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows.

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 3

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

ED mentions.

Parts:

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

When you wake in the morning, Regina is already gone. She’s probably gone to meet with Karen and Gretchen for breakfast, pushing food around her plate more like. You’ve noticed some of your leftovers have gone missing, you don’t mind though. At least it means she’s eating something.

You’re not sure why she seems to relax around you enough to eat, something she can’t seem to do around her supposed best friends.

You have to remind yourself you aren’t her friend but the sketch is still neatly folded under her pillow, whatever that means.

You have a quick shower, throw on some jeans and a band tee and go to the campfire pit to hear what activity you’ll have to do today. It might mean being paired with Regina again, although she acts like a completely different person with you in public. You can see straight through her act. The more you see of her, the more you realise she’s not cruel, bitchy or formidable. She’s scared and a little insecure.

“Today half of you will be boating and half of you will be climbing! Cabins 1-6 follow me and cabins 7-12 meet your leader at the high ropes in 5 minutes!” The instructor calls.

Fuck no.

You try and sneak away slowly, if there’s one thing you’re afraid of, it’s heights. Maybe you can sneak off with the boating group, that sounds less scary, and safer.

It doesn’t work, Mrs Norbury catches you and sends you off in the direction of the high ropes. It’s not like they can force you to climb, right?

They’re laughing about something, you can’t tell what. Maybe Regina’s already making fun of you, maybe she’s gone through your bags to find anything embarrassing to tell her best friends. Maybe she’s taken a photograph of your sketch to prove you’re a loser, freak or whatever. She did similar to Janis, what’s stopping her from doing the same to you?

Maybe not.

You think you saw a glimpse of the real Regina underneath all the pink and glitter, last night.

An instructor calls out that the session is starting. For once this week you stop thinking about Regina.

You can already feel your heartbeat in your ears as you approach the climbing frame. You’re instructed on how to correctly fit your harnesses and told to line up and go over one at a time across the high ropes.

It was like an assault course in the air. First some wooden stepping stones, then walking across a tightrope with just a rope above to balance yourself, and then finally a zip line. You felt your stomach flip, there had to be a way out. You couldn’t have Regina see you having a full-blown panic attack.

Regina is just in front of you in the queue, she doesn’t turn to look at you even once. You’re slightly hurt but not surprised. It’s not like one evening of civility means she could be seen with you in public.

The plastics climb up and start to walk across. Gretchen and Karen walk in front, screaming and giggling the whole way. Regina saunters across, nothing phases her. As she climbs across the rope you can see the muscles under her pink crop top tensing, it makes you momentarily forget about what you have to do until the instructor calls out that it’s your turn next.

Okay, just breathe and whatever you do, don’t look down.

You climb up to the top platform. It’s just a walk across some stable wooden platforms. You can do this. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the thumping of your heart, your hands clammy against the ropes. As long as you don’t look down you’ll be fine.

By some miracle you make it across. The next obstacle is a walk across a tightrope. This one makes you cold sweat.

You start to shake more. Regina is already across the other side standing and waiting to go across the next obstacle. She still looks like a goddess, and you probably look like a sweaty mess. For the first time today she turns and looks at you, her expression is hard to work out, maybe pity? Probably amusement.

You put one foot tentatively on the rope and hold for dear life onto the top rope. You shuffle across in an ungraceful manner. Hopefully Regina has turned her back by now. This would definitely be blackmail material.

Every time the rope moves you feel like you’ll fall, any second you could faint, or throw up, or maybe have a heart attack.

You edge closer to the finishing platform, you can see the edge of it and make the mistake of looking down.

The ground becomes blurry and feels like it’s 3,000 feet away.

Your stomach lurches and your foot slips.

Desperation fills you and without thinking you desperately reach your hand out, hoping Regina will grab It, pull you back up and you won’t feel that dreaded falling sensation.

Instead she shoves you.

Hard.

You fall from the rope, your heart nearly stops and you can’t open your eyes. The harness catches you but you’ve swung sideways from the rope and the force of Regina’s push makes you come crashing back, your hip colliding with the wooden platform.

The pain is immediate, and searing.

An instructor lowers you down and a teacher demands that Regina comes down too to take you to first aid.

She does this begrudgingly, her little minions whining that it’s not fair that she has to pay the price when you ‘just slipped.’

You don’t look at her or speak to her on your way to first aid. With every step your hip explodes with pain. You try not to show how hard it is to walk. This wasn’t the same Regina you hung out with last night.

Never show your weakness to a predator. That was your first mistake.

“ I wouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t try to touch me.” She spat, staring at the ground as you walked. Was she ashamed?

“Whatever Regina. I don’t care.” You sigh, wincing again as you step.

She huffs and rolls her eyes at you as you finally make it to first aid. She leaves you at the door.

The first aider confirms that she doesn’t think it’s fractured or broken. Just badly bruised. When she asks what happened you lie and say you slipped. She doesn’t buy it but she doesn’t push any further. She gives you some pain medicine and an ice pack and suggests you go and rest for a bit in your cabin.

You go back and lie in your bed on your back with the ice pack slowly melting away at your hip, making the sheets wet and cold.

Luckily Regina is out somewhere, she’s probably snuck off to one of the plastics cabins.

It’s not like you care anyway.

You decide not to get dinner today. The thought of limping all the way to the campfire sounds awful and you don’t want to give Regina the satisfaction of knowing she hurt you so you try and get some sleep.

Your phone buzzes and lights up on the nightstand. It’s Janis.

“Heeey Dude! How’s the school trip? Wait why are you in bed it’s not even late” the voice of your best friend rings out down the phone.

“Long story, I slipped climbing.” You don’t know why you lie to Janis. You don’t feel like talking about Regina.

You know that despite them being on civil terms now, Janis and Regina still held a grudge respectively. Secretly you knew Janis definitely still had a crush on her, not that she’d ever admit it. At first you didn’t understand why Janis would fall for someone so fake and shallow but now you’ve seen the other side to her. Or is it just a disguise for her to gain your trust? You trusted she’d catch you and instead she pushed you away.

“Are you even listening to me?” Janis breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Huh”

“I said, has Regina fallen in mud, or ruined her boots or had bugs in her hair yet?” You can hear the grin in her voice, and a slight hint of excitement from speaking about Regina.

“Uh, I don’t know… I haven’t really seen her.” You lie again. Why can’t you stop lying to your friend?

“Anyway Janis I have to go, I should probably go and get dinner now, the teachers will wonder where I am.” Another lie “Bye!” You add quickly and hang up.

You sigh and throw your phone back onto the nightstand. You close your eyes again and try and get some sleep.

The painkillers have kicked in and you finally drift off.

You’re in the middle of a forest in a clearing. For some reason you feel uneasy. The trees are all looming around you, as if they’re trying to warn you, leaning closer to whisper “Run” in their windy breath. From between the trees you see a bright pair of blue cat eyes. They’re fixed on you. Unblinking.

You try to get up to run but you can’t move, you’re fixed to the spot as a lion emerges from the trees, claws sharp and teeth bared just about to clamp down on your neck-

Something shakes you awake. Or rather, someone.

“Get up.” You hear Regina hiss.

“What, why?” You mumble back, rubbing your eyes. Her silhouette is blurry above you.

“Come with me.”

“Why the fuck should I.” Your response shocks both of you,she scowls and grabs your wrist to drag you up.

“Just come with me.”

“Fuck off, Regina.” You spit

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her grip on your wrist and pulls you up.

There’s no use resisting. Stupidly you follow her. Why would you trust her after she pushed you, you’re walking yourself to your doom.

She leads you to a clearing in the trees. Just like your dream, everything in your body is telling you to run.

And then you see it.

A hot pink blanket is sprawled out on the floor and you recognise various containers of food you’d bought laid out on the blanket. There’s two fluffy white pillows either side of the blanket.

“Say something, dumbass!” She barks, she doesn’t meet your eyes and you notice a slight blush on her cheeks

“What’s happening.” You stutter. Surely not, why would Regina have gone to all this effort? Is she trying to apologise?

“I saw you weren’t at dinner and I didn’t want you to starve or something. I’m not sleeping in the same room as a corpse.” She quips, going to sit on one of the pillows. You follow and sit on the other, are you still dreaming?

You eat in silence for a while. Every now and then stealing glances at Regina. She’s actually eating some of the food, looking down at the blanket in thought. The sun is setting and the light manages to catch her in a way that makes her even more perfect. Her cheeks are slightly rosy and you notice she’s taken off most of her makeup. She looks softer, like her guard has dropped slightly.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.” She whispers and her eyes catch yours. She looks genuinely sorry.

Against better judgement you immediately forgive her. You can’t hold much resolve against her when she’s sitting at a picnic she made for you and the sun is reflecting off her skin like that.

“It’s okay, I’m fine anyway.” That’s half a lie, it still hurts quite badly. “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted you to know I’m sorry, really, and…. Your food is better than the shit they serve here.” She fidgets nervously “It’s nice to eat without Gretch and Karen commenting on the fat content of it.”

That makes your stomach sink. You wonder how anyone could ever think that Regina was anything but beautiful.

“We could have dinner together tomorrow too, if you wanted” that definitely didn’t come out as confident as you wanted it to.

She doesn’t say anything but she smiles at you. Your heart skips.

After you finish eating you pack up Regina’s cute picnic and make your way back to the cabin. You resist the fleeting urge to hold her hand. You don’t want to get shoved again.

She goes to the bathroom to shower and you pull out your sketchbook. You draw the same forest clearing before, sketching in all the leaves, except this time the lion is lying on a blanket, eyes closed, peaceful.

You put the sketchbook back in your bag and get changed into pyjama shorts and a top before laying on top of the covers on the bed.

You’re drifting in and out of consciousness when Regina comes out of the bathroom, you hear her pad quietly towards your bed.

As if not to scare her off you stay perfectly still, eyes shut, and pretend to be asleep.

You feel her hand pull the leg of your shorts up at the side to reveal the darkening bruise at your hip.

Your heart nearly implodes when you feel her gentle lips press a soft kiss to your hip.

It’s over in a second, she goes back to her bed and pulls the covers over her head.

You let out a shaky breath and decided you would probably never be able to figure Regina George out, but at this current moment, you didn’t really mind.

[princessbrunette]

outlaw!johnb had tried not to take advantage of your sweet body during his stay. what transpired between the two of you on the evening you met felt wrong. not-gentlemanly. like he’d taken advantage of someone sweet and sheltered. he’d been determined to keep his hands to himself until the time was right once more, but as your parents extended their stay away — leaving the house for the two of you to be alone in even longer, he found it increasingly more difficult to do so. especially when you were so keen on playing house.

you’d settled into a routine. john b would get up and tend to the ‘handyman’ things that needed to be tended to, like fixing the fence that had been destroyed in the storm or odd jobs around the house, and you would do all the domestic stuff — like cleaning, preparing meals, tending to the animals. today was laundry day, and clearly the routledge boy was ill prepared for what this meant.

whilst hammering away at the planks of wood beneath the blistering sun, the wavy haired brunette raises his head to see you appearing not far from him, a laundry basket balanced on your hip, wearing the flimsiest, shortest white sundress known to man. he allows his gaze to wander, offering you a small smile when you wave. you set your basket down to begin hanging up laundry on the line to dry, and as you bend down to retrieve the first clean clothing item — a warm breeze gently blows your dress astray, displaying your glistening cunt. john b tips his head towards the sky, closing his eyes with a pained groan. there would be no stopping him.

he tried, for a solid minute — but as he continued to watch you bend, your folds gently spreading each time you did so, he grew hard beneath the hot sun and decided enough was enough. he’d give you what you’d been pawing at him for all week.

“uh, are you kidding? you’ve got to be doing this on purpose. right?” that familiar chesty hum comes from behind you as you hang up a dress and you freeze, a gentle breeze washing over you.

“s’laundry day, john b.” you shrug, not daring to turn around. you wasn’t sure if you could control your lustful gaze.

“yeah? okay well — the lack of underwear is definitely gonna make this a lot easier.” he mutters as he strides closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his crotch to your ass. “touch your toes, sweetheart.” he commands and you shakily do so with an aroused whimper.

he decides it’s not enough, and when you’re fully bent at the waist, he gives you a gentle nudge forward and you topple onto your knees in the plush grass. “yep, stay riiiight there.” his words are somehow comforting as you hear his belt buckle unlock and his zipper come down. he pulls your dress up your back and swears under his breath at your puffy wet pussy staring back at him. “definitely… knew what you were doing there, huh.” he speaks mostly to himself.

“can you please try n’give me a baby this time, daddy?” you mewl, as he lines himself up and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“please shut up.” he blurts out before opening them. “i mean, uh… just… you can’t say those things sweetheart. trying real hard not to be too rough here.” he pushes in and your toes curl in the grass, a high pitch squeal leaving you as you grasp around at nothing. “i know, hey— stick with me here lil’ pup.” he coaches you, watching the way your body tries its best to relax. john b was big, and taking him with your ass in the air and your cheek in the dirt made him feel heaps bigger.

he bottoms out, tipping his hips completely forward with two hands on your lower back and his jaw agape. “wow.” he breathes out, staring intently at the way you’re stretched around his thickness. he’s snapped from his trance by your head craning round, some dirt on your cheek and grass in your hair.

“john b, the cows are gonna watch you give me a baby.” you’re pouting, and whilst the whole innocent act turns him on — he needed to lock in or he’d really cum inside you again. without much thought, he yanks his bandana from his neck and stuffs it into your mouth before gently pushing your cheek back to the grass.

“there you go. just hold on for me, okay?” he asks before he starts to thrust, bottoming out each time making his thighs slap against your ass cheeks. with each thrust, you let out a devastating little sound — pussy drooling around him. “see? gooood girl. you really like the whole mean, ruffian, outlaw thing, huh? soaking me here, bub.”