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perfectsunlight · 3 days ago

Text

[31] DO IT

warnings: emotional distress, family conflict, intense feelings of isolation and public scrutiny.

ivory had always been afraid of being forgotten. not by her fans or the world—but by the one person who mattered most. even as a child, she would wake up in the middle of the night, wandering to her mother’s room, needing reassurance that jennie was still there. sometimes, she’d stand quietly in the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of her mother’s breathing, too scared to wake her but too terrified to return to bed without knowing she wasn’t alone.

it was a fear she never spoke of, one that existed in the spaces between phone calls, in the empty chairs at school performances and birthday dinners. as she grew older, ivory learned to bury that fear beneath layers of independence and a carefully constructed persona. she became untouchable, unbreakable. but deep down, the fear never really went away. it just evolved—into a gnawing ache, a quiet desperation that simmered beneath the surface.

no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, no matter how fiercely she told herself that she didn’t need anyone, especially not jennie—there was always that part of her, that small, terrified child, that craved her mother’s presence. it didn’t matter that the world saw jennie as an untouchable icon, a woman too busy for mundane things like school recitals and family dinners. to ivory, jennie wasn’t a superstar. she was her mother. the one person whose absence felt like a constant void in her life, no matter how full her schedule or how loud the applause was at the end of the day.

as a child, it was easier to forgive. ivory could accept the excuses—the concerts, the tours, the interviews. her friends’ parents worked, too. it was normal, she told herself. but as she grew older, the empty seats at her events became harder to overlook. the brief phone calls shorter. the excuses thinner. and yet, despite all of that, ivory couldn’t bring herself to truly resent jennie.

she couldn’t. she wouldn’t.

but she was scared. scared that one day her mother's calls would stop altogether. scared that the distance between them would grow so wide, neither of them would be able to bridge it. and now, standing at the center of this storm, that fear felt closer than ever.

the headlines hadn’t stopped since paris.

who is jennie’s mystery daughter? did k-pop’s queen secretly have a child? blackpink’s jennie: a liar and a mother?

the press had latched onto the grainy photos and videos of their argument like vultures circling a fresh kill. ivory had seen the way they twisted the story, the wild speculation that spread like wildfire across social media. the world now knew jennie had a daughter.

and they knew it was her.

jane had spent years keeping her identity hidden, living under the radar while the world worshiped her mother. she had liked it that way. the anonymity, the freedom to exist without the suffocating weight of expectations that came with being jennie kim’s daughter. but now? that fragile shield had been shattered, and the world was closing in.

the calls had started soon after the story broke. jennie, frantic, trying to reach her—voicemail after voicemail, the panic in her voice barely contained. ivory had listened to each one with growing dread, her finger hovering over the play button as her heart raced in her chest.

“valentine, please. i need to know you’re safe.” “jane, please. please just let me know you’re alright.”

there had been so much desperation in her mother’s voice, the kind ivory wasn’t used to hearing from her mother. jennie was always composed, always in control. but now, she sounded as if she was unraveling at the seams. and ivory couldn’t take it. she couldn’t bear to hear her mother like that, not when she had caused this entire mess.

so she ignored the calls. all of them.

when the familiar buzzing showed on her screen every few hours, it felt like an unwanted reminder of the chaos she had unleashed, a storm that tore through both of their lives. each vibration sent a sickening twist through her stomach, a reminder of the gravity of her actions.

after the confrontation in paris, ivory had fled the hybe building, overwhelmed and reeling. she didn’t want to face anyone—not the paparazzi waiting outside, not her mother, and certainly not herself. so she slipped away, taking a cab to a small, rundown hotel in the heart of seoul, far from the flashing lights and the stares that burned into her skin.

her managers knew where she was, and they had told her to lay low until they figured out what they were going to do.

the hotel was shabby, with faded wallpaper and a flickering neon sign that buzzed incessantly, but it offered a strange kind of solace. she checked in under a fake name, wanting to escape the reality of who she was and what she had done. here, she could hide from the world, drown in her thoughts, and figure out how to untangle the mess she had created.

days passed in a blur of solitude. the room was small and dimly lit, with a single window that overlooked the busy street below. she could hear the sounds of the city—the chatter of voices, the honking of horns, the distant thrum of music. but within those four walls, it felt as if she were in a different universe, one where time stood still and the chaos outside faded into a dull hum.

ivory found herself staring at the walls, the phone silent for days. she had turned it off, the weight of it resting on the nightstand like a stone. the outside world felt like a distant echo, muted and blurry. she had done this to think, to find clarity amid the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf her. but instead of solace, she was confronted with a suffocating silence that pressed down on her, amplifying her thoughts until they roared in her mind.

every night, she would curl up in the thin hotel sheets, staring at the ceiling as tears soaked into the fabric. the headlines blared in her mind, the way the world painted her as a reckless daughter, a girl who had turned her back on her mother. each image she had seen of jennie—stoic yet clearly shattered—felt like a knife twisting deeper into her heart.

maybe she had gotten it wrong all along? maybe it wasn’t jennie who was a bad mother, but perhaps ivory was just a bad daughter?

the thought gnawed at her, burrowing into the cracks she’d tried so hard to seal with layers of resentment and self-protection. for so long, she had told herself that her mother’s absences were her choice, that they were symptoms of a life she’d constantly chosen over jane. but maybe she’d been too harsh, too quick to judge. maybe, instead of seeing her mother’s absence as abandonment, she should have seen it as a sacrifice—the kind of sacrifice jennie had made over and over again for a career that demanded so much of her.

she remembered the times her mother had tried, the small efforts that jane had always brushed aside.

the hasty texts on long flights, the brief hugs at drop-offs. the late nights when the idol would tiptoe into her room just to check if she was sleeping, her gaze lingering as if she could somehow make up for all the time she’d missed. ivory had shrugged those moments off as mere gestures, believing them to be obligations jennie fulfilled out of duty, not love. but now, lying alone in the dim room, the reality of it hit her in waves. what if those gestures had been her mother’s way of holding on? what if, in those tiny efforts, her mom had been showing her all the love she knew how to give?

the guilt was like a weight pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe. ivory had been so focused on what jennie hadn’t done. she had zeroed in on the moments she’d missed, that she’d blinded herself to the ways her mother had tried. she felt stupid now, like a fool who’d misread the intentions of someone she’d thought she knew.

and here she was now, hiding away in a hotel room, and pushing away her mother like she had always done. perhaps it was the only thing ivory was good at?

the irony stung. for so long, she’d told herself she didn’t need anyone, that she could stand on her own. but now the feeling of jennie’s absence left her hollow. what she wouldn’t give to hear her mother’s voice, to feel her arms around her, reassuring her that no matter what, she was loved.

she just needed to know that even though the world hated her, jennie didn’t. but how could she face the woman who had done so much for her now? how could she call and ask for comfort from her own mistakes?

it was unbearable.

the silence was thick, suffocating, punctuated only by the soft, shuddering breaths she tried to keep at bay. her hair clung damply to the sides of her face, sticking where her tears had traced lines over her skin, and she made no effort to brush it away. she was too tired, too drained to fight it. the shame was a living, breathing thing, curling around her ribs and squeezing until she felt she might break. she wanted to call, needed to hear her mother’s voice if only to remind herself that she hadn’t lost her for good.

but fear held her still, paralyzed by the thought of what jennie might say—what if this time, she’d gone too far?

her mother had built her image, brick by brick, a fortress against the world. for as long as she could remember, jennie had been untouchable—a figure of grace and strength who carried her fame with an elegance that shielded them both. she was not only a mother but a force, someone who had learned how to guard herself against scrutiny, judgment, and the eyes of millions.

and in one single night, ivory had torn it down entirely.

the thought made her throat tighten. it wasn’t just her mother’s disappointment she feared; it was the possibility that she might have broken something between them beyond repair. she could almost feel the weight of her mother’s silent gaze, the look jennie gave when words failed her, a look jane had always dreaded. how many times had jennie shielded her from the world, made sacrifices so she could have a semblance of a normal life, always trying to balance her career with the quiet reality of motherhood?

the young idol slowly shifted to grab her phone, finally powering it on for the first time in days.

with a trembling hand, ivory unlocked her phone, its glow casting an eerie light across the dim hotel room. notifications flooded the screen—missed calls from jennie, countless unread messages, and a storm of news alerts she didn’t have the strength to open. she ignored them all, her thumb hovering over the search bar instead. she hesitated, feeling the familiar ache in her chest that had kept her silent for days, and then she typed in her mother’s name.

the videos started playing softly, her mother’s familiar voice filling the empty room like a gentle balm. some were clips from concerts, where jennie laughed and shouted with the crowd, her voice confident and warm. others were softer interviews, where she answered questions thoughtfully, her tone composed and steady. ivory’s heart twisted as she listened, letting her mother’s voice settle over her like a blanket, the sounds wrapping around her loneliness and fear.

as the videos played, she closed her eyes, imagining that jennie was right there beside her, as if these recordings could somehow bridge the distance between them. she could almost hear her mother speaking directly to her, calming her fears, reassuring her like she used to when jane was little, waking from a nightmare.

she remembered the times jieun would have to do the same thing she was doing now. jane always had trouble sleeping whenever jennie was gone. whenever her mother was away—on tour, at a shoot, anywhere the demands of fame took her—ivory would find herself wide awake, the shadows in her room feeling bigger and darker without jennie’s reassuring presence. the quiet would fill her with a familiar fear, that gnawing ache that maybe one day jennie might not come back at all.

on those nights, ivory would wander down the hallway, blanket in hand, and find jieun still awake, often reading by a small, warm light. jieun always seemed to know what was coming. she’d reach out, patting the spot beside her without a word. “couldn’t sleep, huh?” she’d ask gently, her voice soft but steady. ivory would nod, curling up beside her grandmother as she reached for her phone.

they’d spend those late hours scrolling through videos of jennie, watching old interviews and clips from concerts. her grandmother would play each one as if it were a lullaby, knowing that jennie's familiar laugh and voice were the only things that could ease ivory’s fears. ivory would lean her head against her grandmother’s shoulder, letting her mother’s voice wash over her until her eyes grew heavy, lulled by the warmth of her grandmother and the comfort of hearing her favorite person’s voice, even if only through a screen.

now, alone in a cheap hotel room, ivory found herself reaching for that same comfort.

the hum of jennie’s voice blurred the line between reality and memory. as she drifted further into sleep, ivory could almost believe that her mother’s hand was stroking her hair, whispering that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened, they’d get through it together.

when morning came, ivory slowly pulled herself from the mattress and forced herself to get up and shower.

the water came down in torrents, cold and sharp against her skin, but ivory barely felt it. she stood there, shoulders slumped, the steam from the shower swirling around her in thick clouds. her hands gripped the edge of the glass shower door as her mind spiraled, the weight of the decision she knew she had to make crashing down on her like the cold water that refused to wash away her guilt.

she had to do it. she had to put out a statement—one that would sever the last thread of connection between her and jennie. the world had already begun to twist the narrative, speculating and spinning stories. it was only a matter of time before the pressure would reach its boiling point, and she knew if she didn’t act quickly, everything would unravel even further.

but even as she told herself this, a pit formed deep in her stomach. the words she’d have to say—the lies, the betrayal—they burned in her chest. she couldn’t stop imagining jennie’s face, her voice on the other end of the phone, pleading for ivory to come back, for her to let her in again.

she could almost hear jennie’s voice now, asking, "why? why are you doing this, jane?"

the weight of her mother’s potential reaction was almost too much to bear. but there was no other choice. she had to distance herself. it was the only way to protect jennie from the media storm, from the chaos that ivory had set in motion.

if she was ever linked to her, it would only drag jennie further into the mess. and she couldn’t do that to her, not after her mother spent so many years in the crosshairs of the public.

but at the same time, she couldn’t ignore the wrenching pain twisting in her chest, the unrelenting ache of tearing herself away from the only person who had ever loved her unconditionally. it wasn’t just the public denial—it was the emptiness of choosing silence over connection, the silence that would stretch between them, forever.

her breath caught, and before she knew it, the tears started to fall.

she didn’t bother to wipe them away. the water mixed with her tears as they streamed down her face. each sob felt like a jagged stone pressing into her chest, each breath a sharp reminder of what she was about to do.

she stood there for what felt like hours, the water running cold against her skin, as the weight of the decision consumed her. she wasn’t ready. she wasn’t ready to break her own heart. but what else could she do?

it was the only way to protect her mother. it was the final act of love she could show—to shield her from the chaos, just like jennie had done for her for many years.

the young idol’s body wracked with silent sobs, her shoulders shaking with the force of them, as the cold water continued to cascade over her, doing nothing to numb the pain. the girl slid down the wall of the shower, curling into herself, her body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow. the sobs finally quieted, replaced by a dull, hollow ache. she stared blankly at the drain as the water swirled down it, as if it could wash away the decision she was just about to make. but it wouldn’t.

there was no undoing this.

but as she looked at herself in the foggy glass, the reflection staring back at her seemed like a stranger. her eyes were red and swollen, her hair clinging to her face, but it wasn’t the image that haunted her. it was the feeling—the deep, gnawing emptiness that settled in her chest.

she wasn’t ready to be this person. the one who had betrayed the woman who had given her everything.

it felt like an eternity before ivory got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, her body still trembling from the emotional storm that had passed through her. she stood for a moment, just staring at the floor, as if hoping for some sign, some sense of clarity, but nothing came. the room around her was still, and the weight of the world seemed to press down on her shoulders.

the idol opened her notes app, typing and deleting words over and over again. what could she say? or what should she say?

the sound of her fingers tapping against the screen felt deafening in the stillness of the room. each word she typed seemed hollow, inadequate—nothing could capture the depth of the turmoil swirling inside her. ivory’s thoughts were a mess, jumbled fragments of regret, guilt, and fear crashing against each other, leaving no space for the clarity she desperately needed.

finally, the girl decided on a few short, simple sentences. this would give them enough information for now. it would do its job, it would be a swift, clean cut.

with trembling hands, the idol opened instagram. all le sserafim members had access to the group’s social media. it seems that still rang true even in the midst of her controversy. do it. you coward, just post it.

ivory screamed internally, the weight of the decision suffocating her as she paced frantically around the tiny hotel room. her feet moved almost instinctively, a frantic attempt to outrun the rising panic that clutched at her chest. she felt like she was suffocating, the air thick with the pressure of what she had to do, the knowledge of the damage she was about to cause, and the raw, burning shame that threatened to undo her.

she gripped the edges of the dresser, her knuckles white, and tried to steady herself. her breath came in short, uneven bursts, each inhale too shallow, too jagged. the sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears, deafening and unrelenting.

the phone sat on the bed, waiting, but it felt like it belonged to someone else—someone stronger, someone more composed. not her. not the girl who had ruined everything, who had just irrevocably hurt the one person who had loved her unconditionally.

jane ran a shaky hand through her damp hair, the strands sticking to her face, her palms clammy with sweat. her mind screamed at her to just do it, to just press post and be done with it. but her body refused to listen, frozen in a state of panic, unable to make the final step.

she thought about grabbing a drink from the minibar, or a cigarette from the convenience store across the street. just something, anything, to numb the ache, to quiet the voice screaming inside her head. anything to give her the courage to end this.

instead, she found herself pacing again, faster this time, her feet slapping against the carpet floor as she raked her fingers through her wet hair. tears blurred her vision as she thought about the hell she was about to unleash.

she would never be able to fix this, to look in her mother’s face after what she’s going to do. how could she live with herself knowing she was the one to destroy whatever was left of their fragile relationship? that it was her delivering the final blow?

every step felt like a mile, every thought twisted into another dark, suffocating reality. jane grabbed the phone again, holding it in her trembling hands, but she couldn’t bring herself to unlock it. she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop crying, but the tears wouldn’t listen. they streamed down her cheeks in hot, unrelenting trails, as if her body was rejecting the very decision she was trying to make.

the voice in her head, her inner critic, was louder now. you have to. and all she could do was cry harder, fall to her knees on the floor. she knelt hunched over the small device in her hands. ivory wiped her hot tears away, but they kept coming, the grief and shame bubbling to the surface, threatening to drown her.

“fucking do it,” she whispered hoarsely to herself, as though forcing herself to speak the words would somehow make it easier. but it didn’t. the room felt smaller, and the decision felt heavier. it felt like the entire world was pressing down on her, suffocating her, forcing her to face something she wasn’t ready for.

she was stuck. terrified. mortified.

the phone was still in her hand, and the post still wasn’t out. it felt like the silence of the room was mocking her. the minutes dragged on, stretching into eternity, until she collapsed onto the edge of the bed, holding her phone like a lifeline, but too scared to actually use it.

“i’m sorry, mom,” she whispered into the empty space, the words barely audible, as if apologizing to the void might make it somehow less real. “i’m so sorry.” the young girl swallowed thickly, her throat tight and raw, the weight of her words nearly suffocating her. she could feel the tightness in her chest as if it might collapse in on itself, her body trembling with the force of her guilt and regret. the silence of the room was deafening now, every breath she took louder than the last, like an unbearable countdown to a moment she knew she couldn’t escape.

but she had to. she had to do this.

the tears kept coming, streaming down her face with relentless force. she squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body shuddering with sobs that felt too deep, too jagged to put into words. it was as though her very soul was unraveling with each breath.

ivory tried to steady herself, but the weight of what she was about to do, what she already had to do, was suffocating. she couldn’t breathe. she couldn’t think. she couldn’t speak.

her hand shook as she clutched her phone, the cold screen and hotel walls staring back at her like a silent witness to her unraveling. she could hear her pulse hammering in her ears, each beat like a loud echo in the stillness of the room. the weight of the moment pressed down on her chest, so heavy it felt like she might drown beneath it. she swallowed again, her throat a dry, cracked thing, a raw, burning sensation creeping from her chest to her neck. the very air seemed thick with suffocating tension.

for a heartbeat, time stilled.

the phone felt like a foreign object in her hand, as if she no longer recognized the tool she was holding, the tool that would carve the irreversible. ivory’s fingers hovered over the screen, trembling with a fear that left her weak, her vision blurred by the constant stream of tears falling from her eyes. the words she had written earlier, so cold and detached, flashed in front of her like a cruel reminder of her betrayal.

i’m sorry, mom. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

“i’m sorry,” she audibly whispered again, a choked sob catching in her throat. the words tasted bitter, like they weren’t enough, like they could never be enough. her voice broke on the apology, and the sound of it made her stomach twist. the silence that followed it was even worse.

the room felt impossibly small now, as if the walls were closing in on her, boxing her in with her shame. she was suffocating, trapped between what she had done and the consequences of it that she could already feel closing in. the tears came faster, her chest tightening with each sob, each breath more frantic than the last.

with trembling hands, she scrolled down and found the post she had written. there it was—her confession, her betrayal, sitting on the screen, waiting to be sent out into the world.

it felt like an eternity before she could bring herself to press the button. each second stretched into infinity, like a thousand hands were holding her back, pulling her in different directions. she wanted to scream, to throw the phone away, to forget everything and run. but she knew she couldn’t. this was the only way.

with bated breath, ivory closed her eyes, feeling her heart race and her body tremble, and, with one final breath, she pressed post.

the screen flashed. her post was up.

for a moment, there was nothing. the room was still, her heart beating in her chest like a drum, the silence deafening in its weight.

then, the floodgates opened. the weight of what she had done crashed down on her, each wave of grief so overwhelming it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. she curled in on herself, sobbing uncontrollably, the phone slipping from her fingers, the screen glowing faintly in the corner of the room.

from her position, she could see the influx of comments, each a nail in the coffin of the grave she had made. she had lied. she had denied her own mother in front of the entire world. but it was the only way. the only way to shield jennie from the relentless scrutiny, the only way to keep the world from devouring them both.

jane knew the headlines would only grow worse from here. the media would turn their attention to her, dissecting every part of her life, trying to uncover the truth. but she didn’t care. as long as they left her mother alone, as long as she didn’t have to endure the harsh spotlight again, ivory would take the heat.

and she would do it alone. there was no going back.

all she could do was sit there, curled up on the floor of the hotel room, her heart breaking with every sob that tore through her.

she had posted it. she had betrayed her mother.

and now, nothing would ever be the same.

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#jennie kim #blackpink #lesserafim #angst #kpop angst #original series #jisoo kim #roseanne park #lalisa manoban #kim chaewon #ivory #perfectsunlight

85 notes · View notes

katerinaaqu · 20 hours ago

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What's your opinion on how Telemachus was handled in Epic (so far) ? I'm curious 😀.

And what is different from his Odyssey portrayal ? Not counting the fanart that infantilizes him, I'm strictly talking about the musical itself.

Hahahaha you guys definitely wanna put me against a wall one of these days! XD But I absolutely LOVE this question! Hahaha okay here goes;

Absolutely I wasn't gonna talk about the fanart and all that is part of the designing process and arguably that is part of every person to do. They could easily choose the depiction more Odyssey-accurate and still use the musical sound so yes you do well to mention it because yes I myself wouldn't touch the design part in this ask

Anyways long story short; I don't like it.

Storywise it is overly-simplified and shows only one portion of his possible emotions; the one that tries to connect with his father. That part is genuine and I see where the portrayal such as the song "Legendary" came from. Arguably Homer himself also touches the subject of glory through one's deeds and I see where the musical came from when Telemachus says what he says but the song was too bbbly, too naive portrayal of Telemachus and in a way completely disregarded the true depth of sadness and depression in Telemachus.

In the Odyssey Telemachus never connected to his father because his father was never there. To the point where he was even doubting whether he was his son or not. He basically says that "everyone calls me that but how can I know? The dude was never there. Possibly never will be here again". His whole energy was the total opposite than Epic.

Epic portrays Telemachus in a manner that reminds me of Disney's Little Mermaid in "Part of your world"; a bubbly teenager who dreams to start his life or to be making a legendary name for himself like his father and in childish naive energy says "bring me all these monsters to fight them!" while in his childish naive nature was also making him afraid or worried to face the bullying of the suitors (the way the suitors were portrayed as if Jorge wanted to make them EVEN MORE evil also had me cringe like Antinous calling Penelope "tramp". Antinous called Penelope more or less "divious" because of her scheme against them but that was all. In here they are competing for her hand while calling her names without reason? Yeah right....). He seemed like the average teenager that needs the adult to get him to realize video games is not the life and that he needs to do something about his future! Does he also seem low-key sad? Yes. But just like Ariel in the Disney movie was pictured as a dreamer that wanted escape from his confided situation through bubbly and childish dreams.

Odyssey Telemachus was both emotionally and psychologically exhausted; his mother was taken down by grief and endless waiting and had confided herself in her chambers, trying her best to avoid the suitors that were at her home for FOUR YEARS, constantly crying at this point. Telemachus also saw his grandfather lose his mind in sorrow and his grandmother melting away by desperation and sadness and dying or potentially killing herself by it. The last thing he wanted was "to be legendary". In fact Telemachus gave me the exact opposite energy than a dreamer. He was very down to earth and his main goal was to get out of this nasty situation, trying to grow as a person to set himself free from this torment. He had so much in his plate that the last thing he wanted was to dream. In fact he gave me the impression of a person with no more the luxury of dreaming. He almost seemed crushed to the point of breaking himself almost like every other member of his family. (He gives me the impression of a person that after spent years of trying and fulflling their dreams now they are forced to work in a work they hate for survival and think that "dreams are for fools. No luxury for them!")

Like I said Menelaus described Telemachus as a spitting image of his father including his eyes, which is something I find the most important. Menelaus compared Telemachus's gaze to Odysseus; a man that fought a war with him! A man exhausted by the evil he saw and caused. Telemachus's profound grief was so intense that his look was equivalent to a man Menelaus fought a war with! He was the opposite of what we see in Epic! In fact we know that Telemachus was also very much silent and tried to keep a low profile so he didn't need to face the humiliation of the men that were literally plundering his wealth and harassing his mother and himself. The last thing he had in his mind would be to "be legendary". He was also plundered by the fact that not only was he doubting that Odysseus was his father per se but also he was in doubt that this Odysseus that everyone named his father would be alive or dead. He didn't know that. He was actually almost certain that Odysseus was dead but that part in the back of his head was not yet leaving him in peace which is why he needed Athena's guidance

Which brings me to the next part; Athena In Epic Athena appears to...give Telemachus the boost to fist-fight the suitors for some reason and mind you he still gets his ass handed at him! It made it seem as Telemachus's only problem was that he didn't have the guts or skills to fight the suitors and Athena gave him a solution! (potentially a message to stand up against bullies for teenagers? Perhaps but still I felt it massively undermined Telemachis's situation in the book) As I have answered to another person around here, Telemachus's problem was that the suitors claimed the law of hospitality and named themselves ODYSSEUS'S guests. Telemachus could not yet take over as king and he had no power to send them away. Plus he was plundered by doubt about his own inheritence. What Athena did was not to make Telemachus a fighter for he already was (we see how well he stands against them at the side of his father in the Odyssey) she came to encourage him to find out on his own.

Arguably the trip of Telemachus was a mirror counterpart of Odysseus's but instead of a trip that makes you lost like Odysseus was lost, it was a trip for self-discovery. Mind you, both the trip of Odysseus and the trip of Telemachus are cognitive trips; both characters learn in them and come in contact with places. Psychologically the trip allows Telemachus to escape this boarderline toxic grief in his home and explore the world. Also find out on his own information about his father. Now, arguably he never really finds out about his father's whereabouts for certain apart from Menelaus's vision but there is something he definitely gets out of his trip that is not talked about enough;

He finds out he REALLY is the son of his father and he gets information about what kind of man he was!

He hears from friends that fought with him how similar he looks to him; not just from his closed and secluded environment but of people outside his circle and his known people that he looks like him and they also give him information about him. No more the random comments the suitors he hated say or his sad mother who could either idealize his father to escape her grief or the loyal slave Euryclea who adored the family naturally like a mother; now it was also friends and known people of Odysseus that speak about him Telemachus is double-checking his information! Thus coming home much more confident on his inheritence and his own destiny and duty

Arguably the Odyssey is as much Telemachus's story as it is Odysseus's. Telemachus was in one way a spectrum of Odysseus; fighting a different type of war; losing himself in a different type of sadness. His story was a story of coming of age not a story of a goddess that teaches him how to stand up against bullies. Telemachus already does that in the Odyssey by calling the council. Arguably he was alays standing against the suitors but his position did not allow him to do something drastic! I think just like many things Epic missed this by a mile; reducing Telemachus's profound grief, sadness and uncertainty to an average teenage escapism story rather than the fact that Telemachus had no luxury or energy for escapism, Athena's advice for self-discovery to the average "raise your fists and fight your bullies" story ignoring the deep cultural details that led Telemachus to that tight spot in the first place and of course it completely abandoned the importance of Telemachus's trip which could be a subject of a movie on its own! (Quite frankly Telemacheia covers more chapters in the Odyssey than Odysseus's own flashback! It covers 5 rhapsodies of the Odyssey while Odysseus's story covers 3-4)

I hope this answers some questions! I will be happy to elaborate more.

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ijustloveobeymeok · 2 days ago

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but you should write about levi's strength

!!! Bless you for letting me talk about Leviathan with reason.

Let me do it in a list format so it doesn't feel like I'm rambling.

-Let's get the facts everyone knows out of the way first -As we all know the order of the brothers are also a determination of their strength. So Levi being the third brother indicates he is the third strongest demon amongst them. -Although he is one of the physically weaker ones, which makes him being ranked third even more impressive. -Which , I still believe it is justified. -To start off with, he is the Admiral of the navy. You definitely need to have a considerably impressive strength if you want to be an admiral and have a whole army under you. -His love (and talent) for games also suggest high levels of focus and strategic skills which plays into him being a good admiral. -This also plays into him having political strength, as he is able to maintain that position and control while being an absolute homebody. -He is also able to summon Lotan, which in itself says a lot about his overall abilities. -I mean you probably got to be real strong to have an ancient sea serpent as a familiar/summon. -It is a canon fact that each demon can overpower the demon(s) below them, so even though he is physically weak, this implies that he can easily bring down his brothers save for Luci and Mammon. -He is also someone that the other brothers have mentioned avoiding winding up, vaguely mentioning how disastrous things can be if he loses control (this was brought up in one of their devilgram posts, I'm sorry idr which one anymore) -Also it is basically canon that the ranking is based off magical power so let's talk about that a little too. -When it comes to abilities via magical powers I think Levi's abilities are one of the most talked about. -It's mostly to do with water (a.k.a controlling a whole element) -He can summon giant floods, breathe underwater (or hold his breath for a scarily long time I've forgotten), and can even communicate with sea life. -Sailor man you really turn me on- -Lastly, and what I believe is a valid theory; their assigned sin/emotion is a huge source of their magic power -The first three, Pride (Lucifer), Greed (Mammon), Envy (Leviathan), are pretty consistent emotions. They're feelings that more or less stays with you. A prideful person is always prideful, a greedy person is always greedy, etc. -The rest of the brothers, their sins are more commonly a feeling that comes and goes. A person will become angry and calm again, a person will become sleepy and will stop once they've slept (yk what I'm trying to say, sorry I'm doing my best to word this in English) -Which is why, I think Lucifer, Mammon and Levi are the stronger demons. -Similarly it may also be based on how their sins affect the world but that's harder to judge/rank.

Bonus: -I do think Levi's insecurities play a big part in locking up his potential strength. -He's never really interested in talking about or showing off his strength (he's more proud of his gaming prowess) -Overall he may be the most peaceful demon amongst his brothers, which makes him come across as weaker than he truly is. -But we should know by now, peacefulness is not the absence of strength.

So yeah, obviously Levi is not the strongest. And I'm sure he has a lot of people telling him he doesn't deserve to be higher than his other brothers. But I beg to differ.

Leviathan deserves his position as the third brother. And y'all should be glad God didn't give him an ego bc if he did you'd all be screwed.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me!#obey me leviathan #obey me nightbringer #leviathan best boy #leviathan

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shyshyshyz · 2 days ago

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Got a request: Caitlyn x astronaut reader who arrived to Runeterra via a wormhole and crashed in the harbor resulting in them being a celebrity among the locals. One day Caitlyn sees the reader trying to fix their radio and phone which they do as it begins singing things from their world.

Echoes from Beyond

Summary: After crash-landing in Piltover, you’ve drawn quite the crowd as the city’s first extraterrestrial visitor, but you’re more concerned about fixing your radio and tuning out the attention. Still, Caitlyn Kiramman’s curiosity—and her sharp wit—keep pulling you in. When she catches you trying to repair your old radio late one night, the device starts playing a song from home, and the sarcastic exchanges between you take on a different tone entirely.

Word Count: 6,500

W: Sci-fi elements, sarcastic humor, homesickness, slow-burn romance, tension.

Sparks flew from the radio, and you winced, pulling your hand back. The device sputtered, wires twisted and exposed, and the panel you’d jerry-rigged threatened to fall off altogether. “Perfect. Yeah, go ahead and fall apart on me,” you muttered, glaring at the radio like it might fix itself out of sheer guilt.

“Talking to your equipment?” a familiar voice broke in. “I’ve heard it’s not the most effective strategy.”

You glanced up, a smirk forming as you found Caitlyn Kiramman watching you with an amused arch of her brow. “Well, you’d talk to it too if you’d crashed on an alien planet and had exactly one broken radio to your name.”

She chuckled, stepping closer. “Good to know sarcasm is universal. You do realize half of Piltover’s harbor has been talking about you since the day you arrived?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, feigning a look of exhaustion. “Ah, yes. My lifelong dream: celebrity status on a world I didn’t even know existed. Truly, I’m living the dream.”

Caitlyn laughed, a real, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold harbor air. She leaned down beside you, peering at the broken radio. “Does it ever work, or is it more of an… ornamental piece?”

“Oh, it works. When it feels like it.” You poked at the wiring, the sarcasm creeping back into your voice. “It’s a little temperamental, just like me, I guess.”

She tilted her head, giving you a sidelong glance. “I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You smirked, glancing up at her. “Careful. Next thing you know, I’ll be making demands. Like… what’s a proper breakfast here? Any weird Piltover customs I should be aware of?”

Her lips quirked as she held your gaze. “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop playing with broken radios in the middle of the night.”

Just as you were about to volley back with another jab, the radio sputtered to life, static giving way to a faint, haunting melody from your world. Both of you fell silent, the sarcasm fading as the music filled the air, bringing a rare quietness to your typically witty exchanges.

For once, Caitlyn looked genuinely speechless. “That’s… that’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to hide the sudden vulnerability the music brought. “It’s just a song from home. They—uh, they play it a lot back there. It’s about… finding beauty, even when you’re a million miles from home.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you felt her presence in a way that startled you. “I think I get it.” Her hand brushed against yours, and your sarcasm melted just a bit. “Maybe you don’t have to be so far from that kind of beauty. Maybe Piltover has a little of it, too.”

You let out a scoff, though it came out weaker than intended. “Yeah? Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

But as her hand stayed near yours, and her gaze held yours just a moment longer than usual, you felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the music. Maybe, you thought, Piltover had more than you’d given it credit for—especially if Caitlyn was part of it.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #league of legends caitlyn #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #wlw post #wlw blog #sapphic #lesbian

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arcane-ish · 1 day ago

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I mean, why would getting beaten for years make her kinder?

I have a kinder view on her, but my verdict after S2 Act 1 was also that Vi has no connection to Zaun.

My head canon is that she was far away from Zaun for a long time and after she emerged it was completely changed. Zaun was the idealistic warm place of her childhood to her and when she came back she found it "poisoned" by Silco. She doesn't feel at home there anymore. Maybe she blames it for "ruining" Powder.

The frustrating part being, okay, even if Vi is the kind of person who dislikes and looks down on the dirty immoral parts of Zaun (rather than seeing that as a result of their oppression or seeing beauty and potential in the depravity there), she has been to Ekko's tree. She has seen the nice/happy/friendly parts of Zaun. Shouldn't she feel at least protective of those?

My take is that the approach of the writer is that Vi has a more general sense of morals. She protects people who get attacked, whether it is a Piltover Elite or the little Zaunite girl. She has indeed neither class conciousness nor hard loyalty (in season 1 her goal was to bring down Silco and she had no problem teaming up with Piltover to achieve that goal via the chem factory raid, she didn't even think of rallying Zaunites against Silco, she went for what was easiest and the biggest stick)

And I don't see how that is that much of stretch. If Vi is not a big thinker, why should she have class conciousness? Having just pariotic loyalty to a place without class conciousness or larger historic context is something that still works for a "not a big thinker" person, but I could easily picture the writers seeing Vi a decidedly not that. There are plenty of scenarios where unthining patriotism isn't a good thing, so the writers might actually see that a creative wrinkle that Vi is more of a universalist who doesn't distinguish anymore where people are from. (and yes, maybe people who get treated with prejudice react by locking deeper into that identity, but it is not that out of the ordinary that they could also react with "it shouldn't matter at all where people come from")

IMO Vi emerged from prison and felt like she didn't have a home anymore because her second family was dead and everything she knew looks different. And yes, Vi's first family was killed by Pilties but her second family died becuase of an inner Zaunite struggle. So is it really that out of the ordinary that she might have mixed feelings about Zaun?

The way I read it Vi at this moment doesn't particularly like Zaun and she's feeling her way around. She feels like she doesn't belong there, doesn't fit in there and so she's trying to feel her way around if she can fit into Piltover (especially if Caitlyn is luring her in with "actually we are trying to reduce harm to Zaun, it's moral of you to join, because you are actually trying to make things easier").

Act 1 ends with Cait and by extension Piltover rejecting her. And based on the trailers it looks like Vi is going to dive deep into self hate and with that deep into the most violent parts of Zaun. Which to me suggest that this reflects that she has a low opinion of Zaun, that this is where she goes when she's at her lowest and self-hatiest.

Again in a world where even if she doesn't fuck with the darker seedier parts of Zaun and has no motivation to let's say be another Silco or Vander to try to slap down the chem barons, sort of pacify Zaun or even rally it. ... she could have just joined up with Ekko and tried to to just do nice things and help orphans.

But it seems likely that that's not how she's going to react. She could take her rejection from Cait and Piltover and react with rage "I tried to work with them, but they are actually monsters, let's fight them". Or she could have shut down, gone to the pretty place of Ekko's there and try to recoup there (maybe she's self-haty and scared that they would reject her for the things she's done?) and find herself by trying to do small nice things for people. But it seems like she reacts with self-hate because she's a pretty splintered broken person herself who is highly unsure about her place in the world.

But yes, Vi has zero class consciouness because she just doesn't think like that is just correct description of her character. That's just how she is. She's a mostly one track universalist.

I just don't think it makes sense that we impose what her trauma response should be (ie she should retch at every badge she sees) just because that's what we would like to see and we feel that this should be the "most logical" thing. People have all kinds of different trauma reactions.

And Vi has been on the receiving end of bad actions of Zaunites and if you put into the equation that she just genuinely doesn't have a class conciousness/doesn't think of things on that level, why shouldn't she have aversion and trauma reactions to Zaunites as well? She disliked Pilties and enforers because they enacted violence on her, but she also had violent run ins with Zaunites. That street kids brawl after the heist in season 1 was against Zaunites, she was there for the murder of Benzo, Silco to her knowledge killed Vander, she fought Sevika (and I still think she blames Zaun for "ruining Powder"). Maybe she even holds it against Zaun that the followed Silco (though even if she unreasonably idolizes Vander, shouldn't she at least see that Ekko's people uphold the memory of Vander? I wonder if Vi knows that the Vander statue exists).

In short, it's going to be interesting how her relationship with Zaun will evolve. If she will gain a more nuanced view on it or not. I can see a world where she finds out more about Vander's regrets and sees more nuance is necessary, I wonder if she will interact with the Viktor people and what her take on that will be. I wonder if she will find comfort and familarity in the fighting pits or if it will just be her self hatred and ultimately Cait "saving her" from the pits (whether actually retrieving her and luring her out with more tasks up in Pilotver).

I don't buy that Cait is that keen on the Noxians, so I could picture her asking Vi for help again soon.

Or maybe she'll team up with people to for example hunt the new monster Warwick. It's gonna be interesting if Vi finds her new community in Zaun in some way (ie teaming up with somebody to hunt Warwick, or fight Viktor, or rally people against the Noxians or reconnecting with Ekko after all). Or if she has trouble connecting with people and Cait and enforcers will remain the only thing that ever gets offered to her (after all she spelled out to Cait that she feels like she has nothing).

We know the story is highly slanted towards Vi ending up with Cait and probably even as an enforcer. The question is whether it will be with her getting a nuanced view on Zaun and trying to walk between the world, seeing both sides and negotiate between them (ie by keeping a positive relationship with Ekko or making new friends in the pit adventure) or whether the rift between Vi and Zaun will stay there (maybe they hate her for working with enforcers, maybe she is at odds with them again if she ends up trying to protect Warwick from them).

Having digested the first 3 episodes of Arcane 2, I'm ready to say something bold and brave, and I hope I don't get too much hate for it.

Vi is just not a nice person.

In season 1, I feel like I was maybe unfair to the writers by saying that "rushing the romance with an enforcer/1% like Cait" was "flattening" Vi's character. That it was bending her out of shape.

How could a Zaunite as maltreated as Vi so easily turn to someone like Cait?

I was told by shippers it's because Cait is the first to show her kindness in a long time, and I still think that's hogwash. She is fresh out of mega hell prison where enforcers beat her so often they lost track of it. I don't believe any amount of kindness could make you fall for an enforcer within 48h in this context. Not realistically.

But now?

Vi hears Cait dehumanizing Zaunites and doesn't fight back. It takes a few compliments to make her accept an enforcer badge. She's running around gasing the people of the Lanes, making excuses for it, while looking fresh out of a WWII horror movie in that gas mask.

And when the gas mask is off, she's wearing Claggor's goggles... Like, yeesh.

She's clearly blinded by Cait. And that's fine! I used to think it was the flaw of the writers trying to hurry a Caitvi ship along. Now I gotta admit, it looks like Vi just doesn't have strong morals.

She hates enforcers but she'll join them easily. Her wanna-be gf says we use toxic gas that has horrible side effects [cut to horror medical slides] and she says "yeah, it's for the good of the people, sure".

She sees Jinx and accuses her of killing Powder, and says she's tired of making excuses for her.

To WHO, Vi? We don't have you on screen apologizing to anyone for Jinx's actions. I'm sure things were said to Caitlyn, but like, yeesh.

She accuses Jinx of orphaning kids, WHILE WEARING AN ENFORCER UNIFORM, the same worn by the people who orphaned HER.

I give up. The writers knew what they were doing.

A flawed woman who wasn't made a better or more moral one by all the suffering she endured in Stillwater.

Vi is cool, but she's not super loyal, is a bit of a meathead, doesn't have her priorities in orders, leads with her fists and caves easily to her emotions. She's horny for Cait and not very interested in the fate of her community.

Being locked up and beaten didn't make her smarter or kinder. It just made her a better fighter.

It's kind of my bad for assuming that Vi "should be better", logically. If she's written as a human, then she should be flawed and yeah, I guess she fucking is lol

I'm curious to see if she develops some... class consciousness, or some patriotism of some sort, when everyone realises the Noxian offers of protection are a yoke. I'm a lot more curious seeing where she ends now that I've accepted she's cool while also kinda shitty. It's nice that it goes along Cait's spiral into villainy.

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eolewyn1010 · 7 months ago

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So, yesterday:

I phoned 4 numbers of therapists, and while I wasn't put on any waiting lists, I was directed to an agency I didn't know of that actually connects people in the region with free therapy spots, and now I'm on their list and they'll call me when I can have a first consultation anywhere I can geographically reach. So that's cool!

I went to that free counselling service my mom got recommended, and the lady there was nice and gave me a few pointers on how to bridge the time until I can get an actual therapy spot with other support possibilities.

When I said to her, "I dunno if I'm even right here; I'm not in an acute situation of crisis", she raised an eyebrow at my imposter syndrome and just flat-out said: "Sounds to me like you are." Lady, I wanna introduce you to the last person in your field that I consulted, because that person was a b***h that made me feel humiliated and intimidated, and you instantly made me comfortable enough to cry.

When I got out of there, I was greeted by a rainbow and sun sparkling on raindrops all around, and I choose to read that as a good omen.

I bought post stamps, so now my birthday letter / present for my friend is good to go.

I took out the trash! (Yes, that's a small thing, but everyone in our household keeps forgetting it when we go out, so actually managing it is a win.)

I got half done with the reading list my professor asked of me, so I'm pretty confident I can send it today.

Despite getting home kinda late, I still got the laundry done AND some sports.

Admittedly, sports was pedalling on the home trainer during a movie night XD but I'm figuring out how to text with my friend while keeping my legs moving, so yeah, that part of multitasking might just work out.

Movie night with my friend was lovely! I do wish we'd live closer together so I could visit them instead of texting, but still, I had someone to talk to about Charité, and now I'm having Charité thoughts and feelings again; lowkey wanna write.

Still didn't start on the new knitting thingie because ruining the yarn ball when parting it in halves has kinda scared me off, but sewing is going better again; I managed half a meter of hemming.

#personal #between the waves I cannot drown #as for the parts of the world still trying to bring me down:#fuck you <3 if I can't live to enjoy the world I shall live to spite it

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zeb-z · 6 months ago

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Arthur Bennett was chemically made in a lab for me to go insane over I think. he’s got a guilt only an older sibling could have and a drive for vengeance that is half driven by his own self hatred. yet still he strives for peace. he’s desperate to cling to any humanity, any hope. he’s aware he’s fallible. it doesn’t save him

#he’s also a fuckin vampire sniper dude #tell me that’s not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. I’ll wait #ok but fr #it’s that he’s so desperate and so angry and he wants so desperately to bring about peace but he just fails #he becomes so unrecognizable at the end and it’s so tragic bc you can see every moment he could have chosen different. but he doesn’t #he’s self aware of his failings and that’s part of his failings ironically enough #and that combo of older sibling guilt and survivor guilt and I’ve done terrible things guilt is fuckin unreal #he wants to be human and live in the sun and have this world of peace. but it’s a future he’d burn down for the twins without question #there’s no way he should have made it out of that arena. he’s always ready to sacrifice himself for the twins (for his younger siblings) bu #he just always survives. that seems to be his curse. so now he has to live with himself. now he has to face a future and try to get better #or fall further down. and I’m obsessed with him because as much as he could get better he really could just get so much worse #he knows he has the monster inside of him. he knows what to avoid. he knows what he could have become. and still he becomes it #if you saw this on twt hi lol #jrwi #jrwi the suckening #the suckening #the suckening spoilers #jrwi spoilers #arthur bennett #z speaks

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quillheel · 6 months ago

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─ romantic gestures. bold what applies to your muse , italicize if there's potential / it depends.

holding hands · buying flowers · cooking · cuddles · writing a poem / song · holding door open · tying shoe laces · sharing a milkshake with two straws · offering their jacket when it's cold · kissing in the rain · publicly confessing love · long walks at the beach · doing the titanic pose on a boat · taking cute pictures in a photo booth · sharing a taxi / uber · kissing the back of their hand · slow dancing · getting tickets of their favorite artist / sports team / other · introducing them to your parents · lighting candles · flower petals on bed · love letters · star gazing · brushing / doing their hair · picnics · teaching them to play an instrument / sport while gently guiding their hands · compliments · late night drives · taking selfies together · drawing them · self-made gifts · massages · proposing with a family heirloom ring · lending them your favorite book to read · paying for dinner / coffee · mixtapes / playlists · surprise birthday parties · feeding them · handing them keys to your apartment · making space in drawer for their clothes when they stay over · sharing a blanket · couple costumes · tucking a hair strand behind their ear · running after them at the airport / keeping them from leaving · moving cities to be together · blowing a kiss · breakfast in bed · defending them in a fight (verbally / physically) · joint bubble baths · dropping the L-bomb ("i love you") · dedicating a song at the karaoke bar to them · wearing their clothes · yawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movie · granting them the last bite (from meal)

tagged by: stolen from @infog <3 I legally HAD to tagging: @tenebriism @braveryhearted @autonomousxselves @fantomevoleur @musesofthesun @pluviacuratio @tendercoded / @manebloom / @lncanting @cozyfarms @deiscension @shadowedresolve @sakuaxe @lovlorne @leuvspell @adoranoia and you!!!! ( multi's, decide as you please! )

#toshiro kasukabe i love you so so so so so bad i WISH i had ships w u u mean the world to me #HE DRIVES ME INSANEEEEEEEEE im obsessed with him. toshiro struggles alot w expressing attraction in public bc of the conditions that he-#-was raised under where he had endless amounts of pressure put on him to conform to a standard and stay in the shadow of his father from a-#-very young age which means even postgame he struggles to get himself to do these things esp when they wouldnt be socially ok to do unless-#-you were dating the person u were doing it with but still caring abt his partner SOSOSOSOSSO much it's agonizing and how he'd fight with-#-himself to genuinely and directly express his feelings and not be controlled by fear postgame and how even pregame he'd still try to-#-figure something out to express it even in the minutest sense and how much his experiences form and embolden and disquiet him and GODDD #the way he'd consider a love letter to be albeit cheesy the most romantic thing he could do for a person bc it communicates his feelings-#-for them so directly and in a written form which he is so trained to think of in the danger it could bring bc its Physical ANYONE can-#-read it but still choosing to Write It Down like a kind of permanence and the way part of that is bc of him getting a secret admirer's-#-love letter when he was young and getting so so infatuated with the concept and finding that writing things down to be such a good way-#-to figure out his thoughts n feelings even if he always burned them after and how he'd want to do that for his partner/romantic interest-#-and how he finds to articulate his feeling through action and Giving rather than verbally when the articulate struggles so he instead-#-says it in the way he helps sb he loves learn an instrument or a skill n guides them and helps them and the way he'd guide the fingers #TOSHIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO KASUKABEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE u need a partner SO BAD i love u sm #MUSE / Toshiro Kasukabe #STUDY / Toshiro Kasukabe #GAMES / Toshiro Kasukabe #SHIPPING / Toshiro Kasukabe #━ ♔ on such longing i couldn’t spit out : shipping.#━ ♔ shielding your eyes from the bright noon-light : studies.#p5 //#p5t //#food ment //#━ ♔ the world grows green again when you smile : games.

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badcountryofficial · 2 months ago

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I'm so lucky I realized all I did after my first long term relationship and not like...multiple in

#i was talking to my therapist like #'i'm starting to doubt there's anyone out there who will treat me right and not explode or try to hurt me or xyz'#and she was like 'good. you're realizing this isnt what you want. you're realizing you need to wake up the part of you that detects—#—red flags and warning signs.'#like in every dysfunctional family and every generational abusive cycle there's one person who wakes up and says hey. what the fuck.#and that's who i am to my family.#and im done letting ppl treat me this way because it's how i grew up and what i learned and what i know #it's time for me to start healing and breaking the cycle and unlearning this shit #first red flag abt my ex was he was possessive. but i was raised to believe that was GOOD and i even told him i LIKED that #because i did i genuinely did #and now i realize...even if i still do find it appealing...it is not. healthy.#i find toxic things attractive because of what my family (and society yes) taught me #and now i really need to do the work of unlearning that so i dont repeat what my mom and dad did to me #ending up w someone i cant get along w and having kids because i think it's what i want just to find i resent myself for bringing them into—#the horrible family i've built in this already fucked up world #i refuse to be a parent who feels so guilty that i end up fucking up my kid.#either giving them too much and coddling them and never making them be independent or screaming and yelling at them because they're not—#—independent ENOUGH...even though they're just a kid.#im not bringing my wounds to my future children.#and i refuse to be with someone who doesnt feel the same and doesnt do the godawful hard work of unlearning shame #that's all it boils down to. shame.#find what you're ashamed of and embrace it.#goddammit.#people man

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beloveds-embrace · 1 month ago

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part 2 of baker!reader + do not ever ask me to write accents lmao i suck at those 💀😭 and a huge thank you to all the sweet and dessert suggestions! i couldn't add all of them, but oh my god did i love all of them and choosing between them was sooo hard (that's what she said). if your dessert didn't make it here im soo sorry 😭

It was a quiet morning when you finally decided to reopen the bakery. The town had been whispering, speculating about the sudden disappearance of your husband—tragic, they said, to be found mauled by a bear in the woods. You hadn’t shed a tear, hadn’t flinched at the news. Maybe that was cruel of you, but after what you had endured, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for him anymore. Not fear, not sadness—just relief.

And now, with the bakery open once again, you felt lighter. Freer.

The 141 boys were there first thing, as you had hoped. Each one walking into the cozy space like they belonged there. Their heavy, winter boots made the wooden floors creak, their towering frames somehow making the space feel intimate rather than intimidating. You smiled as the familiar smell of fresh bread and sugar lingered in the air, the warmth of the ovens cocooning you and the rest of the bakery in comfort. Free from that terrible man you’d called a husband, it was as if the world itself was taking on a more vibrant color.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John greeted you, his eyes crinkling beneath his hat, though there was something watchful in his gaze.

“Bonnie,” Johnny chirped, leaning on the counter, his eyes sparkling as they usually did when he spoke to you. “Place smells heavenly as always.”

“You’re open today, huh?” Kyle said, grinning as he eyed the display of pastries lined up neatly behind the glass. “Missed our favorite baker, honestly.”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just gave you a long, steady look from behind his mask. You knew he had seen the signs. He was the only one who had seen the bruises, had taken your hands so gently that day and whispered that promise. You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t said anything in return, but you had trusted him all the same. You are glad you did. You are so glad it’d been him to see.

Now, as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter, your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “Everything’s on the house today,” you said, your smile wider than it had been in ages. “For you guys, at least. After all… I’ve got a few new things for you to try.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Then we’re in for a treat, eh boys?”

You went back to the counter, pulling out a few trays and plates, your hands moving quickly as you started setting them down in front of the men, watching their eyes light up at the spread. “I’ve been experimenting,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing. “For John, I’ve got pecan pie. Thought you might like it—something a bit rich, a bit warm.” Like you, goes unsaid but you hoped he still heard it.

John’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the slice you placed in front of him. “Always knew you were a mind reader,” he murmured with a chuckle, cutting into the pie and taking a bite. The smile that spread across his face was slow, but appreciative.

“For you, Kyle, lemon meringue tarts. Something sharp, refreshing. A little tangy,” you said, setting the plate in front of him. “And a bit sweet, too. Had a feeling you’d like it!”

Kyle laughed, picking up the tart and admiring it at first. “You know me too well.” He took a bite, his eyes widening at the burst of lemon on his tongue and then groaning in delight. “Perfect, as always.”

Simon watched you closely, and when you placed a plate of apple fritters in front of him, his gaze softened just slightly. “Made these with you in mind,” you said, your voice gentle. “Thought you’d appreciate something classic, Si. Simple, but comforting.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded in that way of his, taking the fritter in his gloved hand. When he took a bite, his eyes closed briefly, and you could see the silent approval in the way his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“And for you, Johnny,” you giggled, setting down a small bowl of Cranachan in front of him. “Thought you might like something traditional- whisky, raspberries, oats, and cream. Feels like a bit of home, doesn’t it? At least I hope so. It was my first time making it.”

Johnny beamed all the same, eagerly reaching for a spoon. “Ah, bonnie, you’re spoiling us.”

But it wasn’t just them you were thinking of. You had made a fresh batch of focaccia bread for yourself, but this wasn’t just any bread- it was bold, spiced with rosemary and topped with chilli flakes and garlic. It was a reflection of your own newfound boldness. You’d been quiet, subdued for so long. Now, you wanted to feel alive again.Perhaps it might seem corny, but this focaccia bread meant to signify that for you.

You set a slice of the focaccia on a plate for yourself, taking a bite as you sat with them, your smile not faltering for a second. It was savoury- settling warmth in your stomach. “I think this might be my new favorite, actually.” you said with a soft laugh. In your mind, you were already thinking of making and selling more of it.

They didn’t say much in response, still tasting their own desserts, but you could feel their appreciation, their understanding, in the quiet way they accepted it.

The rest of the bakery was alive with the smell of freshly baked treats: rich brownies, soft sugar cookies, fluffy cronuts, and delicate eclairs. Tres leches cakes sat next to pumpkin pies, while apple and custard empanadas filled the air with their sweet, warm scent. Cheesecakes, cardamom rolls, strawberry lamingtons—the selection was almost overwhelming, but everything sold well. Especially the bear claw pastries. You smiled softly to yourself at the irony. The bearclaw pastries might also be your new favorite, right alongside the focaccia.

Johnny noticed it immediately, the little twitch of your lips, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, bonnie?”

You waved him off, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. Just… the bear claws. They’ve been selling really well lately. Thought it was… fitting.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to you, then to the bear claw pastries sitting neatly in a display case. A slow understanding crossed his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just a slight nod, the corner of his mouth twitching, the silent acknowledgment of the truth that you all shared. You had no doubt the others knew about it as well- maybe even had a hand in it. Such incredible men.

And for the first time, standing in your bakery, surrounded by warmth and the quiet camaraderie of the men you had come to trust, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The past was behind you. Now, you had a future to look forward to—one filled with new beginnings, layers to unfold like a mille-feuille crepe cake, and the quiet reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” you said, raising your cup of coffee, your smile bright and genuine.

The boys raised their cups in return, their expressions soft but full of unspoken promises. “To new beginnings,” they echoed, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. Especially because you could see the way they were looking at you.

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strangerstilinski · 3 months ago

Text

smoke me out

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends? [ 7.4k ]

𝗰𝘄: friends to lovers, dubcon bc they're high, reader with a vagina & breasts, drug use (weed), smoking & shotgunning, pathetic attempts at dirty talk, unprotected sex, cream pie, and goofy eddie (always)

𝗮/𝗻: the stoner in me came out at the beginning, ngl. this is just a horny culmination of my need to shotgun with eddie and also to rub his sweaty body with my own. and yes, that one part is inspired by the gifs of the hoard scene featuring joe's tight little ass grinding away.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+ 𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

It's just you and Eddie today.

You're propped up against the headboard side by side, a nest of pillows providing you both with a cushion from the uncomfortable framework behind your bed. The muted sound of James Hetfield's voice floating through your stereo speakers over a heavy clash of drums and guitar has your head bobbing in time with the beat. Eddie has long-since gone from shredding on air guitar to intently staring at the way his own ringed fingers bend toward his palm every time the pitch shifts incrementally, mentally contemplating the chord changes by ear.

Despite the windows thrown open on either side of the room, your small apartment reeks of smoke and weed. The humid Indiana summer air filtering through the curtains is not nearly strong enough to properly air out the cramped space. It's one of those wonderfully warm days — peak summertime. Not overly hot, but enough to have your skin prickling with heat beneath a tank top and cotton shorts.

Eddie is still lounging in a threadbare pair of checkered pajama pants and a cutoff tee, the top half of his hair tied back in a haphazard bun to lessen the weight of the thick curls sticking to his neck.

Eddie is prone to complaining when it's hot. Or when it's cold. And also when it's rainy. Or windy.

Point is, you're not sure why he's yet to complain about the lack of air conditioning in your apartment, but Eddie seems content as ever. It could have something to do with the little glass pipe the two of you have been passing back and forth all afternoon. The bowl on the end had been packed tight, more than enough weed to have both of you thoroughly stoned, well before it's even finished.

The ceiling fan is stirring up the faintest breeze. You've burned yourself thrice on a rogue, billowing flame while trying to light up. The circulating air keeps pushing an errant dark curl down over Eddie's face every time he dips his head to take a hit.. You've combed it back for him four times, already—God forbid he set his hair on fire. Again. You're not sure he's even noticed the way your hand lingers on that smooth strip of skin behind his ear just a little longer each time.

But you can't help it, not with the way everything's gone a little foggy at the edges. Your eyes seem to process your surroundings in near slow-motion, all while the world shines with a barely-perceptible gleam. The last twenty minutes the two of you have spent smoking have done wonders to soften the world around you. Your head is full of air in that familiarly pleasant way that leaves you feeling a bit like you might float away at any second. Like a balloon in the sky. And with the added bonus of Eddie by your side, you're entirely relaxed. Contented.

Weak beneath the lazy weight of your high pressing in on you, you suddenly flop your weight down sideways across the bed, your head landing over Eddie's thighs. You blink slow up at him, hazy gaze focusing on the underside of Eddie's face while he brings his bony knees up from the mattress to cage you a little closer to his chest. The angle would be outrageous were you looking up at anyone else, you're sure, but Eddie..

He's so pretty.

All rogue-ish boy. Unkempt and wild, but still entirely beautiful.

You can't help the way your hand finds its way up, up, up. Your fingertips dancing across the barely-there five o'clock shadow on the edge of his jaw. You trace the hard line all the way from his chin to his ear, his stubble scratchy and wholly soothing when you lightly scrape your nails against the grain of it.

Eddie, on the other hand, has found himself entirely focused on the way gravity has moved your breasts in your new position below him. The awkward angle has carried them up and out, bra-less and soft and hypnotizing. They shift just a little every time your hand moves across his face. The tank top you've chosen to wear today is thin, indecently so, in his opinion. His brown eyes have been glued to the obvious outline of your nipples beneath the fabric since the moment you'd greeted him at the door, and his ogling has only gotten less subtle as his high settled in. He risks another longing glance down past your collar bones, reddened eyes dragging over the shape of your puffy nipples hidden underneath.

You're thumbing softly at the coarse hairs just under his chin when Eddie gives in to impulse and purses his lips to blow a cool breath of air over your neck and chest. You can't help but giggle as your skin reacts, goosebumps spreading down your arms, and unbeknownst to you, your nipples tightening into semi-hard peaks beneath your top.

They're not the only things that are suddenly semi-hard.

Eddie smacks his lips and swallows the drool that he's embarrassed to admit has pooled beneath his tongue. His ring-clad knuckles brush the side of your breast as he reaches to take the forgotten bowl from the blankets.

He attempts to gather himself as he takes another hit. He holds it for a count of five and then exhales a cloud of smoke whilst urging himself to imagine something utterly repulsive.. His uncle in the shower, roadkill, the way his balls itch uncomfortably after he plays a gig at The Hideout in too-tight jeans — anything that might keep him from popping an unwanted boner while you've got your pretty, unassuming head resting in his lap.

Your fingers are now trailing lightly over the light freckles dotting the bridge of Eddie's nose. His skin is a little pink from yesterday's sun, despite the number of times you'd physically dragged him from Steve's pool to apply sunscreen to his steadily-reddening cheeks. The previous day outside has Eddie's barely-there freckles appearing far more visible than usual, speckled along the round tip of his nose, his cheeks, even the crinkles around his eyes. You think they make him look even more handsome, boyish perhaps, but handsome all the same.

Through the warm fog in your brain, you find yourself smiling up at him. A dopey grin on your face as you poke at the soft apples of his cheeks — Like he's your own personal plaything. Your heart ticks excitedly when the corner of Eddie's lips quirk up at you in response, his pupils blown wide, surrounded by a thin ring of molten chocolate. His teeth flash with his sweet little chuckle of amusement, cheeks dimpling beneath the sparsest area of his stubble.

“You've got freckles,” You comment quietly. “They're cute.” You smack your lips once, mouth dry with dehydration, “I like 'em.. 'nd your stubble, too. Feels nice.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, stoned and more than a bit flattered under the weight of your attention. His chest puffs up a little proudly, his words flowing without any real thought behind them, “Made it all myself.. 'S hard work.. But, uh, y'know. Someone's gotta do it.”

He slips his lighter between two of his fingers and holds the bowl off to the side so that he can drag the fingers of his free hand softly, delicately, over your hair where it's fanned out over his lap. He doesn't want to mess it up, especially doesn't want one of his rings to get caught and pull. But it looks so soft, and through the haze, he can't fight the impulse to simply.. touch. So gently.

His attention seems intently focused on the careful motions of his fingers along your hair, and you take advantage of his distraction by finally allowing your gaze to drop to his mouth. Eddie keeps slowly rolling and biting his lips between his teeth. Canines dig into the flesh before he's scrunching his nose and pursing his lips, only to scrape his teeth over them again in a never-ending loop. You doubt he's even aware he's doing it but it's beginning to make his lips swell, the skin darkening to a brighter shade of pink from the abuse.

All at once, your trance is broken when his tongue pokes out to wet his smoke-dry lips. Your mind flashes suddenly with an idea.

The absence of both the Hellfire crew and your other friends was truly a rarity. You hardly ever got to be alone with Eddie like this. You'd tried to ask him out once upon a time- No, not just once. Twice. Twice you'd asked him on a date — both of which had somehow ended in group excursions rather than romantic one-on-one time, how it had happened two separate times, you still weren't sure — and at this point you'd given up entirely. Because maybe it just wasn't meant to be. It was okay, really, you'd almost grown content in your longing.

But, the way Eddie's lips shone lightly after his tongue stroked over them.. It had your brain reeling with possibility. If you were ever going to get his mouth on yours in private, even just for a fleeting moment, it didn't seem possible that an opportunity so seamless would ever present itself again.

It was worth a shot.

“I want another hit.” You tell him, licking at your own lips as brown eyes refocus on your face.

“M'kay, well, you're prob'ly gonna need to sit up for that, sweets,” Eddie points out, entirely unaware of the way your tummy always swoops when the thoughtless pet name falls from his lips. “Unless you were really lookin' t'get a face full'a ash.. In which case, you can definitely keep layin-” A burst of air leaves his nose with a laugh of surprise, repeating his own words to himself with a sweetly boyish giggle, “Sounds like ass. Face full'a ass. Now, that I'd like-”

Normally you'd join in on the joke. Poke a little fun at him for saying such a thing. Freak. You'd say it fondly, with an eye roll to go with it, maybe you'd throw in a half-serious offer involving his face and your backside- But you don't say any of those things. You can't. You're in the middle making the not-so-carefully crafted scene in your head a reality — And, can't he see that? Why is he trying to distract you?

“Ash. Riiight, uh huh. Well,” You pause, feign innocence before your next words. “Maybe.. Maybe you could shotgun it to me n' that way I can stay right here?” You suggest cautiously, before adding as an afterthought, “If you want, I mean.”

Any amusement is immediately stripped from Eddie's expression. He spends a few achingly long seconds blinking down at you with heavy eyelids, gaze hooded and distant. His weed-hazy brain takes a moment to actually process your words, but then, just as suddenly as he'd zoned out, he's nodding and bringing the glass pipe back up to his lips, one hand cupped around the end to shield the flame from the path of the ceiling fan.

The lighter clicks and swishes quietly as he lights up. He lowers the bowl after a long second, ringed hand dipping beneath your head and guiding you oh-so gently to arch your neck upward, until he can lean down and press his mouth down softly against yours.

That first soft brush of his lips has your whole body thrumming. Butterflies begin a rampage in your stomach, so much so that you have to actively remind yourself to part your lips beneath his.

He presses down just a bit more, lips squishing solidly to your own parted ones and sending your heart racing dangerously, but then he's exhaling the smoke into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in as it comes, letting the warmth of it flow from his body and into your own.

He watches you intently as he moves to pull back and sit upright again. Watches the way you seal your mouth shut, lips rolling between your teeth while your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks. You allow the smoke to simply sit in your lungs for a long moment before relaxing your chest and exhaling through your nose, releasing the diluted cloud up into the air between you.

Eddie blinks down at you with heavy lids. There's a long moment of silence between you. It's a palpable thing — not quite awkward or tense, but brimming with an unexpected energy that neither one of you can quite decipher. It's charged. Something like static electricity, or the tether between two magnets of an opposite charge. It nearly tingles in the breadth of space between you.

Eddie feels it. He wonders if you feel it too.

“D'you want another hit?” He asks after a minute, his voice scratchy.

You merely nod your head, not trusting your own voice, and the movement has you refocusing suddenly on the soft press of his calloused fingers where they linger against the nape of your neck. You watch with bated breath as Eddie brings the glass pipe in his hand back to his lips again, letting his gentle grip fall from the top of your spine for just a moment so that he can flick the flame of the lighter over the tiny pocket at the end of the pipe once again.

Eddie drops the items in his hands to your bedside table carelessly once he's gotten a good lungful of smoke. He leans down in a faster movement this time than he had done before, his hand dipping back beneath your head in a flash to bring your mouths together again.

His lips are dry against your own, but so soft. You're not sure if it's the high or simply Eddie, but the barely-there scratch of stubble over his upper lip is delicious. It feels so good it makes you a little lightheaded.

Your mouth slips open, inhaling as he exhales. You feel the warmth of the smoke entering your mouth, taste the bitterness of it on your tongue as the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces.

You're preparing to let your craned neck fall back to his lap, to close your lips in an effort to keep the smoke inside of your lungs — but then Eddie is tightening his grip on the back of your head incrementally, and instead of pulling back, he slots your lips together more firmly. Your heart skips in surprise and you can practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. Your brain seems to white out for a moment, unable to focus on anything that isn't Eddie's soft lips moving tentatively against your own.

A thin cloud of smoke escapes into the air around you as your mouths begin to move together in synchrony. You can't hold back a soft gasp of surprise when Eddie's tongue swipes warmly across the seam of your lips. Your heart pounds, your mouth opening beneath his again without hesitation.

The kiss that follows is a frenzied rush of lips and teeth and tongue. Hunger blossoms in the pit of your stomach. But it somehow manages to feel so languid, so sensual beneath the relaxed fogginess of your high.

Your back arches, shoulders lifting from Eddie's thigh to meet him more than halfway. The movement prompts his hands to find your hips and Eddie is tugging you upright in a flash. Suddenly you're wedged between his legs, practically in his lap. Your knees curling around his waist as he leans farther into your space, chasing your warmth until barely any space exists between you.

Your hands slide idly along his body in a slow trail. Each scrape against your palms feels divine. Every inch of him feels like silk under your fingers. The smooth, worn cotton of his tshirt. The tight ringlets of curls at the nape of his neck, a little damp with sweat. The soft give of warm muscle beneath your eager hands on his chest, his arms, his hips. You attempt to memorize every inch of him, your limbs seemingly moving of their own accord, touch-hungry and weightless all at once.

He's so warm and- God, you want to be inside of him. You think you might want to bury yourself beneath his skin and make a home there. He smells like heaven, like sweat and weed and masculine body wash. Your fingertips drag leisurely along the length of his inked arms, inching slow back toward his neck like you have all the time in the world to explore every inch of his body.

Your touch is scorching across his skin, overwhelming and seemingly everywhere at once but simultaneously not enough. It's like all of his wildest dreams have come to life, and Eddie can't fucking believe that this is happening. That you're practically in his lap, your tongue in his mouth, legs draped around his waist, hands tucked beneath the gaping sleeves of his muscle tee to roam freely and grope at the exposed skin of his hips.

Eddie's head cranes just a bit to the side in an attempt to deepen the kiss, licking his way deeper. His own arms curl around your waist, tightening at the curve of your spine to tug your body flush against his. The action has a needy noise pushing its way into his mouth as your tongues explore one another with warm, wet licks. He groans at a particularly slow curl of your tongue, he swears he feels it in his fucking balls.

He's so turned on he thinks his dick might explode. Eddie changes your position in another quick movement, holding you flush to his chest before he's directing you to lie back against the mattress and slotting himself right there between your thighs.

Despite the way your head has gone a little fuzzy from lack of oxygen, you can't find it in yourself to pull away from him. All you can do is slide your hands from Eddie's shoulders and up into his hair. Tingles shoot from your fingertips as they slide into his frizzy curls, yanking some of them free from his bun just to feel the way they tangle around your fingers. A hot flush of arousal pulses in your cunt at the satisfied noise that Eddie lets out when you tug lightly, and that noise alone has you suddenly frantic.

You can't get enough of him; his sounds, his taste, the press of his warm body between your thighs.

The hand he isn't using to support himself against the mattress rubs along your waist of its own accord, his fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to brush featherlight over your skin. You swear sparks erupt in his wake.

You pull back just enough to murmur his name desperately against his lips, but the syllables are barely out before you're licking into his mouth again with unbridled hunger. Eddie's groan meets your ears in response to your weak plea — what you're begging for, you're not quite sure, but then his hips drop against yours with a slow roll and that-

Oh, that is exactly what you needed.

You can't help the soft whimper that falls into his mouth. The warm line of his half-hard cock pressing against your cunt through the thin barrier of your pajama bottoms has you dizzy. Eddie grinds hips against yours in another slow roll, clothed erection pressing soft into your cunt and prompting the seam on your shorts to nudge at your clit. You both groan in sync, parted lips barely brushing through the breathless sounds.

You also can't help the way you lift your hips in time with each grind of his length against you. The warm weight of his balls squishes against the fabric of your shorts every time his pelvis drags over your own. The thin cotton feels far too thick of a barrier currently between you and his cock.

Ringed fingers sneak up a little farther beneath your shirt, his hand tightening over your naked breast, and you keen at the feeling. He alternates between brushing the calloused pad of his thumb over your nipple and covering the area with his palm to give it a soft squeeze. His lips fall slack against your own, too busy focussing on the way his fingers release and then grope again and again, the kind of distracted intrigue that could only be a result of his high.

A soft whine falls from your lips after a minute of putting up with his lazy fondling. You tug at the hair between your fingers again and nip encouragingly at his lips in a silent plea for a kiss. His mouth finally resumes moving against your own, and you gratefully allow him to direct the kiss. You give him full control of the pace, which turns out to be a give and take of desperate licks into your mouth followed by gentle caresses of his spit-slick lips against your own. Lips smack each time you part, tongues sliding together wetly, heaving breaths rush in and out of your noses as you both attempt to pull as much oxygen in as humanly possible in an effort to not break apart.

Your fingers find the knob of his spine, and you tug on the collar at the back of his shirt in silent question. Eddie answers by pushing back up on his knees to yank the fabric over his head in a quick movement. His tattooed chest heaves with slightly labored breaths and you watch him with rapt attention, your eyes drawn to the tiny patch of hair nestled between his pecs and lightly dusted around his nipples. Then your focus drops to the thicker trail that leads down into the waistband of his pants. The pale skin beneath the hair glistens with sweat, and good God you want to taste it-

But you're only granted a few seconds to ogle his torso before Eddie is dipping back down to catch your lips with his, your mouths immediately separating just enough that he can strip you of your own top.

As soon as your naked chest is exposed to him, Eddie is dragging his lips down your body in a slow trail. He pauses for a moment to kiss a spot just below your ear, his voice raspy when he speaks, “You good? This alright?” He checks quietly.

You reach up to tangle a hand in his hair again, a breathless sigh leaving your lips as you feel the warmth of his mouth pressing against your neck, “Good, yeah. Very, very alright.”

Eddie wastes no time, his lips trailing lower. He leaves a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses to your exposed breasts, relishing in the way you react to his mouth, the way your spine arches up from the mattress at the attention.

“Jesus H. Christ. 's incredible,” Eddie mumbles, his words slurred against your chest as he bites and sucks at the skin on the side of your breast. His head has gone hazy with lust, his fingers slipping beneath your body to grab a desperate fistful of your ass, “Hand to God. I swear, I've never fuckin' seen more perfect-”

You interrupt the filth spewing from his mouth with an entirely unintentional moan, slightly overwhelmed by the influx of sensations. His praise in your ears. The feeling of his fingertips sinking into the plush of your ass. The prominent bulge in his bottoms dragging against you.

Eddie curses under his breath, taking your nipple into his mouth and biting down softly before immediately soothing his tongue over it in apology.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. Sweetly faded and hazy at the edges, but somehow, each touch and sound between the two of you feels heightened — Magnified and all that more intense. As if your high has somehow managed to mute everything on earth except for Eddie.

You release his hair in favor of sliding your hands down his back to grope the globes of his ass over his pajama bottoms while his hips continue to rock forward in a dizzying rhythm. A knead to the flesh there has Eddie whining sinfully against your tongue and your pussy fucking throbs in response.

"Baby," Eddie pants into your mouth, his voice nearly cracking with need, "Take 'em off, please- Baby? c'n we-?"

He doesn't finish the question but you nod, nose brushing against his as your hands slip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your fingers are very nearly trembling while you shove the fabric down below the curve of his ass.

You feel the moment that his cock springs free and you immediately have to crane your neck down to take a peek — The urge to see him is too strong. And God is it a glorious sight.

Flushed red at the tip and achingly hard— Jesus it's thick, gloriously thick. His pubes are dark and untamed around the base, hiding just how big he truly is. It's the most gorgeous cock you've ever fucking seen and it's bumping softly against the crotch of your shorts, wetting the fabric with smeared pre-cum that Eddie's fucking leaked over the head. He's wet with need, same as you, and the thought makes you feel fucking insane.

Which means you ogle perhaps longer than you should.

A needy grumble rises in Eddie's throat that has you snapping out of it suddenly and bringing a hand up into the narrow space between your faces. It takes a moment with the dryness of smoke lingering on your tongue, but you manage to gather enough spit to lick a wet stripe up your palm and fingers, and then you're reaching down to curl your fingers around him.

Half-naked is practically Eddie's default state when he's stoned or drunk, you've drooled over just the outline of him in his underwear more times than you can count, but you're still somehow surprised by the sheer size of him in your hand. The weight of him. Long and curved just a little to the right — so silky and so soft under the slippery glide of your fist. You work your hand slow over him, rewarded with a beautiful little groan of thanks from the man above you, the sound of it guttural as you begin to jerk him with slick strokes.

“Ohhh my god, that- that's, j-jesus-” His voice fucking cracks.

Eddie's hips jump as he fucks into your fist. His eyes roll back, a little delirious just from the sight of your smaller hand wrapped around him. You switch from long strokes in favor of shorter ones where you can focus your attention on his tip, your thumb swiping back and forth over the head of his cock with each flick of your wrist. Eddie doesn't even recognize the sounds leaving his mouth. The combination of his high and the wet glide of your hand is too maddening to care.

You make your own small noise of amazement that has Eddie coming back to himself suddenly. He yanks your shorts down your thighs with an impatient huff, pulling away from you just long enough to discard the last of both of your clothing before he's caging you back against the mattress once again. And then his lips are making their way to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly between these oh-so pretty little groans against your throat, his hips bucking restlessly into your own all the while.

You give an eager cant of your hips, feet pressing into the mattress until the tip of Eddie's cock brushes the seam of your cunt. Eddie makes another sweet little noise of surprise that has you draping an arm around his neck, your face pressing into his shoulder as you repeat the movement with intention.

You want him so bad your pussy fucking aches.

“Ed, can we, please?” You whisper desperately into his skin.

The question is barely out before he's nodding against your throat, bracing his knees and lining himself up with your hole. His hips push forward until just the tip of his cock presses into the wet heat of your cunt, but good lord-

He's so big. It feels a bit like he's splitting you right down the middle, but it's so good. He rocks his hips forward slowly, each little push stretching you wider than you thought possible. Every time you think he can't possibly have more to give you, he slips in a little deeper. He reaches so far inside of you that your eyes roll back, a long, drawn-out moan tearing past your lips at the slow stretch, the dull fullness behind your navel that you can nearly feel in your throat.

“Oh, fuck.” You whine breathlessly, hands scrambling for purchase along his skin. Your nails bite into the sweat-slick muscles of his back before slipping lower still. You find the dimples at the base of his spine, nails raking over the pale white skin of his hips and ass. Your whole body goes lax underneath him as the wiry bush of his pubes finally meets your own.

The noise Eddie releases into the curve of your shoulder borders on a whimper, his breath hot against your skin as he rocks his hips forward again and again. His weight pushes you deeper into the mattress, his cock grinding desperately against the absolute deepest parts of you. He gasps with each nudge of your cervix against the head of his cock, practically humping you through the haze of his high as he tries to give you time to adjust to his size.

“Y'good?” Eddie pants into your neck, words slurred together with need. He feels half a second from fucking begging when your legs spread further, your thighs falling back toward the mattress and allowing him even deeper and holy fucking shit. “Ohh, c'n I move?” He’s all but whining now, “Please. God, please can I-”

“Uh huh, 'm good, 'm good, I-” Your assurances cut off with a wail when he begins to pull back and drive in again with a sharp snap of his hips. Your fingers tighten where his hairy thighs meet his ass, nails biting into taut muscle in an attempt to ground yourself. “Ohmygod.” You whine, eyes glazing over with the heat that pools behind your navel with each thrust.

“Y'feel so good.” Eddie mumbles, slack mouth pressed to the sensitive spot below your ear.

He pushes up on his elbows, but only enough that you can gape up at him with hooded eyes, brows furrowed with just how fucking good he feels.

“Fuucck, y're pretty,” Eddie groans between deep thrusts, his words drawing a moan from your lips. He brings one hand to your cheek, thumb pushing into the plush cushion of your swollen lips before he's covering them with his own in a messy kiss, “Y're so hot. So. fucking. perfect.”

His words are spoken quietly against your lips between thrusts, his nose squishing your own in close proximity, and you draw him back down to your mouth in a hungry kiss, teeth clashing.

The pace Eddie has set is intoxicating, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips forward to fill you up again with deep thrusts. Your moans are loud, wanton and uncontrollable under the haze of your high, only somewhat muffled by Eddie's mouth covering yours.

In a frenzy, you find yourself kissing away the sweat beading on his upper lip. You lave your tongue softly over the light prickle of stubble at his cupid’s bow, but you're only granted a moment to relish in the scratch of it before Eddie is nosing at your cheek and urging you back into a scorching, albeit distracted, kiss. His fingers wrap around your upper thigh to hitch your leg a little higher on his hip, rocking his hips forward again and managing to hit impossibly deeper inside of you. He drives into that spongey spot behind your navel and you writhe-

“Oh-” You gasp into his mouth in surprise, head gone fuzzy as he continues fucking your at the new angle, “Eddie! I, fuck-”

He responds with a groan. His lips leave yours to forge a trail of biting kisses over your skin. He wants to kiss you everywhere. He wishes he could kiss every inch of your skin and still keep fucking you. You're weak to do anything but lie there and take it and it makes Eddie feel dizzy with power. Your arms curl around his shoulders again, head thrown back against the bed in ecstasy.

Eddie's mouth is seemingly everywhere, lips sucking at the underside of your jaw, tongue leaving a wet trail over your collarbones and throat, teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder. Each new sensation sends another spark of arousal down your spine, sends your brain farther into the clouds.

It’s almost too much. It has you tightening your thighs around his hips and rolling sideways over the bed to switch positions, his cock slipping free as you find yourself straddling his waist with only a slight wobble from the momentum. Eddie makes a quiet noise of surprise and petulance, but it melts into a grateful, high-keening moan when you sink back down onto him. Your hips press flush to his as you set a new, slower rhythm of your own making.

“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie whines in amazement, hands tracing over the curve of your waist and breasts as you rock back and forth onto him, “Shit. You look so good like this.” His praise comes out through heaving breaths.

You rest one hand supportively over the sparse hair at the center of his chest, the fingers of your other hand trailing up the skin of his arm until you can tangle your hands together against the mattress. You grind your hips down harder, deeper, and Eddie groans, his hips bucking up unconsciously to meet you halfway.

Your forearms fall on either side of his head. Your weight pressing down against his chest has Eddie immediately fisting your ass and thighs in a bruising grip to help guide your movements. You lean down to bury your face in his neck as you slide back and forth along his length in a slow rhythm, your legs already aching with exertion even with the help of his strong arms.

The loud slapping of skin meeting skin every time the backs of your thighs meet his own rings loudly in your ears. Your staggered breathing falls against his lightly stubbled jaw, lips leaving distracted kisses in apology for the way your hot breath fans out against his already sweaty neck.

“God, Eds,” You moan into his skin, sucking a mark against his throat while he uses his tight grip on your hips to fuck you down onto himself, “You feel. So f-fucking good-”

You let out a yelp as Eddie twists your bodies again with a grunt, and suddenly his body above yours once more, his hand on your shoulder as he sinks back inside of you.

“Need it faster. Harder.” He pants, “That okay?”

You nod, head rubbing against the mattress, “Yes. Please, yeah-”

Eddie trails his fingers down the back of your thigh and guides you to wrap your legs around his waist, and then he’s fucking into you in quick, punishing thrusts. Your moans only increase in volume at the change of pace, your whole body seemingly flushed with heat. Your hands scrape desperately over Eddie's back as he pounds into you, nails cutting into pale skin.

“Shit,” Eddie groans, his forehead dropping down against yours in an unexpectedly tender movement, though it does little to take away from the sound of your bedframe creaking, the wet squelch every time he drives back into you. “God, 're you close?” He asks desperately.

“Uh-huh.” You confirm immediately, brain hazy and muscles tensing with each hard thrust that brings you closer and closer to your peak.

Eddie's nose rubs soft along your cheekbone as he nods, joining your mouths in a kiss that's more breath and tongue than anything else. You struggle to focus on moving your mouth against his as your orgasm begins to creep into the corners of your vision. Eddie's weight drops down onto one elbow to allow him the stability to reach in between you. His hand settles over your pelvis, his fingers swiping messy over your clit as his quick thrusts grow shakier.

“C'mon, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against your lips, “C'mon, I really-” He's cut off by the groan that rumbles up his throat when you pulse around him, the sound entirely animalistic. “Goddd. N-need you t' fuckin' cum, baby, please.”

His voice has gone husky with arousal and exertion, the sound has your eyes rolling back. It only takes a handful more thrusts like that, with the help of his fingertips tracing light circles over your clit. Your whole body tenses as your orgasm crashes over you, legs clamping around his hips. You whine brokenly in his mouth, a sharp gasp immediately following as you scrape your fingers down his shoulders, your whole body shaking as you come undone around him.

The increased tightness of your muscles spurs on Eddie’s own orgasm within a few thrusts, and then he's following you over the edge. He buries his face in the curve of your neck as he cums with a whine, hips stuttering twice before burying deep. His weight crushes you to the mattress, your back arching at the warmth of his release filling you. Your eyes water with the strength of your orgasm, Eddie's hips unconsciously grinding into your own as he rides out his own, whimpering into your ear with the aftershocks.

You both remain unmoving for a long minute, sweaty chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath and come back to yourself. You card gently through Eddie's sweaty hair, his curls having long since broken free from the hair tie that had once held them back from his face. You fingers trail thoughtlessly through the damp tresses while Eddie's hot breath fans out over your neck. His dick twitches inside you when your fingertips scrape softly against his scalp and you struggle to bite back a quiet laugh of amusement. Your muscles tense even with the smothered laugh, and Eddie groans as your cunt pulses around him.

He huffs when he catches the look on your face, entirely dramatic as he begins to roll away, but he only maintains that feigned annoyance for about half a second before he's cackling madly and dragging you into his chest. He nips sharply at your shoulder as he tugs you into his sweaty chest and buries his face in your hair, fingers beginning to trace soft shapes over the skin of your hip.

“You feelin' okay?” He murmurs after a moment.

“Yeah,” You confirm with a sigh, already relaxing into his touch. Your brain is pleasantly dulled from the combination of the lingering high and your orgasm. “Yeah, 'm great.”

“Oh, same, yeah. Super great. I just, uh-” Eddie pauses and you find yourself focussing on the gentle caress of his fingers along your skin, “I wanted to check, y'know.. Make sure you weren't havin' any.. I dunno, just, regrets-”

You're readjusting in a flash so that you can look at him directly, your head settling onto his bicep as your eyes flick between his, “I don't. Regret it, I mean.”

It feels much too serious of a conversation to be having considering how deliriously high you currently feel, the previous strenuous activity did little to clear your head, but you mean it with every fiber of your being. You've been hung up on Eddie for what feels like forever now, the thought of him outright regretting the events of the last hour- It has you feeling sick, stomach sinking and twisting and souring all at once.

Eddie's throat bobs as he swallows, “Just, I mean.. Y're real stoned and- Shit. I, fuck. I probably shouldn't've-”

“Eddie,” You cut him off, feeling desperate with the need to reassure him, “You smoked just as much as I did—probably more. I-I wanted this. I wanted it, like, really bad. Unless..” Your heart drops, “Do.. Do you regret-?”

“No!” Eddie disagrees immediately, and vehemently — With urgency to correct you. “No. No, sweetheart, I do not regret it. Could never regret you. I mean, that was- Shit, I've been wanting to do that since-”

Your hand finds the warmth of his chest, fingers scraping at the small tattoo there, “You have?”

Eddie nods his head against the blankets, sweaty curls sticking up every which way around his head like a messy halo, “Yeah.”

“Does that mean.. I mean, would you maybe wanna do it again sometime? But, like, when we're not high as all hell?”

Eddie's dimpled grin has an embarrassingly wild burst of butterflies erupting inside of you, “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

You lay like that for a while, pressed together despite the heat. His fingers wander over your palms, tracing the lines there while you watch the way his rings shift. Your naked bodies separated only by a thin layer of sweat. The ceiling fan pushing light waves of blessedly cool air over your skin.

After a few minutes Eddie suddenly tears himself out of your grip, and he does it so abruptly that your brain is hardly able to comprehend the loss of him. He lets out a quiet yelp of distress and nearly collapses face-first into the blankets in a mad scramble toward your legs. He manhandles you until you're sprawled on your back, pushing your thighs apart before flopping entirely ungracefully onto his belly in the narrow space he's made between them.

As you push up onto your elbows to peer down at him, Eddie is simply stroking his fingers soft up and down the length of your cum-soaked folds. His eyes are alight with wonder while he watches his own spend begin to leak out. One of his thumbs catches it as it falls, and he pulls his hand back for just a moment to get a better look at the pearlescent mixture of your combined cum.

“What're you doing?” You giggle after a long moment of simply watching him.

Eddie's head snaps up with such surprise it looks as if he might've forgotten you were even there, if such a thing were possible.

“Just, uh.. Admiring my handiwork.” He grins like he's all-too pleased with himself, dimples poking into his cheeks.

“It's our handiwork, actually,” You correct playfully, “Half of that's mine, and- No, wait. Actually, 's all mine now.” You tell him triumphantly.

His eyes narrow in confusion and you redirect your gaze pointedly. His attention follows your own, eyes flicking briefly toward his own hand, where the cum has begun to drip slow down his thumb toward the meat of his palm.

“What, this?” He questions in amusement.

“Yes that.” You tell him with a frown, “'s mine.” You have to bite back an honest-to-god cackle at the entirely contrived look of betrayal on his face. “Put it back.” You challenge.

Eddie's eyes roll in irritation as he repeats your words mockingly, his voice thrown high in an exceptionally poor imitation of your own, but he does dutifully drop his hand down between your thighs again to attempt to push the cum back inside you.

He looks pleased as punch once he's done. He looks at your cunt with a dopey grin on his face, cheeks still pink with exertion and hair wild.

“Don't miss me too much, pretty. A'right? I'll be seein' you again real soon.” Eddie murmurs softly, eyes never once leaving your cunt. He punctates his words by pressing a gentle kiss to your mound, just a hair's breadth from your clit.

And then that dumb, dazed smile takes over his face again.

You squint down at him, “Was.. Were you talking to me or my-”

“Was talkin' to this pretty pussy.” Eddie says matter of factly, stroking his hand over the coarse hairs between your thighs in the way one might pet an animal.

“Okay.” You manage, laughter preventing you from saying anything else.

Eddie tugs a large chunk of loose curls across his face and lays his cheek to your upper thigh. He stays like that for a moment, hidden behind the curtain of his hair, big brown eyes blown about as wide as he can manage through his high.

“..Do you still wanna fuck me?”

He pouts. It's ridiculous. It's adorable.

You can't pretend to mull it over for more than a few seconds, your cheeks ache with the need to smile. He makes you so happy you feel borderline deranged.

Your lips quirk up even as you sigh dramatically, “Regrettably? Yes.”

He fucking cheers.

He drums his hands enthusiastically against your thighs and yells so loud in victory that all you can do is laugh and cover your ears until he's finished.

You don't regret it, not a goddamn bit.

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