#i made these in order of appearance in the first episode so the order might be a little strange

[mikimeiko]

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 - one gif per episode (with the first gif from their first scene and the last gif from their last scene) | Jim Jimenez

[decembermidnight]

Bad Attitude

Summary: While on patrol duty, you chase a suspect starship but end up crashing on a freezing planet. Its pilot, a Mandalorian, rescues you, but he doesn't like your attitude towards him and makes sure you understand who is in charge.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: smut, 18+ mdni, teasing, dom!din, brat!reader, brat tamer!din, Din is really an asshole here lol, improper use of the darksaber, lots of dirty talk, oral (m receiving), breath play, choking, fingering, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, degradation kink, praise kink, creampie

A/N: Loosely based on The Passenger episode and super canon divergent. I just had fun having nasty thoughts! Reblogs and comments are always welcome!! Hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

You… You really did have to follow that ship on this forsaken planet, didn't you?

You couldn't just listen to your partner Carson for once when he warned you to let it go.

Chasing that Razor Crest despite the bad weather on Maldo Kreis was not the smartest idea. Not smart at all, in fact. 

You were only supposed to ask the pilot why his ship was in the proximity of that prison, Bothan-5, when that officer was killed, but he ran away as soon as he heard that name. You immediately started recklessly chasing that old piece of junk in the hostile atmosphere of this awful, unwelcoming planet, and next thing you know your Starfighter crashed, compromising the integrity of the hatch, you’re cut off from your partner and you’ll likely freeze to death before he can come rescue you. Could it get any worse?

It turns out it can.

Just when you switch the radio off, resigned to accept the unavoidable fate, your eyes seem to catch something dark in the snowstorm. At first you assume it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but when you take a better look, you see it - there’s a dark figure approaching your ship. It must be him - the Razor Crest pilot. As he gets closer, you notice he’s wearing armour, a Mandalorian armour, and you’ve heard the stories about those deadly warriors. You probably made him angry with your insistent pursuit and now he might be killing you so as not to leave witnesses.

You are so fucked. This is the worst day of your life, and also the last.

He lifts the damaged hatch of your ship and looks at you, exposing you to the freezing air of the blizzard. You stare back at him - his broad figure completely towers over yours, but you try not to look intimidated by him.

"Razor Crest, is that you?" you say in a secure tone, wanting to appear tough.

"Yeah." the modulated voice answers as you feel his dark visor lingering on your figure.

"Came here to finish the job?" you try to sneakily grab your blaster in a desperate attempt to defend your life, determined not to die without fighting, or at least, not without trying. 

"Not if you don't try anything stupid like that. Put it down." says in an authoritative tone, his right hand instinctively goes on the holster of his blaster. You quickly realise this is not the moment for heroism if you want to survive. 

"Don't give me orders. I'm a New Republic officer." you reply firmly.

He scoffs and shakes his head in disdain.

"Dear officer, take a good look around. This frozen tomb doesn't look like New Republic territory to me." he goads you "Now quit it and let's go to my ship."

"Who says I want to come with you?"

"Come on, I’m freezing my ass off, for fuck’s sake." he loses no time in ripping your seatbelt and life support system off your body before grabbing you and carrying you over on his shoulder.

"Put me down! You're so rude!" you protest and try to kick him, but he blocks your legs in the tight grasp of his free arm, immobilising you.

"So far I've been more kind than you deserve. If you keep acting like that, I'll show you how rude I can be." his grip is firm and strong as he gives a warning squeeze to your thigh.

You do not want to admit it, but you feel a thrill of excitement at that - he doesn’t care about the fact that you're a law enforcer, he’s treating you like the scum he’s used to. He probably wants to trade your life for his freedom with Carson later - you’re his hostage now.

When you reach his ship, he finally puts you down. You take off your helmet and look at the Mandalorian that so unceremoniously saved you from certain death earlier.

You realise how much taller than you he is, his armour making him even broader than what he already is. Your eyes can't help lingering on his body in wonder at how strong he must be, how the shiny beskar perfectly completes his thick masculine figure, only adding to his already imposing stance, perfectly concealing his body, making him massive and statuesque. His suit is tight around the arms, you can see the outline of his thick, strong biceps. If only he wasn’t a criminal, if only you weren’t a New Republic officer, if only he wasn’t a complete cunt…

"You done?" a low, baritonal voice interrupts your dirty thoughts.

"Excuse me?" you raise a brow.

"I asked if you're done checking me out."

“What?! I wasn’t-” you lie and you both know it. You do not feel so cold anymore, your cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.

“Yeah. Sure.” the asshole teases as he rests against the wall of his ship, looking at you with crossed arms.

“You hurt?” he then asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

"Good. Let's go up to the cockpit, then. It's warmer up there." 

He climbs up the ladder and when the door closes behind him, you take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself, and follow him. 

When you get in the small room, you find him sitting in the pilot chair facing the windshield with crossed arms and legs spread wide. You settle on his side, standing with crossed arms and gaze fixed on his body. He’s as still and silent as a statue, unreadable under that helmet - is he really relaxed as he wants you to think, or is he carefully studying you? 

"Don't look at me that way." says without moving a muscle.

"How?"

"Same way you've been looking at me since we got on the ship."

"What are you implying?"

"Don't act like you don't know." he turns towards you and stands up, making you imperceptibly startle. He looks imposing and menacing, his helmet slightly tilted observing you.

"You don't trust me one bit, do you?" he scoffs and shakes his head.

"You assaulted that prison and killed that poor man. He was a New Republic officer, just like me. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I didn’t do it.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What will you do when you find out I was right all along?” the way he doesn’t lose his cool is fascinating, to a degree.

"You’re not. If you were innocent, you wouldn’t have run away and we wouldn't be here now."

He tilts his helmet to the side once again as he looks at you. His gaze and his confidence make you feel hot and uncomfortable at the same time - you wouldn’t want to give out the undeniable way his stoic charm is affecting you, but you hate the way he's been treating you.

"Yeah, we wouldn't be here." he lets out in an allusive tone as he walks one single step forward while you take one back, ending up against the wall. He's so damn tall and broad and… and you're getting so wet. 

You look into his dark visor, feeling his gaze lingering on your body. You can feel the tension, the atmosphere in the cockpit becoming unbearable. It's getting hard to breathe, heat radiating from both of your bodies as you never stop looking at each other. While his sight is unreadable, yours is unmistakably libidinous, your heart pounding in your chest and your pussy throbbing with need, but you're both too proud to surrender first.

"I guess not. You coward." you let out in a far too flirtatious way as you look at him with shameless lust.

"What did you just call me?!" he rasps, sounding so provocative. 

"Coward. That's what you are. Running away from me when I was chasing you and taking me hostage when I was so vulnerable.”

“Shut up.”

“So big and tough in your shiny armour, but you run away as soon as you see a New Republic patrol. I should have just shot you when I had the chance. At least I wouldn’t be sharing this ship with a coward.”

“I said shut up.” 

“What now, Mandalorian? What do you plan to do now that you've kidnapped me? Are you gonna prove me wrong?" you’re wondering if you got too far when he gets dangerously close to you, his menacing figure towering over yours as he grips a handful of your hair, forcing your gaze into his dark visor.

"Do I have to stick my cock in your mouth to make you shut up?"

A flame of lust instantly traverses your body. You feel your blood boiling, making you feel hot and flustered, reason and common sense leaving you at the mercy of a primal, carnal instinct.

"I bet you don't have the balls to do it." you goad him with a smirk on your face.

Oh, you shouldn't have said that, yet you did, and what's worse is that you don't regret it. 

You look at him with shameless desire clouding your eyes, internally cursing at the helmet that can't and won't let you see his reaction to your provocation, waiting for his next move.

You keep your lustful gaze locked on his visor as his hand swiftly unfastens his belt and the zip of his pants. His grip on your hair tightens even more as he pushes you on your knees, immediately sticking his hard, thick cock in your mouth and fuck, the sound he makes. It's worth crashing on a desolated planet and being scolded afterwards. It's guttural and desperate, astonished at how good your poisonous mouth feels when you take him in and your tongue gently swirls around his tip, instead of spitting mean words at him. You keep eye contact as you let the shaft slide in your mouth and coat it generously in your saliva, his head tilted back as he lets out breathy sighs of pleasure.

"You. You need to learn how to fucking behave. Shut up when I tell you to. You have to stop taunting me. Fuck. Is this what you wanted?" 

He takes your head away from his cock to let you answer.

“You’re not as much of a coward as I thought you were.” you tease.

“You are still talking?!” exclaims as he pushes your head towards his cock once again, staying still as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, violently forcing all of his length down your throat. When he rips you away from it, you gasp for breath.

"You look so good like this. On your knees, choking on my cock, finally shutting the fuck up like a good girl." he growls, pleased.

Just as you want more of it, your mouth going towards it once again, his grip on your hair turns to steel and stops you there. You look up to him from your kneeled position and see him shaking his head.

“Why? Are you close already?” you taunt him as he tucks his cock back in his pants.

"Oh, it will take you way more than that to make me come, officer." says as he makes you stand up.

“Bet you want me to prove you wrong so badly. Bet you want to come in my m-” you stop mid sentence as he starts to unzip your flight suit while he pushes you towards the control panel of his ship, making you sit on it and trapping you there with his beskar body, your legs instinctively spread open for him to fit between them.

“Yeah? Go on. What were you saying?” he goads you as his hand slips inside of the thin pants you're wearing under the suit, teasing your clit from outside your underwear.

“I-I was s-saying that - that-” you gasp when his hand finds its way into your panties and reaches your slit.

"Ooh, what do we have here?" exclaims in taunting wonder. His beskar helmet is only a few centimetres distant from your face "Acting all cocky and arrogant before, but damn, feel how wet you are. Bet no one ever made you this wet, officer. Stars, you're dripping for me. All of this just from sucking my cock?" says in a husky voice as two of his thick, gloved fingers slide inside of you.

You grit your teeth in a desperate attempt to hide the way this is making you feel, not wanting to give him satisfaction, but your body is slowly surrendering to him and betraying you, your cunt involuntarily clamping around his fingers, revealing how his words are, in fact, effective on you.

"Oh, I bet you feel so good and you sound so sweet when you moan for me. Feel how hot and tight you are." he keeps teasing you. 

Resisting him is getting near impossible. By now he knows how badly you want it.

"Listen to what we’re gonna do now. You're gonna come on my fingers like a good girl and then I'll fuck you until your partner comes to rescue you."

You can't help it anymore and let out a moan at how sensual his voice sounds as he says those things to you, at the thought of getting fucked by him, all while his fingers keep sliding inside and outside of you, making your cunt spasm around them.

"Oh, I knew it. Damn, such a sweet girl." he rasps as he takes his fingers out.

"What the fuck?!" you snap at him when he does, making him chuckle at your reaction.

"Hey, calm down officer." he teases your lips with his gloved fingers soaked in your arousal. 

You instinctively suck the leather and taste yourself on his fingers, licking them sensually as you look at him in the visor. He hums in pleasure seeing that and goes on playing with your mouth, entranced by the way your tongue swirls around them, until he takes them out and presses his middle finger on your bottom lip.

"Bite." he simply orders and you obey, taking the hem of his glove between your teeth to let his hand slip out of the glove. It's huge compared to yours, callous and veiny and masculine. You hum as it starts trailing down your body and feel the warm trail it leaves on the delicate skin of your neck as he caresses it, your own hands holding tight to the commands of the ship, propping you up to offer yourself to his touch. You can feel his eyes looking at your body from behind the dark visor as his hand slips in your flight suit once again, groping your breast from outside your shirt, his thumb playing with one of your hardened nipples, your back arched and chest puffed out to make it look fuller. You moan loudly when he slides his fingers in your panties and back inside of you. 

"Stars - so fucking wet. I bet your cunt is so beautiful. Spread your legs for me. You're making me so fucking hard." he keeps up the pace and also starts to rub your clit with his thumb, making the pleasure you’re feeling unable to hide and you surrender to him, panting heavily as your eyes cross and roll in delight.

"Really? Eyes rolling, officer?" he taunts you.

"F-fuck y-you-" you rasp with half closed eyes, your sentence gets interrupted as he hooks his fingers, touching something devastating inside of you, making him scoff when he sees the way you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back, your mouth wide open to let out obscene moans.

"What? Do you want me to stop?" he provokes you.

"Don't you fucking dare." you manage to let out in a barely audible sigh.

He immediately grabs your neck, not liking the way you undermine his authority.

"Careful now, officer." he growls.

You moan back in response at how much you like this - being put back into place, the Mandlaorian reminding you who is in control. You hold tight to his sides, digging your nails in his flight suit as he just pushes you further against the control panel with his body.

You’re a panting mess and you feel so close, so damn close to your orgasm. You beg he won’t stop as you wrap your legs around him. He feels by the irregular, ragged way you're breathing and the way your muscles go rigid around him that you're close.

"What? Coming already?” he chuckles “I will let you just because I want to fuck you so badly. Now come, my dear officer. Come for me."

You pant straight into his helmet when you hear him calling you like that, fogging it where his mouth would be. His hand pushes you over the edge and you moan loudly as he makes you come around his fingers, your hands holding tight to his neck, bringing him down towards you. Your back arches, chest rubbing against his armour and you roll your head back until it hits the transparisteel of the windshield behind you. Your nails scratch him hard and your legs’ grip becomes even tighter, his upper body now trapped in your grasp.

He grabs your chin with his other hand and forces you to look at him in the visor.

"Yes - yes, yes. Like this. Good girl." he growls between his teeth, looking at you as you struggle to keep your gaze on him, your eyes wanting to roll up in pleasure.

He lets you ride your high, never stopping those astounding moves of his hand, making you feel so satisfied, but so guilty and humiliated at the same time.

As the orgasm gradually fades out, your grip on his body loosens.

He takes out his hand right in front of your eyes and, Maker, it's soaking wet, glistening in your arousal. You’re both embarrassed and aroused when you see how wet and yielding you got for him as soon as he started touching you. 

"Damn, officer. How am I going to-"

You don't even let him finish, you've taken his hand in yours and start sucking his fingers. He lets out a satisfied hum when you do that. You clean them thoroughly, sensually massaging his digits with your tongue, humming as you hear him cursing between his teeth in a foreign language.

Once he’s satisfied, he takes them out of your avid mouth.

"Now strip for me, officer. I bet you look so hot under that uniform."

"Forget it." you tease him.

"Too bad you didn't obey me when I asked so nicely."

In an instant his hands start ripping the flight suit off your body as you're kicking out of your boots at the same time. It's rushed, brutal and wild, the both of you completely taken over by lust. His hands linger on your sides, giving you goosebumps and making you sigh when he lifts the thermal shirt off your body and you hold on tight to the panel when he hooks his fingers in the hem of your pants and pulls everything down and away from your body, leaving you completely naked in front of him.

“You look… Good without your uniform on, officer.” he is pleased looking at your naked body. “Wonder if I could say the same about you, Mandalorian.” “You’ll have to use your imagination."

“Are you even a real Mandalorian? Maybe you stole this armour, or maybe you bought it off some Jawas.” you mock him.

"Come here and I’ll show you." he simply says as he sits back on his chair, legs spread wide and a visible bulge in his pants.

Just as you get close to him, he takes out one of his weapons, a strange sword without a blade, and begins to trace your nipple with the hilt. You start to breathe heavily and you can feel your nipple getting harder by the second, your eyes carefully following his movements as he descends ever so slowly, teasing you, trailing your stomach and then your lower belly, stopping right in front of your cunt, driving you crazy, your legs spreading for him, begging for some friction. He softly brushes your lips, carefully avoiding your clit to tease you further, until he finally touches it. The sudden contact of the hilt with your sensitive clit makes you shudder and let out a whimper.

"Don't. Move." he orders as he continues to touch you with that weapon, rubbing it against your clit, producing obscene, wet sounds at the contact. You try to stay as still as you can as he plays with that dangerous weapon so close to your most delicate spot. You beg he'd go faster, you wish you could ride it and come all over it, as pathetic as it sounds, but no, he doesn't want that. He wants to take his time to tease you, getting you nice and wet as he plays with you like you're his toy.

He stands up, towering over you.

"Stick your tongue out."

You immediately do and he starts to trace your mouth with the hilt.

"This is the Darksaber. Whoever wields it can rule all of Mandalore, and you're licking it after I've used it to give you pleasure. Feel how wet you’ve made it. How does that make you feel?"

“Like you should sit down on that chair and take out that cock. Touch yourself while I lick your Darksaber clean, Mandalorian.”

He grunts as you push him back on his chair. He immediately unzips his pants to take his throbbing cock out as you keep licking his weapon clean, pleased at the sight of his erection in his hand.

"Touch yourself for me, Mando" you order him as you trace your tongue on the hilt.

"Enough of that." he grabs you by the hair and pushes you on your knees, forcing you to suck his cock. In a swift movement he grabs the Darksaber with his two hands, using it as leverage to keep your head down, forcing his entire cock into your throat, making you startle at the sudden lack of air.

"You don't get to give me orders." he growls before freeing you from his grasp to let you breathe. You gasp for air and look at him, panting.

Maker, he's so dangerous. He could kill you in one second if he wanted to, and you've never, never been wetter than this, playing this dangerous, twisted game with a deadly warrior.

He gives you a few seconds to breathe and then he's back at it, using his weapon to make you choke on his cock.

"Do you understand? I can do whatever I want to you." he releases you once again. There are tears in the corner of your eyes but that doesn't stop him from doing that one more time.

"You're so fucking pretty, but you also need someone to tame you. You've found the right man. Is that what you were looking for, officer? Someone to tame that bad temper?" he says and releases you one more time. You gasp for air as one tear sheds down your cheek.

"Come here. I'll fuck that bad attitude out of you." he orders as he puts the Darksaber away.

This. This is what you've always been craving, what you always wanted.

You slowly rise from the cold floor, your hands on his thighs as you can't stop looking at each other with longing desire. You straddle him, shaking in anticipation as you sink on his body guided by his hands on your hips, letting his cock slowly slide inside of you. The both of you moan as his cock splits you open for him, making him feel how hot and welcoming you are. You both let out a long, satisfied sigh, his voice is dark and sensual and you spasm around his throbbing cock, heavily aroused to finally have him inside of you.

“Mando, let me see if you're only good with words now."

“Din. I want to hear you screaming my name when I’ll make you come on my cock, officer.”

“You’re pretty confident in your abilities, Mandalorian.”

“Your mouth might say otherwise, but your body agrees with me.” he's so arrogant and full of himself, his confidence is making you wet.

“It does” you concede “you feel good, Din.” you purr in his neck, and he grunts when he hears how sweet your voice can be as you whisper his name while you have his cock buried inside of you. You start riding him slowly, looking at him in the visor as you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, enjoying every single moment of it, letting him almost slip out, only to let him back inside of you. He lets out sighs of satisfaction that drive you insane and only want to make you increase your rhythm but no, not yet, you want to make him pay for the way he's been treating you.

“If I had known my cock would have been enough to tame your bad temper, I’d have fucked you earlier.”

“What about yours, Din? What should I do about you being an asshole to me?” you say as you pull him out of you, making him grunt.

“Fuck. Put it back in.” 

“Not so fast. I want you to behave. Beg for it.” 

“You know I could just take you anytime I want, right?” “I do. But where would the fun be?”

He hums in pleasure as you take his drenched cock in your hand and start to slowly stroke it right in front of your cunt, moaning in his neck just to get him even more aroused.

“Fuck. You’re good at this.” he whimpers.

You start to slide it between your folds, the both of you moaning in arousal.

“Dank Farrik, d-do you want me to die?” he growls, subjugated by your teasing. “I want you to behave.” you whisper in a heady groan as you keep rolling your hips and rubbing your pussy on his cock. “F-fuck. I want to be inside of you so badly.”

“Say it.”

He sighs and pauses, taking a good look at the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

“Please.” 

“Please what?” you ask, biting your lip in pleasure.

“Please put my cock back inside of you, officer.” there's a hint of annoyance in his voice when he surrenders and sees your satisfied smirk.

“Good.” you whisper gasping against his helmet as you slowly slide his cock deep back inside of you. 

That’s the moment when he digs his fingers in your hips and starts jackhammering you, making you scream as he said he would, your hands clawing on his shoulders.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can taunt me? I’m a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. Bet you’ve never been fucked so good, officer. I’m gonna give you this cock so hard, you’ll never forget about me. You’ll be touching yourself thinking about me for the rest of your life. Thinking about the Mandalorian Din Djarin who fucked your brains out on Maldo Kreis.”

The way he's fucking hard and rough into you as he says those things in an angry, husky voice is pleasurably devastating and addicting, having you moan frantically as your body is held still by his strong hands.

"Oh, fuck, Din, don't stop. Don't stop!" you let out in a desperate cry.

"Do you want to come on my cock, officer? Let me hear it. I want to hear you beg for it."

"Please, please Din, make me come on your cock." you drawl, subjugated by lust.

"Mmm - you sound so hot when you beg for me. Keep going and I won't stop."

"Please! I've never been fucked like this, Din." your heart is racing, your breathing is getting laboured and feel the orgasm approaching “I'm so close, Din, so fucking close. Please, don’t stop."

"Come, officer. Keep riding my cock and come on it. I want to hear you scream my name." 

"Oh, Din!" you scream his name as the overwhelming force of the orgasm washes over you, a white blaze of bliss making you lose control, uncontrollably spasming and sensually moaning as he doesn't stop giving it to you, groaning in pleasure when he feels how tight and wet you get around him when you come on his dick.

"That's it. That's my good girl." he grunts as he lets you ride your orgasm.

His rhythm slows down as you come back from your high, his hands still firmly on your hips, guiding you, making you slowly grind your pussy against his cock, the cockpit full of your pants.

"Ready for round two, officer?"

He doesn’t even wait for your response, your mind still fogged by the astonishing orgasm he just gave you.

He gets up from the chair and in a second he turns you around, your body slammed against the control panel and the windshield, your wrists held up high by his hand. Your legs are shaking and you can't really seem to stand on your feet properly.

You couldn't possibly be ready for him slamming his dick inside of you all at once, so hard that air leaves your lungs in an exhale. You'd curse at him, but you can't articulate words as he is fucking you so violently, his strong hand on your hip keeping you still. If you thought he was fucking you hard earlier, it's nothing compared to now - feeling all the power of his body giving it to you wild and raw is pleasurably devastating. You couldn't possibly have imagined that what he gave you earlier was merely foreplay for him, just a little tease before making sure you knew who is really in charge and how hard he can fuck you. He was just letting you have a small taste of what would happen after, wanting you to get ready for him, nice and wet and stretched open for his thick cock to split you in half. He grabs a fistful of your hair and you feel his helmet close to your ear.

"What? You're out of breath already? I'm just getting started, officer." he slides it out almost completely and slams it back in so hard you roll your eyes in pleasure.

"Look at you. Loving this dick so much you're rolling your eyes. Gonna fuck you so hard, you'll learn how to fucking behave." 

You can't do anything besides taking his cock and letting out choked moans.

"Still regret being stuck here with me? Tell me. Do you still think I'm a coward?" he growls in between thrusts.

You can barely drawl a moan in response and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You can't even speak." he mocks you as he pounds into you harder and harder, devastating you, reducing you to a pathetic, moaning mess.

"Who knows if the snow storm has stopped and your partner is looking for you. What if he sees you getting fucked like this?"

You know it's wrong, but the thought turns you on so much that you clench around him, and he feels it.

"Oh, you'd like it? Officer, what do we have here? A little whore?" you hear his dark chuckle as he grips your throat with his hand, bringing you closer to him - the hot, naked skin of your back against his cold beskar armour as he never stops railing you. 

Getting called like that in other circumstances, by any other person in the galaxy, would have caused you to shoot them immediately, but now, oh, did that turn you on.

"You like being called that way, don't you? Whore." he whispers softly in your ear, and it drives you insane despite how much you're trying to hide it. He feels your body getting rigid, the vibrations of your throat choking a moan, the way you bite your lip trying not to let one sound out, and you can bet he's loving every second of it. 

His other hand starts to rub your clit and that's when you fucking lose it - your mouth opens wide and lets out a loud groan of pleasure.

"Tell me you're my whore and I'll give you the best orgasm of your life."

You hesitate - his request is so degrading, but you want it at the same time. He can sense your indecisiveness and stops drawing circles on your clit and starts going around it, carefully avoiding it.

"N-no. Don't stop. It's unfair!" you whimper.

"Say it."

You try to relieve the ache between your legs by bringing a hand there, but he is quick to stop you and block your wrist behind your back, immobilising you as if you were one of his bounties, getting you even more aroused, so much, in fact, that you let out another groan.

"Don't make me handcuff you." he growls sensually and you immediately picture him fighting criminals every day, used to manhandling thugs and being a badass and you get even more aroused at the thought, and decide to give him whatever he wants.

You mumble those words, barely audible, ashamed but at the same time yielding, desperately and pathetically wanting him to give you what you so achingly crave, in a way that only he can provide. A need that you never even realised existed before he brought you into the highest dimension of pleasure.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I am your whore." you whisper, annihilated.

"Good girl. Say it again. Louder this time."

"I am your whore, Din! Please, please make me come like this!" you surrender to him completely, defeated by your very body refusing to let this slip away.

"That's my girl. You asked so nicely, I'm gonna give it to you." you hear the satisfaction in his voice as he immediately starts to rub your clit again, driving you close to the edge in no time, your cunt getting tighter in anticipation.

“Shit, I want to come inside of you. I'm so fucking close, officer. You’re gonna patrol the outer rim, flying your Starfighter while my cum drips down your beautiful cunt. You’re gonna feel that and you will think of me the entire time.” he rasps in your ear as you feel his body pushing you further into the transparisteel and then over the edge, making you come screaming his name once again rolling your eyes over your lids, desperately begging him to come inside of you.

His groans get louder and louder as he comes. You feel his is cock pulsing and twitching, thrusting into you, wanting to go as deep as it can go, filling you with his hot release as you clamp erratically around him.

Both of your bodies are spent as you come back from your high, the sound of your laboured breathing fills the cockpit.

"Hey" he pants "keep it inside now. I don't want to see a single drop going to waste. Are we clear?"

You nod and he slips out of you slowly as you obey his order, keeping his release inside of you as you get dressed, feeling it drip between your legs as he walks you back to your ship.

Carson is already there - he has fixed the minor damages your X-wing had sustained when you crashed in the snow, confident in the fact that you found shelter somewhere and that you’re safe and will be back soon.

What he did not expect is for you to show up with the Mandalorian by your side, though.

"Can I have a few words with you?" he asks with a raised brow.

You nod and walk a few steps away from Din, going behind your ship to have some privacy.

"He saved my life." you regretfully admit before he even has a chance to speak, expecting a scolding.

"Listen. I run the tabs on the Razor Crest. It seems like your new friend has an arrest warrant on him for the abduction of a prisoner." he pauses briefly and lets out a sigh "But he has also captured three wanted culprits and tried to save the Lieutenant's life."

"I'd say we let him go this time. I really don't want to file a report about what happened. I hate doing that."

"Is that so?" he asks sarcastically.

"These are trying times, come on."

Carson raises his brow once again, looking at you and then at the armoured menace standing a few steps away from him.

“Fine.” he shrugs, not wanting to dig deeper with regards to your change of mind towards the Mandalorian, then gets back to his ship.

You jump in your X-wing, but before closing the hatch and taking off, you address Din one more time.

"We're even now, Din Djarin. See you next time, and don't get caught."

[mulberrydragon]

Everyone has noticed how Vaggie's wings have changed their colour from black-white palette ("rules are black and white") to grey ("rules are shades of gray"), but there's another detail someone could find interesting:

She had only one black stripe on her wings, while all other exorcists, including Lute, have two black stripes. I firstly payed attention to it in the scene where Lute was ripping Vaggie's wings off and thought that Vaggie gained it as a result of not killing a child, showing truly angelic mercy. Then I rewatched the episode and it occurred to me: she always had that unusual pattern on her wings. She always has been a "white crow" among her so called sisters.

I guess exorcists were supposed to have some kind of balance in their nature – the balance between being bloodthirsty warriors, ready to sacrifice themselves in order to protect Heaven, and being creatures of light – the same as ordinary (normal) angels, kind, loyal, merciful. The palette of their wings represent this balance. White (kindness) is for Heaven and it's citizens, black (fierceness) is for Hell and sinners.

The fact that Vaggie had less black colour on her feathers definitely means something. Maybe she had "bug" in her "natural program" when she was created, which made her less cruel and more kindhearted, soft. Maybe she had her doubts about extermination and it's ruthless methods a long time before Adam and Lute abandoned her in Hell. And those thoughts had changed the colours of her wings (something tells me angels can change shades of their feathers based on their strong emotions — even though Vaggie's grey wings demonstrate the symbolism on the first place, it can also be the result of her complicated feelings).

As for Lute and her relationship with Vaggie, there might be something beside rivalry. What if Lute had noticed that Vaggie was different and was acting strange? Just to be clear: I can't fully believe Lute was simply jealous — these two were not the only one who Adam saw as his "top girls", best warriors. The exorcist Carmila has killed during the last Extermination possibly was another high-rank angel (according to her armour), so there must be a whole group of such strong angelic ladies, not just Vaggie and Lute (plus Lieutenant wanted revenge (!) for that killed high-rank fellow. Doesn't seem to me like a jealousy at all.)

It's rather Lute's beliefs that caused her to hate another angel. She appears like a very ideological person, who draws conclusions on the basis of her worldview. And, considering the only two things exorcists have ever seen were Heaven and Hell, it's not surprise their conclusions could be quite radical (because, they literally see the best (in Heaven) and the worst (in Hell), there is no in-between for them). If we look deeply into Lute's soul and mind, we could find something else — who knows, maybe she indeed saw Vaggie as a betrayer?.. Lieutenant wasn't ready to open her eyes and see the truth, as well as other exorcists. And that's why the only angel without helmet was Vaggie (another symbolism) — she took it off just like she rejected her previous beliefs… Beliefs which were "installed" in her mind in the moment of her creation.

[mysillyside]

Analysis of Ice King's Mental Health and consistent Self-Sabotage

(a needlessly long analysis of an episode I really didn't like as a kid but grew to respect a lot upon rewatch as an adult)

I wanted to rewatch some Ice King episodes I haven't seen in awhile, and the season 6 episode "Friends Forever" really reminded me how Ice King is such a good portrayal of a mentally ill person who unconsciously self-sabotages himself and his relationships.

Summary: The premise of the episode is Ice King inviting Life Giving Magus over for a hangout, when in actuality he is planning to trick him into bringing his furniture to life so they can be his friends.

The setup is obviously comedic: "Haha silly Ice King, you don't need to bring furniture to life so they'd be your friends, when Life Giving Magus is right there offering you friendship!"

Coincidentally, that's the tragedy of the episode and Ice King's character in general.

He already painted a convoluted picture in his head of what he thinks he needs in order to be happy, so when other possible (even easier) routes of achieving said happiness present themselves to him, he shuts them down completely. It has to be his way or no way!

Content warning: While I don't go into anything too intense, this is an analysis of self-sabotaging behavior and how it pertains to people struggling with mental health issues, and I even briefly go into my own experiences surrounding this topic. Keep that in mind if you decide to read!

I'll leave the rest of the analysis below, because it's a bit wordy. But I hope you enjoy!

Throughout the episode, we are continuously shown the same scenario. Ice King is presented with an alternate (usually more achievable) solution to a problem he's dealing with and proceeding to ignore it, as he already decided how he wants to solve it as other avenues appear too challenging. He wants simple, fast solutions, despite the fact mental health improvement is a slow journey.

Abracadaniel

Early in the episode, we find out that Ice King ended his friendship with Abracadaniel, because "he kept trying to analyze him" From previous episodes we know that this friendship made Ice King really happy, so it might be suprising of first glance to see it break off so suddenly.

But of course, it makes sense. The reason Ice King liked the friendship in the first place is because it was fun. It's nice to have friends who are able to distract you from your own saddness.

In the episode where he first befriends Abracadaniel in the season 5 episode "Play Date", Ice King explicitly states he likes spending time with Finn and Jake because it distracts him from his thoughts, hence why the duo introduces him to Abracadaniel.

And that's what the friendship probably was for awhile, the two of them having fun! But considering the fact Abracadaniel seems like a relatively normal guy (at least for a wizard), it makes sense that eventually he would pick up on the fact that something is very wrong with Ice King, and that he's dealing with some pretty intense mental health issues.

This leads him to start analyzing his behavir, which leads to Ice King getting irritatated and upset.

He wants to have fun when he's with Abracadaniel, not think about things that upset him. (Knowing Ice King, he probably thought Abracadaniel was criticizing or even attacking him.)

Life Giving Magus

This is a shorter section but still important to mention. The main irony of this episode is the fact that Life Giving Magus clearly wants befriend Ice King, but because that's not how Ice King invisioned his "get friends" plan, he ignores this way more practical/achievable solution in favor of a fantasy where everything works out just how he imagined it. Things will work out surely. The stars just gotta align. Fast and easy solutions only. What do you mean these things take time and effort?

The Furniture

So the furniture comes to life and Ice King is ecstatic. That is, until he realizes that the furniture doesn't act like how he imagined it. The once inanimate objects appear to be intellectuals that like discussing complicated smart people things and using big words Ice King doesn't understand.

After Ice King continually tries and fails to fit in, leading to him becoming frustrated and sad, the Lamp suggests an alternative solution.

Maybe Ice King can be the cool quiet guy who listens to the other people in the room and occassionally adds his input, instead of forcing himself to talk about things that are clearly beyond his scope and knowledge

Ice King of course, completely ignores this and gets upset.

He doesn't want to adapt to this situation or even compromise, this isn't what he wanted, this isn't how things were supposed to go!

So he'd rather end the whole thing.

And so the episode ends with him turning all the furniture inanimate again. Maybe its better things just stay the way they were.

Ignore the fact Life Giving Magus is once again offering him his friendship, despite everything Ice King put him through in that episode. But Ice King declines it, as he would still rather stick to what he's used to if he can't achieve his convoluted solutions to obtain happiness, than try new things. Who cares if it's practical, it's way too uncertain and challenging!

Conclusion

I think Ice King characterization is very reminiscent of a mentally ill person who clearly wants to be happy, but only in this very specific "let's not uncover the root of the issue" way.

He likes chasing manic highs of in-the-moment happiness, which leads to selfish, destructive behavior which eventually starts crashing down, culminating into long depressive episodes.

Ice King doesn't like being sad don't get me wrong, but he'd rather wallow in his own misery for weeks if it meant not having to utilize those brief occassional moments of stablity and happiness, to adress his issues and figure out how to get better in the longrun. He doesn't want to sacrifice them!

(If you want a clear real life parallel to this, have you ever had those moments where you're like: "Wow I've been feeling so much better lately, maybe I don't need to go to therapy this week!" and then you end up spiralling right back to square one when you inevitably get sad and depressed again, because you ignored your mental health in favour of not utilizing those happy stable moments to get better overall. I've been there. So yeah, Ice King is suprisingly relatable.)

---

And not only that, but even when he is trying to make an effort and find ways to become happier, he's doing it in such a surface level way.

This whole episode is a great example of that, but this goes even further back. Just think about his princess kidnapping tendencies. Kidnapping a princess is a quick and easy solution to stop his saddness and loneliness. He wants to be loved, so surely has can force it. We never really see Ice King actually achieve his goal of marrying a princess, but let's say hypothetically he did. Than what?

He wanted friends for a long while too, so when he got them he was happy... until even the slightest cracks started showing.

If he managed to marry a princess, sooner or later he'd realize it doesn't make him truly happy. In the episode where he comes closest to achieving his goal (Princess Monster Wife), it still ends with him alone and sad at the end, because you can't cheat your way to happiness.

---

For him to truly be happy, he'd need to start addressing the core of where his issues come from. But he doesn't want that! So when other people start digging deeper, wanting him to self-reflect, he gets angry.

"How dare you make me think about why I'm sad!" "I'm gonna achieve happiness in this specific impractical way or no way at all!"

As someone who deals with this type of mentality, yeah. It hits! The last time I watched this episode was actually when it first aired, and since I was still a preteen back then, so a lot of this stuff flew over my head!

But now I get it now and am able to appreciate this episode a lot more. To be honest, I used to hate it! I find later seasons of AT a bit humorless and awkward to watch, especially season 6 . While these opinions haven't really changed., I think I can finally appriciate the thematic and emotional meaning of this episode now. Preteen Kat might have been a bit of a hater.

Final conclusion: I don't know how an episode about Ice King's furniture coming to life ended up being such a good exploration of mental illness, but that's Adventure Time I guess!

[katshelluvacritic]

Charlie Morningstar is probably one of the worst written characters I’ve seen in the series.

(This one’s gonna be a long one…)

Ok…. So I watched all six episodes and to be honest I’m pretty much pissed off by this character specifically. This might be more of a rant rather than a critique, so I do understand that not everything I say in this will end up being as constructive exactly but I genuinely need to get this off my chest, especially since she is a character I’ve specifically and recently been hyper fixating on before the show released…

(Side note: I realized the post was very long so, to have it be easier to read I added titles for each section! Hope this helps)

!!WARNING FOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES BTW!!

> Charlie lacks the qualities of being a main character.

Now besides the piss poor excuse of an introduction for her (and the rest of the cast) in the main series, I honestly question why exactly Charlie specifically is the “protagonist” in the first place (and I say protagonist with the biggest of quotes here, you’ll see why).

In the first episode of the series “overture”, we don’t really see much of her character, most of the time we’re shown screen time of Vicky (a nickname I made for v*ggie since I’m not gonna call her by her genitalia thank you) trying to make an ad for the hotel and even when we do get the screen time of her, she’s barely doing anything other than hearing viv’s self insert- I mean- Adam just go on and on about whatever he’s talking about.

And when Charlie does go on to explain her plan to redeem sinners she’s just interrupted and then stands there when they start singing hell is forever, she doesn’t “go off” like the hazbin Twitter says, she just stands there and then tries to say something only to get interrupted again and again and then gets pushed out of the meeting room before going back to the hotel to see it’s spread across in the news that the next extermination happens in 6 months.

Now although one might argue “Well didn’t Charlie at one point said in the show that giving orders is so mean?” Well yes but again, Charlie is literally the princess of pride ring, you would think that since her parents are literally rulers of pride, they would’ve probably teach her how to stand on her two feat, especially if your RUNNING A HOTEL. And the thing is, she has stood up and did so in episode 6 and the goddamn pilot (which is at this point is probably canon due to Charlie calling it the hazbin hotel instead of happy hotel), even going as far as to fight Katie Killjoy because she thought it was stupid.

Not only that but the episodes after overture, her screen time lessens until somewhat in 5 and 6. She doesn’t really appear that much in the between these episodes to the point where she feels like a supporting character rather than a protagonist. And when she does get screen time, she’s either forgettable at best and infuriating at worst.

> Charlie’s character is poorly written and just dumb.

In the episodes past overture, she’s literally rock solid stupid that I literally screamed in real life multiple times “you’re a fucking idiot” because of how frustrated I was from what she was doing, In episode 2 she literally trusted sir pentious to go to her hotel even though he almost destroyed her place and in episode 6 thought it was a hunky dory idea to let a person who literally exploded buildings to take charge of giving her employees a “good time”. Yes it could be played off as her being naive but if she’s that naive of a person then maybe she shouldn’t be a boss of a hotel to rehabilitate sinners.

Heck, in episode 4, Charlie gets pissed off and turns into her demon form because val literally started hurting Angel when he followed him into the room (and rightfully so) but when angel tells her to leave and drags her out of the studio, she’s just in her normal form and fucks off??? Reminder she’s literally the princess of hell! She could beat the shit out of val if she wants to, why did she just fucked off after angel had her leave?

“But Kat, what if something bad happens to angel if valentino dies?” Like what? If it was explained that if an overlord dies then the sinners that made a deal with them die too or something like that then yeah, that would make sense but we don’t know that whether or not that’s the case, if anything angel could be just fine after Valentino dies but we don’t know that.

And even when Charlie had the opportunity to go out there and apologize to him herself after he stormed out of the hotel, she and Vicky just send Husk to do it. And I have to ask, WHY? HUSK didn’t know what was happening to Angel earlier. HUSK wasn’t at the porn studio that Angel was working at. CHARLIE WAS….

“Well Kat, what if Charlie was scared about making things worse?” Fair enough, but again sending Husk is a stupid idea, I feel like it would’ve AT LEAST made sense if she sent Vicky out there. Because Charlie didn’t know if husk could fight (if you could even call it that, all he did was throw cards at people), BUT SHE KNEW VICKY COULD THOUGH. But nah we gotta do it for the ship right?

And then Charlie had the gull to be crying that angel forgave her after she fucked up, like shut the fuck up… it’s like if viv looked at a bunch of chars that had the optimistic care-free ‘ish personality and thought that meant making her as pathetic as a baby crying that they didn’t get a lollipop from their mommy.

Like I’m gonna be honest with you, it’s literally gone to a point where I think Orel Puppington (aka the 11 yo Christian kid who worships Jesus and gets harmful lessons from other Christians) makes a better Charlie Morningstar than the Charlie Morningstar herself!

And that thought is justified when he tried to go help people in Sinville, “Kat he ended up turning into a pimp at the end of the episode” yeah but AT LEAST HE TRIED TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING! Which leads me to another question….

> How is Charlie gonna redeem sinners exactly???

Like honestly, I’m serous with this one. How is Charlie gonna redeem these guys?

I ask this because in the series, she barely does ANYTHING to help these guys, she and the rest of the characters just sit around and then do an activity that is the equivalent of something you would do in kindergarten except it’s with ADULTS.

I don’t know about you but If your idea of helping people is doing just that and nothing else, then the only thing the people around you are gonna get is them being annoyed at first and eventually walking out with thinking your not helping them but rather just treating them like a baby who doesn’t know anything, and the only thing your gonna get personally is nothing because you did dick all.

Like other than that she pretty much just whines about sinners not going to her hotel and oh gee I wonder why, it’s not like your not doing anything to help these sinners not committing sins anymore, oh definitely not, your absolutely being helpful.

“Oh but Kat! Charlie was born in hell, how can she know how to help people? She’s not from the human world so, she wouldn’t exactly know how to help these people!” I would tell you to look at the world building for the series and it’s spin off but that’s a whole other can of beans that I don’t wanna cover today and this is already getting to long, so y’know what? We’ll go with that.

If Charlie didn’t know how to help people and was trying to figure out what she can do to help sinners get better, then why didn’t she just ask her employees for suggestions? Y’know, the other sinners who were from the human world and had experiences while they were alive and such?

Yeah, I get that not all of their advice would be exactly good or healthy (since they’re sinners who’ve done many bad things after all) BUT ITS AT LEAST SOMETHING FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!

She literally does nothing, she just expects you to immediately get better after some improvisations or whatever other activities she does and once you’ve done one nice thing then boom you’re close to redemption.

> Conclusion.

Charlie Morningstar is (like I said in the beginning) probably one of the worst characters in the hazbin hotel series, she at best a stereotype of the “everything is sunshines and rainbows” character tropes and at worst is a pathetic excuse of a main character and is nothing but a rotten shell of her character from the pilot.

I would go on about how her design’s also bad but I’m sure millions of people have already said the same issues and I’ve already posted my redesign of her before the show dropped.

I might plan on posting a rewrite of her or maybe explain my problems with another character or episode but I don’t know.

But until then, I’ll see y’all later!

[lilrainbowcloud]

Flower and Fates

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Genre: Barista x Florist AU

Word Count: 2.1k || masterlist

Warning: none

The sound of chiming bells from the collar of your cat, Festus, accompanied you as you made your way around your little flower shop with a spray bottle in hand. The soft purring he does as the fluffy ball of cloud jumped onto the windowsill and shoving his head under your hand made it difficult for you to attend to your plants causing you to giggle at his need for attention.

"Festus please! I'll play with you when I'm done here," even as you said that, the cat still wouldn't listen, jumping down now, he rubbed himself against your legs making it hard for you to move now without stumbling over him.

Setting the clear spray bottle on the flower stand, you put your hands on your waist as you looked down at your furry friend, "What is up with you today huh?" your annoyed expression changes to a soft one as you bend down to pick him up, how could you even stay mad at him when he's so cute. "You've never been this clingy before," walking to the main table, you sat down on the chair with Festus happyly snuggling on your lap, purring loudly by the gentle scratching on his head.

"This is an early break for me then," sighing as you looked at the clock on the wall, the time showed [11:47AM]. Today was one of the quieter days in your shop. Only having a couple came in hours before to pick their order for a ceremony, other than that later today you might get a few others. Speaking of orders, you remembered you had to continue the last few bouquets of an order for an anniversary today so the client can pick them up tomorrow but with Festus stopping you from doing your work, you just hoped that this cat would be over his episode soon.

A gentle tap on your shoulder almost startled you if the person who you saw by your side was one of a stranger, but he wasn't a stranger. It was Luke, the cute barista from the coffee shop next door who also happened to be your friend from the first day you had opened your shop and now it's been 3 months of your sweet friendship.

The lovely smile of his instantly got mirrored onto your own face, "Hi, Luke." Remembering that you were stroking your cat on your lap, looking down you saw that he was no longer there making you sigh in relief as you could finally stand up and stretch.

"Are you tired today, [Y/N]?" setting the paper bag filled with your usual pastries for lunch, which the freshly baked aroma was starting to seep through it, Luke pulled a chair closer with his foot to sit across from you, "I've never seen you sleep in the shop before. Also, it's very dangerous to when you're all alone in here someone could've just come in,"

Pulling your lips into a tight line humming to give you time to form an answer, you moved yourself closer to the table, your knees bumped his as you grabbed the paper bag with your name on it,”First of all, it was Festus' fault for not letting me water the flowers today because,” Turning your head to look for said cat, you saw that he was eating his food, unbothered, “someone is clingy today,” raising your voice in Festus’ direction, it made the curly haired boy laugh, amused by your relationship with your cat.

“What?” looking at the boy in front of you with a questioning expression, “It's true! I only got to water not even half of my precious flower babies,” lips pouting, you rolled your eyes at him as he continued to laugh, the melodious sound resonating through your quant shop made your heart flutter. A small smile appeared on your face at the thought of how you liked his laugh so much. Brushing your stray hair behind your ears, you then took out the still warm blueberry scone. Humming in satisfaction, eyes closed as the rich flavors filled your mouth.

“I'll help you water them later,” Calming himself down from his laughing fit, cheeks dusted with pink roses Luke sat up straight and took his own lunch, “Now eat up first.”

💐🥀🌷🌸🌻🌼

Mists of water droplets fell onto the rainbow petals of the flowers in your shop, continuing from the windowsill you paused earlier, the afternoon sun rays was beaming through the window and as Luke turned to ask you a question whether or not the section he was standing at had been watered or not, Luke could see the rays blanketed your figure with a soft golden halo. Reaching over your head to spray the hanging pots, once again the water mists fell around you like sparkles.

It was almost like a secret magical moment Luke was seeing. From the quiet and calm atmosphere, to the soft smile on your face as you took care of your plants and to the enchanting sight he just witnessed, if he didn't make friends with you since day one that you went over to his cafe for breakfast, Luke would've thought you were a fairy selling your magically grown flowers.

Captivated by you, Luke didn't even realize that you had moved away and was standing next to him until he heard your voice, “Hey, I think we're done here.” The same soft smile you gave to the flowers, you were showing it to him too. From the months he knew you, Luke had been observant towards your behavior as you didn't talk very much. Knowing by heart the smile you just gave him was one of that the adoring kind, does that mean-

Oh no, the growing feelings for you were sprouting yet another rose in his heart. Ever since he first thought you were such an endearing girl, the first ever bud grew. Every day he sees you as you opened your shop the same time as him, the little red rose was growing steadily. Day by day the petals were opening, until one day of you forming a friendly bond with him to the point of you being comfortable with each other, that was when all types of flowers were blooming in his heart.

The fear of admitting his feelings out loud made him suppress them, everyday he had been stomping on the delicate flowers so as to not ruin your innocent friendship. If you had seen the massacre he had done in his heart, he bet you would've fainted. But deep down he secretly wished that you would attend to his growing feelings just the same as you had attended to your beautiful flowers.

Sighing to himself, lips jutted out in a not so obvious pout to show his disappointment, Luke set down the spray bottle on the front table and followed you to the back room.

The backroom was your workroom where you prepare for orders, and Luke could see the assortments of flower arrangements on the table. Scanning his eyes through the room, he could see there were about a dozen white flower bouquets in a circular shape, the stalks were wrapped with brown paper with purple ribbons tied to them. On your wide work table, he could see the piles of flowers you used to make the order and right now you were cutting the stalk of a white carnation.

“How many of these do you still need to do?” Picking up a white rose, Luke brought it to his nose and inhaled the fragrance of the flower before twirling it with his fingers

“Hmmm, about four more then I'll have to put them in the boxes for them to pick up tomorrow morning.”

As you worked, Luke leaned himself over the table opposite of you, arms extended to support himself as he watched you staking the variety of white coloured flowers together effortlessly, making them blend in together so beautifully it amazed him by how fast you worked. In the next three minutes you were already covering the green stalks with the brown paper.

“Can you help?” Suddenly stopping as you held the paper's edge in place, you looked up at Luke who raised an eyebrow in question. “Can you please cut the ribbon and tie this for me?” Inclining your head towards the roll of purple ribbon and the scissors beside it.

Quick on his feet, Luke did as you said of cutting the ribbon, from the other times he had helped you to prepare orders from time to time, he knew the exact length to cut, even making the inward arrow head you always made at both ends. Standing beside you now, he wove the ribbon around the bouquet, swiftly moving the ribbon under your hold for you to let go and let him take over. As you were retracting your hands, your fingers brushed over Luke’s hands. Another blooming flower.

“Thank you,” Picking up the made bouquet, you walked to the others and set it down, the back of your fingers brushing the soft petals, “For lunch and for helping me today.” Facing him, you suddenly weren't able to meet his eyes.

As you stood there, feeling the warmth of Luke's presence beside you, you couldn't shake the fluttering feeling in your chest. His kindness and helpfulness never failed to make your heart skip a beat, and today was no exception.

"Of course, [Y/N]," Luke replied with a gentle smile, his eyes soft as he looked at you. "I'm always happy to help, especially when it means spending time with you."

You felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words, but you managed to muster a grateful smile in return. "Well, I appreciate it more than you know," you said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear out of habit.

There was a moment of silence between you, filled only with the sound of your own racing heartbeat. You knew you had to say something, to express the feelings that had been growing inside you for months now. But the words caught in your throat, and you found yourself unable to speak.

Just as you were about to give up and retreat into your own thoughts, Festus, your ever-mischievous cat, suddenly darted into the room, his collar jingling with every step. He leaped onto the table, causing a few stray petals to flutter to the ground, and nuzzled his head against your hand affectionately.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, grateful for the distraction. But as you glanced up at Luke, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—a longing, a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

In that moment, something clicked inside you. You realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren't alone in this after all. Maybe Luke felt the same way you did, but was too afraid to admit it.

Summoning up all your courage, you took a deep breath and met Luke's gaze head-on. "Hey, Luke," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was wondering... um, would you maybe want to go out for dinner sometime? Just the two of us?"

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with anticipation. You held your breath, waiting for his response, unsure of what to expect.

Luke's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, you feared you had overstepped. But then, a slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"I'd love to," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. "I've been wanting to ask you the same thing, actually."

Relief flooded through you, followed by a rush of excitement. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something wonderful.

But as you exchanged smiles and made plans for your dinner date, neither of you noticed the knowing glint in Festus's eyes. After all, he had his own secrets to keep—the biggest one being that he wasn't just an ordinary cat, but a Cynocephalus, a mythical creature with a knack for bringing people together.

With a satisfied purr, Festus slipped out of the shop and disappeared into the twilight, his mission accomplished. And as he vanished into the shadows, a faint shimmer of magic lingered in the air, a silent testament to the power of love and the mysterious ways of the gods.

As you and Luke walked hand in hand into the evening, the world seemed to sparkle with newfound enchantment, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought you together. Little did you know, your journey was only just beginning, filled with magic, adventure, and the boundless possibilities of love.

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

Okay, I wanna talk about this scene and what it might mean for Loki and Mobius in S2.

Sure, they stood here so Loki could point at the panel showing all the Kangs fighting, and the full mural is meant to be the story of how the Time Keepers created order out of chaos, but what if it also means something else.

Let's look at Mobius first, then Loki.

Mobius POV

Mobius is standing with his back to a panel representing chaos and looking at one that represents order, showing the Time Keepers appearing as gods to shocked people below. Seems very religious and mythological, right?

"If you think too hard about where any of us came from, who we truly are, it sounds kinda ridiculous."

Mobius had always believed in order and that what the TVA were doing, ripping people from their lives, was necessary.

He also has previously likened Loki's origins, which is literal mythology in mcu form, as similar to his own experiences in the TVA.

What he isn't aware of is who exactly was behind the curtain or that all-out war is coming. That's something Loki reveals to Mobius, showing him the truth in his blindspot (the panel behind him).

Now, he knows the Time Keepers are fake, that he wasn't created by them. By this point in the episode, he's already acknowledged to B-15 that their gods are dead.

This revelation for Mobius feels pretty similar to how the truth was revealed to Loki in S1E1.

Mobius is also looking at a panicked Loki. He's seen him teary-eyed before, but not this distressed.

What Mobius sees before him is his fear, that Loki won't be able to escape the bonds of the sacred timeline, that he's doomed to die, and that pains him.

And one last thing. Loki is a god of mischief, and I can't help thinking about the comparison of a real god Mobius can see in front of him and the fake Time Keepers in the panel behind Loki.

Loki POV

Meanwhile, Loki is looking at chaos that scares him. The panel has several Kangs all fighting for supremacy in a pose that was similar to that shown by Kang in S1E6.

Loki is the god of mischief, who thrives on chaos, and yet the prospect of all these Kangs frightens him.

War is the only thing preoccuping his mind. It's the only thing he can see.

But behind him are the Time Keepers, and we know they are fake, but what if the truth Loki has to face is that while he no longer wants a throne, he might need to take it to save the people he cares for, his found family.

Loki is looking at Mobius, who's concerned about him and a little rattled, but ultimately keeping his calm. I think this calm is likely to fracture the more season 2 progresses.

What Loki sees before him is his fear, that Mobius will be caught up in the war and lost to him. It's a reminder of what's at stake if he doesn't restore order. And he's already experienced a Mobius who didn't know him, and that was heartbreaking.

What this scene also does is continue both Loki and Mobius being mirrors for each other, revealing truth and reflecting one another.

They are similar to each other in many ways. We saw glimpses of Mobius embracing chaos in S1, which I always love to see. And I can't wait to see more of these soulmates. They are important to one another.

Thanks to @lgwilt and @insert-witty-user-name-here for discussing this theory with me. I added in your glorious insights because what you said really resonated with me.

And I haven't even spoken about all the touching, that Mobius doesn't want to lose Loki and Loki is just so desperate to get to Mobius, but I think other people have covered that.

And just a wee note to everyone that this is just me theorising, and usually my theories do not happen, but I couldn't help pondering if this mural had an even deeper meaning. I just like theorising for fun.

Hopefully, the above made some sort of sense.

[leftduck9986]

Foreshadowing, out of order?

In storytelling, is there a single word that means "the opposite of foreshadowing"?

WARNING: in trying to wrap my head around this, there will be wittering!!!

Wikipedia tells me that a flashback is a method of foreshadowing.

The Bullet Catch in the NZF minisode, being a flashback as well as told before the "present day" [speculated] event it sets up a clue for, well, that's what I've understood foreshadowing to mean until now, because isn't foreshadowing always presented before the event it foreshadows comes to pass?

The flashback/memory minisode, A Companion To Owls, is told after the "present day" event it foreshadows. Does that still count as foreshadowing, or is it instead considered "the big reveal" because it is told after?

And is this all that is meant by various things in Good Omens 2 being "out of order"?

The Hiding Miracle and the Memory That Both Foreshadows and Reveals It?

Indeed, it was a tiny miracle - as titled in the soundtrack - that worked as planned and "barely moved the dials" (but still a miracle in which "Noone will have noticed A Thing" however tiny it was, and that "Nobody notices he's here (...) Nobody can spot him, (...) especially if they're looking for him").

I believe it was the first of three events that happened that night, which, became the main focus of this "quiet, gentle, romantic" season, but paling in comparison to the other two events. Moving on!

Returning to how A Companion to Owls isn't told until after The Hiding Miracle and clues us in as to what was actually going on: this tiny miracle was made to appear far more powerful than it actually was, with the use of showmanship:

The ceremonious setup of being positioned on the circle in the middle of the room hidden under the carpet, between Aziraphale and Crowley; he could have been standing, but instead, "Jim... Sit in this chair." And it's a beautiful chair, like a throne, but Jim being taller wouldn't have worked for the image of the 'W' (similar to the 'W' shape made with Shadwell standing between Aziraphale and Crowley at the airbase, in the book Good Omens.)

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Why perform at all then, for an audience of none?

Ah, they're not alone, oooOoOoOOOoOoOooo, spooky. Go and see for yourself: check out the bottom left area of the screen when Crowley returns to the bookshop and says, "I'm BACK" (this is to do with the "framing opportunities" secret mentioned in the Gavin Finney BTS article https://britishcinematographer.co.uk/gavin-finney-bsc-good-omens-2/) Aziraphale calmly replies, "Yes, I can see that" and later gasps, reacting to something happening off-screen at 40m41s.

So this performance, not yet knowing who their audience might be, could be as a precaution, just in case.

Gabriel instinctively crosses his hands and is confused when Aziraphale and Crowley uncross them - or likely because Aziraphale was even standing there at all - because he remembers, or rather, in his mind's eye, sees the shape left behind by a missing piece of furniture.

The ceremonious setup of being positioned in the centre, between Sitis and Job, this time in the background to have Bildad appear a little shorter in height for the stylized 'W', then crossing his hands. The pot containing Sitis and Job's children being the circle, hidden by the circle of carpet (robes) made as Sitis and Job embrace.

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Had we seen Jim's and Crowley's conversation about memory before The Hiding Miracle instead of much later in episode 5, then it would have been foreshadowing, yes?

*temper rising* A "reveal," or "out-of-order foreshadowing"? (VBUAXNAUSX*keyboard smash*NYVIFGNOMAI) grrrrrr!

...

After the Job story is told, (save for the final scene) and Aziraphale calls for Crowley, my head-cannon used to be that Aziraphale wanted to talk about hair -

Aziraphale: Crowley, I gave you lovely long locks in my retelling of this story, how about you? Crowley: Nah, "shoulder-length bouncy 'bob'" is what I put - a "Lob" I think is what they're calling it these days.

But now I think that, to book-end Crowley's beginning with, "Your boss said that to Job, do you remember?" (imo they are so good at blending in, they can act human better than any human can act human! So, while feigning the memory span&loss&retention of a human, of course they can remember most everything. Angel stock: constitution of an Ox, memory of an Elephant.) Aziraphale may have wanted to remark on Jim's crossed hands from the night before and how similar it was to Crowley's doing so; that it was evidence of Gabriel still somehow being able to connect with images from his memory. "Crowley? You also did that thing... does Gabriel remember?"

If each minisode contains something that foreshadows or reveals what magic tricks occurred during this season's present day events, I feel that the only thing left is from "The Resurrectionists" minisode, where Crowley Goes Large (woah, woah, woah, another case for The Song Is The Clue?!?) ... or makes himself, something or someone else tiny.

"Size and shape are simply options" after all, so I do wonder about Hell's Usher, where the only time we've seen him is when he is small enough to fit in a bathtub and yet he is HUGE in the opening title sequence of season one. Behind him, Noah's Ark stranded between two damaged buildings (or one damaged building and maybe the Pleasure Cruiser Morbillo?)

Something else that may be revealing of stories yet to be told of the past, while also foreshadowing a near-future event:

Based on what Crowley said, this is not the first time Crowley and Aziraphale have performed a half-miracle together! Whatever biiiig miracle they're about to do (speculated event #2) could still be completely balanced and undetected, but then a plume of miraculous activity emerging from the circle gateway (privately speculated event #3) is what poor Aziraphale will appear to take the blame for.

Things being out of order may have started with the question, are season two's present day events being told out of order? There are other things appearing out of order as well, for example a change in the order of colours in the Rainbow (for "present day" episode two only I think, beginning Violet then Red, etc.) Or, in this case, narrative devices being so intertwined, one flashback-event can contain images and phrases that both foreshadow something yet to happen as well as to reveal what happened in a part of the story already told.

As always, please no asking or tagging Mr Gaiman as this blog post contains theory and speculation, thank you.

[perictione00]

Selfish

Ch 5: Betrayal

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader

Warnings: Manipulation, deception, cheating, use of curse words and mentions of murder.

Synopsis: You left the Jujutsu World behind the moment the source of your warmth turned cold. So what happens when you come face to face with that one episode in your life that you wanted to obliterate? Simple, you reap what you sow.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Ch 4

2011

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I had it in control."

"Yeah, sure, you did. I could see that you were enjoying it even."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me!"

"I can't believe this. I'm doing exactly what you want."

"I don't remember wanting you all over the monkeys."

"All over the monkeys? Suguru, I'm trying to win their trust to get the funds. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Your soft porn presentation won't get us any-"

"Oh yeah, and killing them will? Soft porn presentation, right? That's how you think of me? I'm here trying to maintain order and secrecy in this organization that you are hellbent on broadcasting to the whole fucking world by killing every non-sorcerer in sight, and you tell me that I'm the problem? Hah, gimme a break."

"Listen-"

"I'm done listening to your bullshit. I'll talk to you when I think you deserve it."

You left the room without a word, enraged at his buffoonery. Things changed a lot in the last year, but you still couldn't comprehend how it came to this. Frequent fights at the dinner table became commonplace. It was embarrassing how the expression of anger, something that you considered very personal, happened in front of his inner circle. How Mimiko and Nanako would come by to explain his point on his behalf. And at night, he would come to your room to apologize in the best ways possible, only to repeat his mistakes again the very next day.

He was more violent than ever now, as if the barriers that kept his fury in check were shattered by the force of his hatred for non-sorcerers, and somehow it slipped into the personal space that he shared with you. Suddenly, he was more rigorous about your appearances and meetings with them. Minimizing your interactions and reducing your role in the organization. You were sure you hadn't done anything wrong, so it felt unfair to face such consequences.

Geto doesn't know when it started. Maybe it was the time when some deadmeat of a man had the audacity to stare in your direction too long, or the time when a fucking politician asked you out during negotiations, or the time you encountered Nanami on a random day and froze. Yeah, maybe it was Nanami all along. It was then that he realized how jealous of a man he was. He knew that you loved him, but he feared that one day you might not feel the same way for him when you discover what he dreadfully and desperately wanted to hide from you.

It was in 2008 that he actually manipulated the entity and located its position inside of you for the first time. Funnily enough, of all places, it had latched itself onto your heart. That's not all there is to it, though. The curse reached out to him in some way that day, in the coffee shop. And although Geto doesn't know how, he communicated with it. It felt like it was calling out to him. He could hear the voices in your head, and it scared him of the possibility that if you gave in, you might be lost forever. However, exorcising the curse was out of the question, so he made the choice that served his interests and his greed.

He doesn't feel guilty, but he surely feels insecure about your relationship with him. Do you really love him, or does it have something to do with that creature? Day by day, he is becoming more paranoid regarding your whereabouts, the people you meet, and the people you talk to. He can no longer fathom the thought of having you out of his sights. He would keep you isolated if it ensured your safety. Geto knows how it sounds; regardless, he wants to hold onto the only remaining thread of humanity, you, forever.

And that's how he met Miguel. In spite of your rare condition, African sorcerers seemed to know quite a lot about it. From various sources of myths and legends, these abominations were said to exist from birth, and here's the twist: their emergence was marked by incantations of a human ritual, deliberately done in order to sentence an individual to a lifetime of hell. Suguru might be a folly of a man, but even he wouldn't wish that for a human child, maybe because he wouldn't want one to be born in the first place. Humans were pityful creatures, and your case was just another reflection of their harmful desires.

He wondered if you noticed the absence of nightmares or how he insisted on always being by your side in your unconscious state. He remains uncertain of the nature of your response upon revelation of the extent of his dominion over the entity, so like a coward, he continues to shroud this from you. Geto Suguru was sure that he was helplessly hooked on you, and he didn't like sharing, so of course he killed every non-sorcerer that had the privilege of coming in close proximity to you. He was so accustomed to your presence that he felt suffocated without you. It infuriated him whenever you would beg for mercy for a monkey. Were you forgetting the end goal? Or did you start losing faith in the cause and in him? He couldn't deduce why you would waste your energy on a pathetic soul. Why would he find your scarve in the pocket of a non-sorcerer he killed? And why would you accept gifts from non-sorcerers? He wasn't delusional about addressing these things, right?

Geto Suguru was an enigmatic leader, a great friend, and an even better lover. He came back for you when you needed him the most. Just when you thought it was the end of the line for you, he rescued you like a knight in shining armor. You were grateful for him. He collected the scattered pieces of your life that were falling apart in front of your eyes and molded them into something worth living for. He presented you with a sense of comfort that you craved. You were grateful. But why were all these feelings vanishing? Why was your voice breaking? Why were tears of betrayal escaping your eyes? Why was he kissing someone who was not you?

There it was. The voices were back again, worse than ever. Taunting you for ever believing that you deserved happiness. You had given up on your morals, on your one true family for him. You would've given up your life for him. So why would he do this to you? Were you just another asset, a stepping stone to achieving his purpose? He dared question your loyalties while actually being the guilty one. You wanted to move, but you needed to be sure. There was nothing to hold on to, yet you wanted to believe in him. You hoped it wasn't real. Unfortunately it was. He didn't stop. You wanted to scream at him, confront him, and slap him. But it would've been too lenient, and you didn't want that. You wanted to hurt him so bad. Right where it hurts.

It was all a fucking joke. He made a joke out of you. And you wanted to return the favor twofold. So you picked up your cellphone and called him.

"Hello Kento?"

Ch 6

[moghedien]

Lupe, Carson, and Gaydar

I've joked about the scene when Carson confronts Lupe in the gay bar constantly. It is maybe my favorite scene in the show, definitely the one I’ve rewatched the most, and it's my motivation for writing this. Because while it is an extremely funny scene, and it's very funny that Lupe seemed to be the only one that didn't realize that Carson was gay, I feel like it reveals a lot about their dynamic up until this point. I've made jokes about Lupe having a busted gaydar, because on the surface, sure, but I feel like its a lot more complicated than that.

Ignoring the scene itself for now, let’s start in the beginning-ish. Carson and Lupe don’t really interact all that much in the first episode. The one significant scene they do have is when all of the Peaches are at the bar (not the gay one), and we get the ending of a conversation they’re having. Lupe has apparently told Carson that her dad didn’t want her going there, but she went anyway. Then Carson says that she kinda ran away too. Lupe asks if that’s why she looks so different now (given her recent haircut from Greta) and Carson says she doesn’t look that different. Lupe says she does and then walks away. It's not an unpleasant conversation. There's not really anything negative going on here, and it honestly seems like Lupe is flirting at the end there. Carson doesn't really pick up on that though, and Lupe just sort of leaves and they don't really have any similar interactions after this.

This scene alone shows that while Lupe might not have straight up known that Carson was gay, she was at least willing to test the waters to see if that was a possibility. But even though their interaction here ends well, she never really attempts to flirt with Carson again. There is probably reason for that.

In the second episode, again there isn’t much in the way of interaction between the two of them. However, this is where you can begin to see that they’re in very different worlds. In fact, they’re both living in very different worlds than the majority of their team. First, let’s address Carson, and to explain Carson’s big divergence from the rest of her team, I think Greta actually explained it best.

During Charm School, it's made apparent that Carson is more or less immune to the danger that a lot of the girls are in here. Not only is she not masculine presenting like some of the girls are, she’s married. She’s not a danger to the team’s image, if anything she’s an asset. Because what better way to prove that they aren’t destroying womanhood than to have women who are not only married, but married to men currently serving in the war. Carson isn’t fucking going anywhere. Lupe on the other hand, is at risk, and she seems to know it. 

She is trying to smile and give a good attitude and appearance when she's being judged.

While Jess and Fern (the girl who gets kicked out) are joking with Carson, Lupe is taking this all very seriously. You don't see her often in these scenes, but when you do, she's focused. It's almost bizarre when you notice it for the first time.

And then afterward, when they pass and the surviving Peaches are going out to eat, Lupe isn't visibly uncomfortable in the same way that Jess is. Jess is physically uneasy with herself. Lupe, maybe has some of that too, but she seems more to be trying to mentally snap out of something. As if she had to put herself in a headspace that isn't comfortable or easy for her to get out of.

Lupe isn't the only one uncomfortable after Charm School, but she definitely was one of the ones that was, where again, Carson wasn't. Carson was always safe, and she wouldn't have even realized how unsafe the others were if Greta hadn't been blunt with her about it. They are exceptions within their team, but while Carson's exceptions makes her safer, Lupe's puts her in danger.

So let's jump ahead to their first game.

So the very first game starts for Lupe with racism. Not only are they playing on racist tropes in order to get the "customers" interested in her, but they also also have to lie about her to make her more palatable. Her being Mexican isn't appealing and might actually upset people, so the league has decided to make her Spanish instead. This along with the sexism that all of the other girls received from the announcer, is what she's greeted with on her first game.

Now, maybe Carson received some sexist comments too. I'm sure she did to some extent, but she's again, married to a man currently serving at war. I don't think that she would have gotten nearly as much as the unmarried girls, especially since the announcer seems to feel the need to point out which girls are single. And she definitely didn't get any of the racism that Lupe (and probably Esti, though I don't recall a specific instance of that) got while playing. Not to mention that when the girls get their first pay checks in episode 3, Lupe and Esti are the only ones that Bev feels the need to tell this to:

For some reason they are the only two that Bev feels the need to suggest they be patriotic. I'm sure its nothing.

None of this specifically connects their relationship, but it's important background knowledge to keep in your head when looking at the next few episodes. Because this is the world that Lupe is living in when she really starts to see Carson very differently than her initial flirting.

So episode three is where you really start to see the conflict between Lupe and Carson develop, and for the most part it initially just revolves around them independently trying to deal with Dove. No one on the team seems unaware that Dove is an issue, though it seems on a surface level that Lupe doesn’t notice it, given that she appears to just goes along with everything Dove says without question. Even the other girls think that Lupe is “up Dove’s ass” and would rat them out if she knew they were doing secret practices, so they don’t tell her. They all exclude her. Even Esti. Even Jess. And she knows that she’s being excluded from something because she wakes up for breakfast and nobody is there. 

Now, the secret practice itself isn’t entirely Carson’s doing. They all came up with the idea more or less together and went along with it, but Carson is the only other one on the team that is seen trying to deal with the Dove problem (outside of Jo telling him something and him lashing out on her). Her initial attempt was to give him a conversation pie. Now to literally anyone with eyeballs who isn't experiencing this show through Carson's point of view, it would look like Carson is sucking up to him. This is after Greta repeatedly made jokes about Dove being her “daddy,” and making Carson reveal that she and Dove have talked privately. So, Carson looks like she’s sucking up to Dove. Not only that, she made him a fucking pie. Can you get more stereotypically conservative American housewife than making someone a pie and then trying to talk to them about some problems you want them to fix.

Let’s talk about Lupe’s reaction to Dove. Lupe is not comfortable with Dove, but like Charm School, she sees it as something she just has to get through. If you think she likes Dove, let’s look at her initial reaction to when Dove gave her the nickname that sticks with her for the rest of the season.

Dove just says a bunch of racist stuff to her face (after indicating that she would be the keeper of his legacy, of course) and then goes on with the interview. Lupe is visibly upset by this, and looks to the other two authority figures that could stop Dove, and she gets told to keep smiling. So she nods, and continues to smile through the interview while Dove strokes his own ego. 

Lupe does not like this man. Lupe tells the reporter that she’s just excited to get some in before Dove interrupts her, and reminds them all that they’re here to talk about him. So it's made clear to Lupe that the way to get through this is with Dove. So Lupe sticks with Dove. Early on, maybe she could have been convinced to go against him some, but why would she go against him later on? When the other girls did so, they specifically left her out.

Lupe injures herself doing Dove’s stupid pitch because she’s not given any other way to make it for herself except through Dove, because her own teammates excluded her. There might have been ways to get through to her if they’d tried, but they didn’t. So now Lupe has to double down and stick with Dove’s plans entirely because its the only one. 

Now, let’s think of some of the reasons why Lupe might think she has been left out. She might realize she’s “up Dove’s ass.” Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But Carson made him a fucking pie to butter him up. She’s looks like she's up Dove's ass too and she went to the secret practices. So what else could there be? She’s not the only Hispanic person in the house who’s whiteness and patriotism is actively questioned. Esti went to the practice. And she’s not the only visibly queer person. She is however, the only one that hits all of these "faults." Others might be different, but Lupe is too different. At least, she is if you're someone who would be bothered by different things.

We the audience know that this isn’t why Lupe was excluded. But why would Lupe know that? Especially when Esti eventually outs Carson as the person behind the practices. Regardless of whether or not it's actually her doing entirely, she’s the one that gets pointed to, and you know what, that would just make sense, wouldn’t it. 

Little Miss American housewife with the army husband, from a farm in the country excluding Lupe specifically. When Lupe gets injured, Carson is the one that jumps on benching her. Carson seems to be the one isolating her from the team, and is now trying to get her off it. Unlike that first night in the bar, now Lupe would be well aware that Carson is married with her husband at war. That she’s from a farm (not really but ya know). Lupe doesn’t know about Carson’s internal goings on. She doesn’t know about her getting close to Greta or any of the others that might be queer. Lupe sees her own experiences with Carson and has figured out who Carson is: a typical white conservative housewife from rural America that would turn her ass in the second she had a reason to. Genuinely, why would Lupe think anything else of her at this point? She hasn't been able to see any other side of Carson.

So jumping forward quite a bit to when Dove leaves. Lupe has up until this point been doing everything that she was “supposed” to do and gets rewarded by most of the team picking Carson over her as the coach. Lupe was the one that stuck with Dove like management wanted and Carson was the one that lead the coup against him, yet Carson gets rewarded. Wonder why? 

This entire time, tensions between them increase. When they’re playing the night game and trying to call out the cheating, Carson gives some stupid speech about what her soldier husband would want. Lupe actually knows the rules and gets something done about it. Carson is given authority because she’s the token white married woman on the team (except maybe Terri but ignore Terri we have no idea if she’s actually married). She’s the safe one. Lupe ticks too many boxes on why she isn’t acceptable despite doing everything right. 

Then, we have Greta making things a bit worse.

Here we have Greta just sticking her beautiful birdlike neck in where it shouldn't be in order to try to stick up for her girlfriend. Lupe doesn’t know they’re together or even that they're gay. She probably doesn’t even know they’re friends because of how discreet they've been trying to be. She just sees Greta confirming that she’s known all along. Carson is the poster girl. Lupe is the one that’s too much. After Greta leaves, she angrily and sarcastically asks “Why’s that?” and then beats her hat against the post when Carson leaves. The woman is at a breaking point. 

And then the fight happens.

It’s the fucking hick comment that convinced me, really. 

Lupe tells Carson that she hasn’t been able to play because of her, because yeah, from where she’s sitting it does look like Carson’s fault. Carson is the one that didn’t include her in practices. Carson is the one that got her benched. Carson is the one that took the job that she was more qualified for. And every single person has sided with Carson against her. Can we blame Lupe for finally having enough? Because even if she’s missing very important context that would explain things some, she has no way of having that context. 

And to cap things off, when she finally just has enough and the fight happens, everyone still sides with Carson against her. Carson becomes the full time coach, everyone blames her for the fight, and the only person that eventually somewhat understands what the problem is, is Jess. Even then, that’s only when Lupe explicitly points out to Jess that she’s dealing with shit Jess doesn’t have to think about.  And while Jess eventually gets that, she still has more context than Lupe because she not only was included in all of the things that Lupe wasn’t, she also knows that Carson and Greta are fucking. So she knows that Carson isn’t entirely the impression that Lupe has of her.

And now we get to the scene. 

Lupe has been through all of this. She has had to deal with this woman for the entire season. Things are finally calming down. Then one night when she’s at a gay bar, where she is explicitly safe from people like Carson, Carson fucking follows her to the bar. 

Now this is terrifying. Because while Carson could only argue and complain before, now she caught Lupe doing something no one is supposed to do, someplace none of them are supposed to be. Like, literally, Carson is now a serious danger to Lupe, a danger to Jess, a danger to Lupe’s date, and a danger to the entire bar. It initially seems to Lupe like Carson knows exactly what is going on and is disgusted by it. And if she said something, people would believe Carson. Because they always have before, and honestly, who wouldn’t believe it if Carson outed Lupe? 

See I joke about Lupe’s broken gaydar here, because it is funny. Like, literally every other queer person knew something was up with Carson, but none of them were Lupe. None of them had to deal with things that Lupe had to deal with, and none of them were excluded as much as she was. Lupe’s gaydar is broken with Carson because she never had a chance to have any other impression of Carson. And clearly it wasn’t actually broken, because she tested the waters with Carson the very first night in Rockford. It was everything that happened after that made it seem like that initial impression was very wrong.

 This revelation that Carson is not only queer, but sleeping with Greta really flips everything for Lupe. Because what she thought she understood as passive aggressive hostility was clearly just Carson being fucking stupid and clueless. And now she’s not the bigot that is gonna turn her in and ruin her life and dreams of pitching, but she’s a little baby gay who didn’t even know that places like this existed. That didn’t know the Jess and Lupe were gay, or what butch means, or that half of the league is gay. Now Lupe's laughing with Jess as they try to explain queer shit to Carson, and that is the first time she really seems comfortable around Carson. Because this is when Lupe realizes that Carson has been excluded from something this entire time that she didn't even know existed.

It's not just that she hated Carson and so assumed that she was straight, or that she learned that Carson is gay and so suddenly likes her. It’s that she didn’t have any reason to believe anything but the worst about Carson, and now she has the context that makes a lot of things suddenly make some sense. And because now, she’s clearly the authority on things that Carson really wants to learn about. Now they actually know each other’s secrets, and they’re shared secrets and it’s found in a place where they don’t have to hide it. This is the first time that Lupe and Carson are instantly on the same page about something.

After this, there’s no real tension between them. It's not so much that everything is ok and fixed. Lupe is still dealing with stuff, it's just clearly not Carson that's the issue anymore. It's not Carson who seems to be doing these things to her. Carson's now one of the few people that's approachable and who Lupe is willing to loosen up and joke with. Whereas before she might have tried to avoid Carson entirely unless absolutely necessary, now she's pulling Carson in to mess with other people and have fun with their ignorance. It's other people that won't know what's going on now.

Now that they share something, it's almost everyone else on the team (and otherwise) that’s excluded from their fun. Now, they’re both actually understanding each other and can work together for the first time.

Now it's not Lupe excluded from the rest of the team, and it's not Carson thinking that she and Greta are alone in their queerness. Now it's all of the queer Peaches having their own celebration together and not letting anyone else in on it. Because as overdone the metaphor is, now they all know they're on the same team.

So, no, I don't think Lupe's gaydar was broken, no matter how funny that joke is or how many times I make it (and will continue to make it). I just think that there was some very understandable interference preventing her from getting a good reading.

____________________________________

Other ALOTO essays:

Queerness, Contamination, and the Neurosis of Shirley Cohen

Greta Gill: Visibility and Isolation

Max in Oz

[mikimeiko]

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 - one gif per episode (with the first gif from their first scene and the last gif from their last scene) | Auntie

[cartoonsbyandie]

JOIN ME, IN HELL

I always had this impression that Nakamori's color palette has changed the most dramatically in all of his appearances and I've always wanted to see if that's actually true, because I'm sick in the head and apparently didn't have anything better to do. So here are the results! While this isn't EVERY appearance, it's most of them, and ones I consider important as far as color palettes go.

Quality is a factor on a bunch of these, and so is the lighting of the shots, especially the OVAs which maybe I shouldn't've included since they throw things off a bit. I tried to find decent quality images of Naka in bright indoor lighting, but it wasn't always possible.

So to my eye, you can separate Naka's 'main' color palettes (and artstyle shifts) based on his suit colors, kinda like Lupin ironically:

Green suit (Ep. 76-515)

Gray/Brown Suit (515-983)

Black suit (1105-onward + all movies from 14 onward)

My other takeaways are:

No one can decide if his hair is black or brown, huh

His skin color's been pretty consistent actually, until recently when they made it darker.

Dunno what was going on with the first Magic Kaito TV special. The art style for the rest of them is nothing like it.

I probably should've ordered these chronologically to get a better idea of how the colors shifted over time. It is interesting to me how Nakamori's color palette for the movies has been consistent since Movie 14, but they didn't change his palette in DetCo to match it until super recently. And then Magic Kaito 1412 is just off doing entirely its own thing.

I most associate Nakamori with wearing green since I think that's what he wears straight through Magic Kaito 1412. If you count every episode he's in as a separate appearance, I think green might technically be the most common, but if you don't then I think brown wins.

Honestly these color palette shifts are probably true for Every character. I don't know why it feels so drastic for Nakamori. Probably because it's not like Rachel's hair randomly turns black for a few hundred episodes.

[flower-boi16]

Why Oops Is a DISASTER

So...Oops. I have ranted about this episode a few times before, and most of y'all would know that this along with Western Energy are my two least favorite episodes of the show. But those were just unstructured rants about the episode. I think it's time for me to give a full analysis on why this episode FAILS in every single way, from the plot to the characters to EVERYTHING. And here, I'm going to analyze why.

1. Miscellaneous Issues

First, let's start with some miscellaneous problems I have with the episode that can't be put into an individual section. First there's the recurring problem of tonal issues that season 2 has where serious scenes are interrupted by unfunny sex jokes as usual with this season.

Then there is the fact that Stolas...is completely fine in this episode, when in the last episode he was in the hospital and the show made a REALLY big deal out of it, but now he is just completely fine? What was the point of making such a big deal out of Stolas being injured and possibly DYING and having a massive cliffhanger when it's not even going to matter anyway?

It simply just shows how big cliffhangers in this show don't matter, Stolas and Blitz's conflict in Ozzie's? Gets ignored and then resolved with a text message. Stolas getting injured and possibly dying? Nope, he's fine the next time he makes an appearance. Why should I care about big cliffhangers in your show if they aren't going to matter anyway? What was the point of that cliff hanger in Western Energy if it was just going to be resolved two episodes later?

But now it's time to get into the REAL meat of this episode's issues and oh boy...there are so, so, SO many of them.

2. The Plot

So...the episode's plot...it's a mess. There is no other episode in this show with THIS many plot holes I can think of. I am just going to name each plot hole in this episode by the order that they appear in, K? K.

We might as well pick up where we left off, that being; HOW DID STOLAS GET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL??? How was he SOMEHOW able to recover so quickly? Can blue bloods recover quicker than normal demons??? That would be a solid explanation if that was what the show gave us...but no! Also why is Stolas going to ASMODEUS of all people for advice? And why is Ozzie acting all friendly to Stolas now??? Did the writers just FORGET the last interaction they had was Ozzie MOCKING Stolas???

Then there's the fact that blitz just. Conveniently had a knife in his shoe even though we NEVER seen him use it before, which he could conveniently use to cut the ropes which he for some reason didn't use earlier??? Like you could say it's because Blitz wanted to fuck with Fizz but there's literally no reason for him to DO that! Why didn't he use the knife earlier???

Then there's the fact that NONE of the villains apparently heard all the chaos that was happening during Blitz's whole plan to kill all the minions. Why didn't they think to check up on what was going on?? Like??? Oh ya, then during Fizz's music number Blitz drops a METAL BLOWTORCH and it makes a loud clanking sound that none of the villains hear for some reason?? Why did not hear it? Why didn't they turn to see what that sound was???

Oh ya, and Blitz makes a hole into the building and after Fizz flings them out of there it crumbles??? For some reason??? How does putting one hole into a building suddenly make the whole thing COLLAPSE??? Then after Fizz and Blitz fling themselves out of the warehouse, which they are a LONG DISTANCE FROM, Striker just suddenly catches up to them that quickly?? HUH??? How was he able to catch up to them that quickly when they were VERY far from the warehouse (that CRUMBLED) in only like, 15 seconds??? Also why doesn't Striker have any injuries from being in a building that COLLAPSED??? Striker should not just have a few bruises, he should at least have a broken arm or something at best or be DEAD at worst.

So as you can probably tell, Oop's plot is a MESS. There are so many things that don't make sense about it that make the plot completely and utterly BROKEN. And no, don't tell me that these are just "nitpicks", because they aren't. A plot hole no matter how big or small is a plot hole, and when there are too many of them they begin to add up. So now that we've gone over the mess that is the plot of this episode, let's get into the next problem with oops...

3. The Pacing

This section is going to be shorter than the others but it's still an issue, pacing in this episode is...bad. It's WAY too damn fast and everything in the episode feels very rushed. I'll talk about this later but the resolution to Blitz and Fizz's friendship feels incredibly rushed due to the episode's bad pacing; not to mention the reveal just being 20 fucking seconds too. Nothing in this episode is allowed to breathe, everything happens so fast it feels like the episode was written on cocaine.

The pacing especially affects Blitz and Fizz's conflict in this episode but again I'll talk about that in a later section. Now, all of these issues would be enough to make this episode a 3-4/10 but...there are more problems, two more major issues that make me truly dislike this episode, and what makes this episode a 2/10 boarding on a 1.

4. The Cage Scene

Sigh....the stupid cage scene. Y'all know why I hate this scene, and I already talked about it in my Stolitz post so I'll just get to the point; this scene is basically the show trying to gaslight Blitz for not loving Stolas. We're supposed to believe that Stolas did all of these nice things for Blitz but like, not only is it TOLD to us rather than shown, it's also a retcon; none of what Blitz says about Stolas doing these nice things lines up with Stolas's behavior in Season 1, so it's a contradiction and a retcon.

And the show paints Blitz as in the wrong for not loving Stolas (again, talked about Blitz's demonization in my Stolitz post), because "Stolas genuinely loved Blitz and Blitz just hates him for being a prince!", even though that does not change the fact that it's a retcon AND that even if Stolas does care for Blitz and does some nice things for him, that DOES NOT automatically make his treatment of Blitz good. Stolas is still an abuser, yet the show once again coddles him for his mistakes and portrays him as an UwU soft boy who just loves Blitz, and like I already said in another post, anybody who dislikes Stolas or is upset by his actions is demonized by the narrative. I already went over this scene multiple times so I don't really need to go over it again, but this and a later issue I'm going to talk about is one of the main things that truly makes this episode a 2/10 and one of the biggest problems in it.

So now, let's get into my last issue with this mess of an episode...

5. Blitz and Fizz's Friendship

So Oops was advertised as an episode that would explore Blitz and Fizz's friendship and their trauma. This was one of the many interesting plotlines that season 1 left for season 2, so the writers surely couldn't fuck this up, right?.....right?

As you can probably guess, they did, and they did it SUPER badly. There was so much interesting potential for this storyline...that the episode didn't even touch on. That's my first issue with Blitz and Fizz's friendship here; the episode never really explores it that much. We don't get to learn what their childhood was like together nor do we ever even see any memories of them as best friends, none of that.

Their friendship feels so underexplored and underdeveloped that it makes the reveal of what happened have little impact. Speaking of that reveal; it's...so underwhelming and rushed. It's just a 20-second reveal of what happened that gets randomly dropped out of nowhere. This reveal has little impact because not only does it last for only 20 seconds, the lack of buildup to this reveal combined with the pacing and tonal issues make it so underwhelming.

There's no build-up here, it just comes out of nowhere and the audience is barely given much time to process it at all. It lacks any actual impact to it at all. Ya see what I mean when I say this episode's pacing issues harm it severely? Then there's the rushed forgiveness, where Fizz just forgives Blitz for the trauma he gave him and getting his limbs burnt off. He literally tells Ozzie to give Blitz the crystal cuz he "earned it", implying that he has forgiven him.

This just felt so rushed, it would have been more believable if Fizz hadn't forgiven Blitz but decided to give him a second chance if he really wanted to make amends with him so badly. It would have been more interesting and well-written than Fizz instantly forgiving him.

So ya, in conclusion; Fizz and Blitz's friendship was done very poorly in this episode. It's not only unexplored but the resolution to their conflict is rushed and underwhelming. I think I've gone on enough so I'll end this here.

6. Conclusion

So ya, that's why Oops sucks. It's easily tied with Western Energy as the two worst episodes of the show. They are both complete disasters on every single level, and I think I may talk about Western Energy one day. So ya...bye

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

Warnings 18+ -smut! breeding kink, innocence kink, cream pies, unfortunately historically accurate portrayal of female naïveté regarding sexual acts, male entitlement to female bodies, copious dirty talk, virginity loss. This is mostly fluffy and tender and sweet with a few VERY rabid moments and feral sentences. 20k of smut and it’s surrounding auras…I have a headcanon that Baby Elvis resorts to being a bit of an ass in order to maintain his slipping control, whereas a more mature era of the man he only chooses to be a bastard out of the fun of it

Credits: my supreme thanks to the indefatigable @prompted-wordsmith for editing this mammoth and her few choice additions of sentences, and also to my discord wives: Christi, Ally and Birdy who cheered me on and really made this happen with their feedback, suggestions and enthusiasm. Lastly, to all my darling readers who’s hype for this has carried me through and now we are all saddled with this monstrosity. Y’all are the best, I live off your comments and love. Xoxo, Marina 🌹

Elaine’s fingers glide admiringly against richly black, quartz marble countertops, glinting back at her almost as brightly as the gold mirror and the gold faucets and gold tub–everything is golden up here in the master bathroom. Even the sink is gold plated, she realizes with a giggle, and stares at her reflection in the basin, flushed face and curls hanging about her features as she looks downward, distracted by the opulence and the shininess and the ability to finally breathe. An endeavor which would be aided if she obeyed her new husband—heavens to Betsy, she has a husband!—and took off her wedding gown and girdle.

She chose a simple dress to be married in, long and slender, the style and measurements entrusted to the Smith cousins and delivered by them with remarkable effect. Demure yet elegant, she felt it was a nod to the silhouette of the future, prom crinolines and ball gowns abandoned for a more streamlined effect that set off her waist to perfection, or so her wedding guests told her. And for tonight’s purposes, it had a handy zipper down the back of it that she now tugged loose to her immense relief.

It was a little puzzling, the way Elvis had torn her away from Dodger’s admonishments and hurried her upstairs to sleep, only to then shoo her into the bathroom to undress herself. Some silly part of her thought he might kiss her when they arrived up there alone, maybe dance a little, maybe help with the zipper. But he had looked very feverish and a little scared when he told her she was looking worn out, and then ushered her upstairs as the whole house party fell dead silent below them in their wake. Funny, the whole thing had felt a little funny, and they’d been having such a nice little party after the vows, daddy had been a little weepy and Elvis had looked so handsome and she had to pinch herself a dozen times that this event she’d planned was her wedding.

Her wedding—it didn’t feel real. Not without mama here, she realized, that was the missing part to it all. Mama. Hers, and his. They were both missing them. She worked at the brassiere clasps and stifled the little cry she felt coming up her throat, memories flooding in of the first time she saw Graceland.

Elvis had tore down to the studio in his fancy car, begging any and everyone to see the place he bought for his family. Father had been too busy with Cash but mama was not. So, she and Elaine had piled into his pink Cadillac and let that happy puppy of a boy whisk them away to a world of antebellum dreaminess for the afternoon. Gold, there had been so much gold even then, and Mama had ribbed the boy mercilessly about his decor choices as only Mrs. Phipps could get away with,

“Elvis dear, it looks like a tart’s bedroom up here,” she had teased him in the master where Elaine’s groom was now waiting for her daughter to make an appearance.

He had turned bright red before dissolving into hiccuping laughs that her mama had joined. He hasn’t changed the decor, gaudy chandelier hanging above a gold damask bedspread, gilt mirrors everywhere on the walls with black padded headboards and doors. It was… unique, and a little ominous if she was being honest, although maybe that had been her nerves over him rushing her up here so fast, so…urgently.

“June’s gonna love it, E!” Elaine recalls gushing to him on that first house tour, entirely unsure if June would indeed love it, but certain that anyone would be honored to be mistress of such a place, though that honor had then been firmly Miss Gladys’s right at the time.

Now it’s all hers.

Elaine swallows hard and rubs at the angry red lines on her belly and breasts that show in the mirror from her girdle, thinking of the weight of that. Thinking of how she had been wrong. This—kingdom—wasn’t for June, this had been for her.

Elaine pulls on the silky, shimmery slip he had given her the money to treat herself to, watching it as it spills over her curves and drapes her kindly. The soft baby blue color makes her skin look tan even in the wintertime and her eyes shimmer dark and smokey in the dimmed vanity lights. It takes her aback a little, the prettiness of the picture she sees in the mirror, hair freshly loosened from its pins and looking like it does when he’s had his hands in it. The kiss-nipped red of her lips is no cosmetic allusion, he’d devoured her lipstick right off a few minutes into married life, clutching her to him in the foyer, acting like hiding by the front door made them discreet.

She touches their puffy vibrancy with a small smile, thinking of him, thinking of being loved. Thinking of mansions and gold sinks and graves dug, thinking of the boy outside the door who did far more than fall in love with her. He provided, and he did it with intent. A great deal of intent. Her heart does a flip at that.

It gives her the bravery to fluff herself in the slip and ignore the nervous tremble threatening to keep her holed up in here, her skimpy attire making her blush for reasons she doesn’t know. Such silliness. She looks pretty, and she is loved. She sets her shoulders back and turns the knob.

Elvis has been pacing a furrow in the plush carpet of his bedroom and berating himself for many things, chiefly having shooed his wife away into the bathroom the first private moment they’d had together.

He is an idiot, he concludes, a prize idiot.

He should have trapped her against the door and kissed the daylights outta her, maybe laid her out all romantically on the bed and caressed her like the movies taught her to expect. At least helped undo the damn zipper. But no, no he panicked, and trying to be a good man, he had sent her into the bathroom alone to strip while he talked his heart and cock into some semblance of restraint. He tears at his hair and tosses his suit jacket on the chair and tries to think of what he’s gonna do, how he’s gonna manage this. He had come across Dodger and Elaine in a tête-à-tête and heard the words from his Grandma:

“Make sure that boy licks ya nice and good ‘fore he tries to stick his pecker in—”

and had proceeded to panic and grab his new bride and hustle her upstairs for “sleep”. He’d caught Mr. Phipps’s pleading eyes on the way up and now he felt like a first team all American pervert. Gone was the sweet, comforting weight of the wedding vows, the religious aura the day had carried with it. Replacing that was a deep seated shame for how often he’d wanked to the thought of this night and all it entails.

In his dreams it had been fun to shock the girl by bending her over and putting it in, watching her eyes go wide and her struggle under him to adjust, but that was before he loved Elaine, he thinks. Now he tears at his hair, paces his bedroom eyeing the bathroom door like it’ll open and release a lion, and wonders how he’s gonna cherish her like he should, when his wants and his adoration keep vying for the upper hand. She boils his blood, shoots lightening up his spine and keeps him stiff at all times, and simultaneously, he is warm pudding when she smiles, and bluer than robin’s eggs when she’s sad.

The weight of getting all he ever wanted, the weight of actually having married himself off, the weight of mama’s hope coming true and her buried right under the window—he feels a little unhinged by it all, and he starts mumbling out incoherent prayers for guidance and self control and a capacity to not fuck up Elaine Presley’s first time. Because that’s just it: she’s Elaine Presley now, and he has a duty to the woman he married ‘afore God to make it good, t-to…

The bathroom door opens and the shimmering vision of Elaine and her feminine assets clad in nothing but a silk slip stops him dead in his tracks, his mouth liable to catch flies it gapes so at her beauty. She looks poised even jiggling and nipple perked in a light drape of silk, and he inwardly curses when her initial confidence seems to flag upon noticing the state he’s in.

Fully dressed with just his suit jacket discarded and here she is near naked—it’s not kind, he knows that, and curses again at his self absorption.

He looks like he’s gone a little mad, she thinks, and she can tell he’s been tearing at his hair in that fidgety way of his when he’s working himself up to a frenzy. It won’t do him good, she knows him, knows he’ll start hyperventilating and that always panics him.

It’s this urge to calm him that has her forgetting her bashfulness and crossing the floor to embrace him, his warm and clothed body pressed against hers in a hug he returns fervently.

“Ya look like an angel,” he rasps his praise in her ear and she is so pleased by that, and by the look of awed admiration on his face that makes her forget to blush, too pleased to be coy.

“Do ya have a new bird, Elvis?” she asks him, trying to distract him from whatever it is that has him so anxious she can near feel him vibrating against her.

“Uh, umm, a bird?” he is truly thrown by that and more than a little distracted by the feel of slippery silk curves molding to him in his arms.

“Dodger was saying—”

Dodger was talking about “peckers” he recalls, and is fast to cut her off in a great rush,

“No, no uh, I haven’t got no bird—sides you,” he jokes weakly and fails to add more, just staring down at Elaine in his arms, Elaine who stares back, her expression curious and amused and maybe a tad unsure.

Of course she’s unsure, you fool, he berates himself after finding his way back to steady thought. God, he should… do something.

“Elvis,” she pipes up and her voice is small but hopeful, “can I help you get comfortable?” and she thumbs at the ruffles of his dress shirt.

He feels his flush paint his neck and his body feels like it’s alight, but it’s perfectly reasonable for her to ask. It’s just that he knows her sweet confidence stems from her not even knowing enough to be bashful, and that’s… heady.

“Yeah,” he croaks and squeezes her to him once more before letting her set work to undoing the ruffled shirt he wore, sans tie.

She’s methodical and steady undoing the shirt, even as she flicks those lined eyes up at him, desperate for his assuring little nods and pleased smiles. He takes to stroking her cheek, running his knuckles across the high bones there and over her bitten lips, she kisses them with each pass.

Last button undone she spreads the fabric apart and places her hands on his chest, a wild delight showing on her face as she runs her hands across his pecs and collar bones, down to his belly, swooping up and down his arms, taking the shirt with it.

It falls to the ground and yet her hands continue to glide across his fevered skin entranced by the warmth and the contours. She’s wanted to feel his heartbeat for a long while now. Watching that tattle tale vein in his neck thump was the closest thing she could content herself with all these months. Her hands drift to his neck and sure enough, it’s thumping like a race horse at a gallop.

She excites him. That thought makes her eyes flick down to his trousers, recalling that strange spurt against her backside on the swing. He’d called that excitement, too.

She moves to open the button of his slacks and his belly sucks in with the breath he holds, she can feel it against her knuckles as she undoes it. She rubs her knuckles soothingly against the fine trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, it makes him shudder instead.

So far, everything on display she has seen before at the pool with him, but more, the prospect of more makes her heart speed up and her curious mind whirl. She’s a little preoccupied with all this as she starts to push the pants over his hips and while he doesn’t prevent her, his motion is a bit jerky when he clasps his hands around her jaw and tilts her eyes away from his hips and the curious bulge there, up to his face.

She hears his belt and the fabric thud to the floor just as his lips descend to meet hers, and then she grows distracted by the kiss he melts her with.

“Hey you,” he whispers hot and breathy against her lips, pillowy plushness rubbing together, kiss-slick and scorching.

And he’s right, it feels like finally seeing each other for the first time today. They’ve a decent rapport together when surrounded by friends and acquaintances, a very seamless dance of social politeness and steadying closeness. But nothing compares to the way they sizzle and melt when it’s just the two of them, like their inner selves are finally allowed to make a showing on their faces in the form of dazed smiles and in the slump of their shoulders, the bellies no longer held in nor the sighs longing to spill out.

“Oh, Elvis,” she manages to gasp, grinning and huffing at the proximity, the way her nipples rub against his chest from the crush of his embrace, just a silken layer between them, and it sends electric static down to her very toes.

“Ya happy?” he dares to ask because she is grinning so silly and sweet right there in his arms.

“Terribly happy!” she doesn’t bother with aloofness, her hands kneading his shoulders and he breathes again, recalling that this is Elaine, sweet Elaine who has gentled him back into the land of the living these last few weeks by simply knowing and caring for him, and while it’s a terrifying responsibility to do right by her—it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him. Elaine, here, in his arms, in his room, as his wife.

“Just ya wait till I get some champagne in ya,” he teases, waggling her chin in his hand and she looks surprised and a little excited by that.

“Elvis I-I’m too young,” she whispers, a guilty and hopeful little thing that suggests she is very amenable to champagne.

“You naughty lil thing, I see that hopeful glimmer in’ya eye,” he clicks his tongue and she giggles, “It’s lawful if your husband pours it for ya.”

“Is that so?” she bites her lip and her eyes twinkle up at him, falling easily into the banter, “Then I’d like to try it—since it’s lawful and all.”

“Mhmm, champagne, an’ a record, that’ll set us up jus’ right, I think.” He’s nearly buzzing himself, feels a little drunk even though there’s not a drop of alcohol in him.

“Don’t want ya to have to go down to the kitchen and leave me, though,” she admits, a little shy. His gut clenches at the confession, the way her lashes dip and fan over her cheekbones. He’d get beat by his mama if’n she knew of the unholy thoughts the pout of her lips made him think. He reels himself back to the present with a persistence that few things in his life made him exercise. For Elaine, his patience was boundless, because she doesn’t wanna be alone, or, rather, she wants to be alone with him. The simple acknowledgement sends his heart racing in hope that he’s managing to do something right, enough that she can’t bear for him to even pop down to the kitchen for a minute.

“Guess what, sugar?” he grins while fluffing her hair away from her face and she perks up, that mouth lifting inquiringly, “I got a refrigerator in the closet.”

“No!”

“Yup.” Elvis’ boyish grin grows until it’s a dazzling, proud smile and he begins to back up, she goes with, still clinging to his arms and giggling in excitement as he backs them into the gargantuan changing room.

“Where?” she cranes her neck this way and that, soon spinning in his arms as she tries to spy a refrigerator amongst the rows and rows of custom suits and well stocked shelving.

He holds up his finger for her attention, and gathering all his showmanship, backs away from her until he reaches the built-in cabinets and with a dramatic flourish flings open the wooden door to reveal his mini Frigader.

“No. Way,” she enunciates dramatically as her pretty mouth hangs open in delight and his own heart clenches and-

-God! Elaine! I can give you so much, he thinks, hang in there with me, I can give so much, I'll make ya fall in love.

He throws her a wink before bending over and retrieving the planted bottle and chilled glasses from inside. The fact he’s bent over double in just his briefs only registering when he’s already got his head half in the refrigerator, and her burning stare threatens to light his ass on fire. He straightens up and spins round to present her with his ribbon adorned findings, noticing her blush scarlet and flick her eyes back to his face.

-My, my, Miss Elaine, what a curious little mind you have.

He kicks the fridge closed and closes the distance between them again, handing her the glasses while taking her other hand in his and leading her back into the dimly lit bedroom. She sets the glasses on the sideboard top and goes to put the needle down on the record after he tells her “Ella’s already on there”, while he smoothes down the profusion of crinkle ribbon around the bottle neck in preparation to open it.

Elaine adjusts the needle and gets the record going and soon Ella Fitzgerald croons warmly:

-Birds do it, bees do it

She turns back around and watches as Elvis begins to gnaw on the champagne cork with his million watt, pearly white money-making teeth.

“What on earth are you doin’?” she protests, hurrying back to him. He’s like a rabbit with the thing, she thinks humorously.

-Even educated fleas do it,

He pulls the spit slicked cork away from his mouth to explain in a loathing huff, “Forgot to bring an opener up here.” And he doesn’t want to leave his baby, goes unsaid, doesn’t wanna leave her since she said she didn’t want him to leave.

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

Elaine’s lip wobbles into a fond smirk even as she tries to maintain some sternness, “You’ll break a tooth, E!” she warns even as her heart throbs at the sweetness of it.

“Nah, nah I’ll get it, my baby wanted champagne n’ she’s gonna have it,” he insists as she makes aborted little movements with her hands to try to aid him but is unsure of what to do or hold. “Here, hold the end, I’m gonna try’n pull it out, probably gonna gush so, be ready.”

And so Elaine finds herself in a laughing fit, holding onto the bulbous bottom of a champagne bottle as Elvis Presley himself buries his nose in the thatch of ribbons and gnaws the cork loose, like a dog with a bone, yanking this way and that while growling playfully around it.

“This is the silliest thing—” she wheezes even as his jaw’s yanking motion makes her feet slip closer, her light weight losing ground in this tug-o-war until suddenly there’s a pop and down he goes, flat on his ass, cork in mouth, champagne showering him from above.

He’s curled in on himself at her feet, all long tan limbs contorted and white briefs quickly becoming transparent, crunched in half from the force of his laughter and partly to shield his eyes from the alcohol rain. She watches in a bit of a state, though she’s unsure of what kind, as golden alcohol glistens over that heart, pools in every divot of him and even sparkles tauntingly on inky lashes.

“Quick, quick catch it baby!” he waves at her frantically through his wheezing hiccups, “With your mouth, put it in yer mouth!” he explains and she suddenly snaps her attention away from watching his underwear cling to him and brings the bottle up to her mouth.

She chugs on command, her throat working rhythmically and her eyes wide at the new taste, bubbly spillage glossing up her chin and chest and down her slip, a dark trail that makes his mouth dry out with thoughts of other things. She pulls away with a gasp and a wet pop as he struggles to his knees, cupping himself like that’ll detract from his obvious outline, thanking heaven his jitters seem to have kept him half mast.

“Here, it’s fizzy,” she informs him like that’s news to him before bringing the bottle down to his lips and tipping the champagne into his slack mouth. His hands fly out to rest on her hips, steadying himself as she pours the celebratory drink down his throat. “Cheers!” she giggles as he taps out his max capacity on her hips, his breath fully gone and his cheeks bulging with the fizz.

“Here’s to you, Mrs. Presley,” he gasps after his swallow, smiling up at her stupidly sweet.

Elaine isn’t sure if it’s his breathlessness, those fathomless blue eyes looking up at her adoringly or the way he’s proving he’d do anything to please her, but she’s suddenly filled with a burning compulsion to eat him up. And she acts on it, bending down to slot their mouths together, one hand gripping his sticky shoulder and the other still holding onto the bottle neck.

He rises to his feet in an effortlessly smooth motion, hands dragging up the curve of her as he goes until they tangle in her hair, his arms criss crossed over her back and then the real kissing begins, the kind he had figured he’d gentle her into but she seems to have already found a taste for. It’s open mouthed and sloppy and she nearly lets the bottle slip from her hand as she seems to levitate right out of her skin and upwards to some hot and hazy sphere where a pink tongue dances with her own.

And sweet Lord, she loves the way he kisses her, large hands yanking her head back by her hair so he can pour his passion into her keening mouth from above, his arms encompassing her shoulders and pressing her to him, his plush mouth working her up to a frenzy. She squeezes his shoulder, in retribution or encouragement, she doesn’t know which, for the ache he always manages to spark in her belly. Speaking of, his soaked underwear is pressed to her belly and dampening the fabric of her slip so it, too, becomes tacky and drags as he shifts against her, almost like they’re riding waves together, grappling in a gentle struggle for leverage in this caress.

-electric eels, I might add, do it, though it shocks ‘em I know,

She’s a responsive little thing, his new wife, and fiesty in her affection, too. Her nails dig into his back and make him hiss pleasurably and he finds he can’t help but hump the little curve of her belly beneath the silk, wet briefs tantalizingly coarse against his cock. It occurs to him this is a precious moment, for many reasons, but particularly for the fact that never again will she kiss him without at least some anticipation of more to follow. What’s a kiss that goes nowhere? A kiss that devours and consumes and grapples and bites but has no destination? Her whole body conforms to his in an effort to get closer as they sway in the middle of his bedroom floor, but she knows of nothing after this, she doesn’t know it’s leading anywhere. The kiss is all she knows. It’s like she has an incomplete map, one he gets to draw the big red ‘X’ at the end of. He wonders if a body can combust if kissed long enough, if he can make her shatter apart just by ignorant need and a searingly good necking. He pours more energy into plundering her mouth and ignores her whimpers begging for a breath.

Elaine finds her free hand sliding from his shoulder down the plush side of his ribs, tacky with champagne, and thumbs at the soaked waistband of his briefs. It makes him break their kiss at last, near drowned for air and his eyes wild as he rears back to study her face.

“You’re getting me sticky,” she whispers smilingly and watches him lick her spit from his lips with a languid tongue.

“Ya could just say you want me nekid,” he quips, and nearly swallows his tongue in horror right after, holding his breath to see how the joke lands.

Elaine is… taken aback, judging by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flame bright in the dim light of the bedroom, but she truthfully shrugs and murmurs while staring past him, “I would really like to see ya, E.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he whispers back earnestly and she flicks her eyes back to meet his before her smile returns and she makes a motion to one handedly strip him before thinking better of it.

She takes another chug from the champagne bottle instead and he chuckles, making a motion with his hands to hand it to him when she’s done. She gives it over and he gulps down the liquid courage while trying to go somewhere else as Elaine begins to carefully peel his soaked tighty whities down his legs. Her yittle fingers make it mighty difficult.

-God, I hope she’s at least seen a penis before, he prays. Or, or actually no. I hope she hasn’t, I hope she has no fuckin clue about any other man, most certainly no trimmed up, affluent, all American, circumcised one.

While he’s busy making his nose burn with the bubbles he’s downing like water, Elaine takes a moment to feast her eyes on tan thighs and the boney cradle of his hips, defined by a lean belt of muscle descending from his abdomen and that faint dusty trail of hair that was pointing downwards to a destination after all. He’s pink and soft and harmless looking down there, very much like the anatomy sketches she’s seen in the medical books. A limp little tail-like thing that hangs between his legs with a sheath of skin covering it, pillowed atop a very heavy looking sack that’s a couple shades darker than the shaft thingy. Maybe men have a bladder on the outside, she ponders.

She finds herself a little relieved, and also stupidly endeared. It’s his privates, she should let him be, they’re not like hers that have a dual purpose of child bearing and peeing. They’re just his soft parts and he’s terribly sweet to let her satisfy her curiosity about them, and so she rises back to her feet with a pleased sigh, having refrained from the stupid impulse of reaching out and grabbing hold of them. Elvis lets out a ragged sigh of his own and looks like he’s trying to read her brain as she presses another kiss to his lips.

“Thank ya,” she chirps and he raises his eyebrows in surprise that this is going so well.

It goes well until it gets weird. And by weird Elvis means his sweet young wife starting to circle him like he’s a damn statue, her hand trailing over his skin and letting out appreciative little noises at the way his muscles twitch beneath her fingers. His ribs tickle and his arms jitter and his back tenses and then there’s that throat closing feeling of her palming the swell of his ass, admiring and entitled as you please. He feels a bit like a prize horse, being eyed up at auction, Elaine the buyer that’s testing to see if he’s a well-bred stallion. Seeing if he’s a good breeding partner, if he’s made of good stock.

Elaine’s appraisal halts at his other side, she’s got a hand gliding up his sternum like the feel of sparse chest hair is equal to the most priceless Persian rug, and her other hand keeps petting the swell of his ass as she presses kisses to his shoulder—oh god help him, he likes it, much as it makes him squirm, this entirely unexpected review of his assets has him standing at attention and hoping she approves. Something else starts to try to stand to attention and it’s through a helpless sort of mortified resignation he feels little Elvis twitch in earnest. The sorta twitch that’ll lead to precum sputtering out soon enough.

She notices. Of course she does, he feels her lips fall away from his shoulder so she can peer over it at the growing developments, and with unerring accuracy she repeats the motion she had just made, expecting a similar result if providing the right equation. His cock is feeling benevolent if a little demure tonight, and he can’t help but flex his hips as the next rush of blood makes the thing move again. Oh damn, he thinks, they’re getting somewhere now, and he’s not yet given a single lesson.

Elaine had long harbored a rather inordinate curiosity about the male figure, her swimming hole adventures and glimpses of mechanics stripped down covered in grease had all inspired a rather alarming curiosity in her girlish head as to what the male form looked like… unimpeded. She thought it silly that there was such emphasis on men’s tastes being visual, on pinups and advertising girls selling dish soap that had nothing to do with the bikinis prominently filled out. For her, Marlon Brando swaggering around in a sweat soaked singlet had done more to convince her to move to a New Orleans tenement than all those skimpy dressed floozies ever had ever convinced a regular ole father of three to buy Lucky Strikes. But to touch? To feel searing hot masculine blood pumping right beneath that terribly smooth skin and the dip and give of his muscles beneath her palm? Her chest aches and her hands move of their own accord, wondrously eager to make him wag between his legs again, like a happy tail swelling and jerking with each squeeze she gives his butt.

“Elvis, you’re so pretty,” she gushes the admiration swirling around and around in her mind and feels the whole long, lean, glorious length of his shudder at the comment.

She’s enchanted with his body, he realizes, he’s pleasing to her, and her hands flutter in a hopeless want to touch him everywhere and it’s all he can do not to seize a dainty hand and wrench her away from this sweet perusal and make her grip him here he needs it. He wants, needs, filthy things from her. And she just thinks he’s pretty. The moan he stifles with his hand is only fuel to her fire.

“Uh—” he begins, figuring he better get somethin about the mechanics of things out before this sweetness turns him feral and the tempting thoughts to just… sneak it in her… take precedence in his brain.

“What’s it doin’?” she interrupts instead, and he savors the feel of her holding his bare waist while he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking steady breaths, forcing some blood back up to his brain.

“I-i-it’s, it’s gettin’ excited,” he figures is an honest start, “F-firmin up.”

“Why?” she asks curiously, sounding ever so child-like, still petting his sides like, like—like he’s her pet.

He wouldn’t mind being her pet. He’s foolin’ himself thinkin’ he isn’t already, she’s just embracing her role with innocent confidence, unencumbered by silly knowledge of roles and shit, like he is.

“Well, uh, it’s, it’s—” he bites his lip harshly before gently grabbing her arms and moving her round to face him, stroking her neck soothingly while keeping her at a safe distance where her silk clad belly won’t encourage little Elvis any faster. “It’s gotta firm up as, it’s, it’s, it’s my key, baby,” he explains gently, watching with burning concentration for any flicker of understanding flitting across her earnest face.

“Your key?” she repeats gravely, that nagging feeling returning that there’s more to this… marriage business… then she’s been told, and she’s about at the end of her patience with being fobbed off the topic. “Elvis—” she goes to appeal for an answer to his generous nature, the lush set of his features above her sweet and sultrily eager as her own, encouraging her that he’ll humor her—

“Elaine, we gotta have a business meetin’,” he declares, effectively cutting her off, and it’s the voice he uses at conference tables with the colonel or with reporters but she knows it’s him scrambling to grab hold of some control. Ever wary of the delicate state of his emotions these days, she holds her peace. “Bout, b-bout marriage,” he clarifies and for the first time since coming up here, a cold shard of fear slices through the gooey warmth of his presence.

“Alright,” she agrees, firmly supportive, squeezing his arms to emphasize that she’s on his side in this, she takes her cues from him. It’s what good wives do, and it’s what all of humanity does when Elvis Presley starts to direct a thing.

Her compliance has the intended result of soothing him, his jitters calm under her hands and the light beam of her encouraging smile. He gives a few small nods of his head as if agreeing with an unspoken suggestion, and Elaine is entirely certain he’s got a self affirming monologue running up there in that pretty head to drown out whatever has him so panicked.

Alight with her touch, with thoughts of her and her lil house and making it good, making sure it takes, of finally having what he’s dreamed about for goin’ on two years now, he feels his knees near buckle and he murmurs hurriedly,

“Let’s sit on the–the bed for a minute.”

Hand in hand, and at a head clearing distance from each other, they mosey over to the canopied wonder that is his bed, decked out in black and gold, tufted pockets of down beckoning for a bounce amongst, and Elaine can’t help herself. Maybe it’s the champagne or a stubborn desire to keep the jubilant atmosphere alive but she slips her hand out of his with a parting squeeze and launches herself into the downy sea of gold.

His stride falters and he watches with a fondness he feels deep in his gut as his Elaine bounces into the bed like a giddy child, her long limbs splayed artlessly and the swell of her ass rippling under baby blue silk, a sliver more of inner thigh visible as it rides up, kicking her footsies gleefully for good measure before she lifts that darling face and grins at him beckoningly through a curtain of chocolate curls.

God he loves her. And this is what he’ll get to see and feel and love for all the coming nights, for the rest of his life. He moseys up to the bed and reaches out, caressing Elaine’s shiny locks back in place, matching her smile in an endeavor to help keep this mood as joyous as it should be. She grabs at his wrist that is petting her hair and pulls him atop her. Weak and wanting, he goes, registering with searing clarity the first feel of his long limbs being pressed atop every inch of her smaller frame, the bedspread tufting beneath their combined weight.

He is burning hot atop her, and so much larger than her own body, she realizes with a thrill that tingles down to her very toes. She resumes her petting of the wings of his shoulder blades, smooth and sweaty beneath her hands and she wiggles beneath the new sensation of his thighs pressed to her own, and his hips cradled by her hips, fitting together effortlessly. It’s delightful and she acts on the urge to tilt his face out from the bedspread and seek more kisses from those cherry red lips of his.

Elaine keeps undulating under him, spurred on by a thousand heady new sensations, slippery as an eel in her silk, and Elvis’s mind blanks at the feel of her eager and squirmy body beneath his. He forgets about lessons and marriage and sacred duties and instead acts on his most natural instinct which is to kiss her back ferociously and buck against the cradle of her hips ‘till his cock weeps for joy at finally being heeded.

As natural as riding a tandem bike, after the initial wobble for balance, Elaine quickly finds his rhythm and grinds along with him in a unified dance for propulsion, feeling something besides his champagne-sticky skin begin to slick up her nightslip.

That’s the wet smear of his excitement, she realizes, and rocks up more vigorously to encourage him. His penis is a throbbing pipe between them, and while she can’t see it, she can feel the thing growing and digging into her belly and she thinks of keys and she wonders, and aches. The whine her groom lets out, once hazily recognizing the fact she’s actually trying to aid his pleasure like a good wife should, is pulled from deep in his gut into her open mouth, sending a triumphant shudder through her.

“Sweet—lord—fuck—Elaine,” he blasphemes into her ear in a pained cry, his hand a mere agent of his cock as it fumbles between them frantically to pull up the hem of her slip.

Her hot breath fans against his face in shocked gusts and if he cracked open his screwed shut eyes he’s pretty sure he'd see her looking a little scandalized, which is why he doesn’t open them. He’ll save that for when he’s balls deep inside her and there ain’t a lawful thing she can do about it. For now he just doggedly hikes up her slip until it’s halfway up her belly and his balls are rubbing amongst the pettiest thatch on a beaver he ever did see. Not that he sees it now, mind you. No, his eyes stay closed and he forces her into another kiss lest she protest, but he recalls the particulars of her cunt like that addled inspection he made of her lady parts was yesterday and—

—her lil house, his promise, his duty! It all comes crowding back to his mind with an icy damper just as her hands glide down to land with a strong and naively lecherous grip on his ass and he—

—he might have made it if it weren’t for that grab. It’s not a good precedent to blame one’s wife for a loss of control but he’s afraid that’s just what it is, a precedent when, heedless of her confusion, he grips her delicate shoulders in each of his hands and leverages up, one pump, two pumps, three pumps amongst the slick petals of her pussy and then, then it’s white hot satisfaction and… Elaine.

Elaine, Elaine, Elaine—oh how I love you, oh how I want you, Elaine, Elaine, Elaine, you drive me nuts.

“Oh, oh wha—oh,” through the ringing haze of busting a nut against her, Elvis can hear her bewildered enjoyment as he spurts and slicks her up real messy, grinding against her pearl with powerful, heedless strokes.

He stops his whimpering moans and sucks in a breath, still somewhere else in his bliss and utterly unmoored, but not so useless as to stop moving along to her guiding hands on his butt.

Her breathy gasps are—they’re everything he’s ever fantasized about, and to make up for blowing his load like a green boy, he keeps up the pace she wants, slippin’ and a’slidin against her, listening intently as her pitch spikes when his cock smudges her clit with his head. She begins to replace each gasp with a noisy inhale.

“Wha-what’s oh, Elvis what’s—” she finds her voice just enough to babble as her head thrashes in a confused protest a few times amongst the golden tufts.

Then her hands clench on her handful of backside before the head of his cock slips in its glide and snags against her untried door. The bitten off shriek of surprised ecstasy she lets out, and the cruel bite of her nails in his butt, the rigid spasm of her thighs beneath his, tells him she’s gotten a taste of the heaven he just indulged in early.

“That’s it, that’s it, it’s nice feelin’, ain’t it?” he preemptively shushes her worries, the ones that gather even now on her brow the minute her pleasure ebbs away enough for rational thought to raise its pesky head.

“Elvis, I—what was—” she pants and can’t find the words or courage to finish her question, she just blushes beneath him instead, and for the first time tonight he can sense her feeling insecure.

“That was actin’ married, baby,” he answers simply, cupping her face and letting his thumbs rub soothing circles in her hairline. “You alright? Did I scare ya?” he whispers, terrified in suspense as Elaine seems to give his question thought, reviewing the recent memory of her first orgasm with typical, analytical detachment.

“It felt… tingly,” she decides, having to acknowledge no harm was done and this sated feeling of her melting into a puddle beneath him is rather lovely. “I liked it,” she decides, then insists as he still looks down at her, chestnut hair falling into his eyes and his worried mouth wobbling like a scared baby’s. “I liked it a lot.”

“Ya liked it?” he perks up, his lip curling in a smile, eager as a puppy, and she remembers him asking her the same thing, in the same eager way, about the grand staircase when he first showed her Graceland.

“Yes, yes I did,” she nods emphatically, ignoring how something seems to hang in the air about them now, something more that prods her to ask, “What now?”

Because “more” feels like a third person in this room and her curiosity has been too long deferred.

“Now we have that business meetin’,” he replies gravely, as if he suspects her of plotting against the meeting and its solemn necessity.

He tries to pitch his voice down in a bid to sound authoritative, but all she can think of are his pitiful little whimpers as he wet her belly. She smirks and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Yessir, Private,” she teases, immensely pleased with herself when he lets out a throaty laugh and rolls his eyes in response.

He pulls his body away from her, forcing himself not to cringe at the goopy mess he made of her pussy, or the resiliently adhesive string of spunk that refuses to break the connection between them as he pulls away. She is watching his every expression, he knows, every movement, the bat of his eyes, all being used to form her own opinion of this and he is careful not to show any reaction that might have her embarrassed, or worse, thinking the act gross. Sex is nasty, and he fuckin’ loves it for it. And if he can help it, so will she.

He twists off her and rolls on his side, sitting up where his legs dangle off the bed and he flips her slip back down in what he hopes is a subtle but swift enough gesture to be considered gentlemanly. She sits up beside him and folds her hands expectantly in her lap, her legs swinging off the bed beside his own and if he thinks too long about the fact he’s probably dribbling down her primly closed thighs, he’ll go insane all over again.

Get this part done and then you can go nuts, he tells himself, then it’s free reign. Or, well, nearly.

“Elaine baby,” he begins, this time his voice is naturally deep and earnest as it often is when discussing something very important, she recognizes it and gives him all her attention, “Do ya know anythin’ bout what mamas and daddies do when they go to bed?”

Her head is still fuzzy from whatever trickery they just engaged in, the way his hand now descends to her thigh making the pounding between them worse than ever even as the pleasure is sharper, more satisfying than any she’s achieved. It clouds her mind and stalls her reply. She thinks that she could answer smartly that he just showed her what they do, or she could say she knows they sleep, or she could rattle off a buncha scared suggestions that might make her seem a little less lost, a little less dumb about this whole thing. But she trusts him, trusts him to be kind and patient, to want to be married anyway. So she bites down her pride and shakes her head adamantly, not a shred of flippancy left.

“Well, part of bein’ married is makin’ babies, right?” he responds, “And that happens in a marriage bed, or least—that’s where it happens first time ya try,” Elvis explains the best he can, his voice gentle and his drawl persuasive like it had been when he showed her cords on the guitar. “Now we uh, we’ve talked bout your lil house already,” he notes and she nods with sober and locked on fascination, waiting for him to drop a hint of something that will make practical sense, “and I done told ya bout my key. You felt it gettin all firm, yeah? Then sprayin’ ya belly—sorry bout that, jus’ got me so excited, went ahead of myself—well, baby, ya see…” He twists his lower lip with his fingers in one last pained procrastination before getting the rest out in a measured slur, “To make a baby the daddy’s key has gotta go inside the mama’s house a-a-and unlock her.”

He holds his breath and watches this lesson land home on her sweet face. He takes note of each stage of comprehension as it morphs her face. First there’s her squint of concentration, then the eyebrow quirk of confirmed speculation, then the lip bite of second guessing his meaning, then crystal clear compression that seems to freeze her features in one of disbelief until they reanimate in a frenzy of emotion that culminates in her heavily fringed eyes darting down to stare at his recently spent, half mast cock. His key, he corrects himself, and like a damned pet, it wags under her wide eyed study.

“Oh ha, oh.” She tries to master her gasps and they just come out in a tumble anyway, staring at that strangely animate part of him that is nothing like any one of hers. The longer she looks the larger it grows, the sheath drawing back and revealing a tender looking tip, so vibrantly red it matches the flush splotching down his chest. It looks like it’s aches, and she suddenly has sympathy for the eager thing. At her aborted movement to touch it, she sees it sputter out clear fluid, as if weeping for her attention.

A great many bits of hearsay, of anatomical layouts studied, some Bible passages about “goin into her” and a few racy lyrics flash through her mind like star witnesses confirming his account of married life. She suddenly wants to laugh at the absurdity of not putting it all together until the wagging heft of the thing swelling beneath her stare makes her suddenly hope he’s wrong. Or, or -teasing, he’s gotta be teasing.

Oh course he is! Her shoulders loosen up and she lets out a great big sigh before meeting his stormy eyes and poking the soft rolls of his belly warningly, “You had me there!” she tsks and begins to laugh the more she thinks of the idea of him shoving his… his pee pee… up her to make a child.

Elvis doesn’t laugh, he looks suddenly quite alarmed and her merriment dies on her lips, stuttering out at the sight of his earnest face.

“You. Are. Teasin,” she repeats with a pleading diction, “You don’t really -oh gosh y- you ain’t pullin’ my leg, Elvis?” she almost whimpers, her mother’s proper nomenclature gone right out of her pretty mind at the idea of that chubby snake thing inside her.

“I ain’t pullin’ your leg sweetheart.” he swears, no hint of mockery in his voice, “That cream ya felt…coming out, the sticky stuff, i-it shoots up in ya a-a-and fertilizes y-your eggs. I-it’s called making love, baby, cause it’s-it’s makin…love.”

Elaine feels her face growing hot at that visual and would like all these components to make less sense right about now. It all comes together in her logic like a missing piece of the human puzzle, but far from being the Devine enlightenment she was expecting, she finds it’s a sticky, bobbing, whining, gushing, squelching process that isn’t remotely medical or Devine. It’s comedic, and her jaw clenches in protest at the absurdity of it all. God really must enjoy a good laugh, forcing folks to spew and shake apart like idiots just to keep the human race alive.

“Why’s it growin?” She demands hotly, resigned to the logic but quite unappreciative of the fact that the more excited about making babies his key gets, the more likely its growing size will make it impossible to fit inside her.

“It’s getting firm so it can go in,” he defends his offending boner as meekly as possible, eager to get back in her good graces and refusing to listen to little Elvis’ cries of offended honor, “A-a-and so it’ll feel good inside ya.” he makes sure to tack on and notices her incredulous left eyebrow shoot up to her hairline.

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

“Yes!” he pleads and her face softens a little at his hurt tone, at his obvious honesty, “Once inside it’ll rub ya all nice like it felt a minute ago. ‘Member that? this’ll be like that just… even better.”

“I-I-I do, I do recall,” she softens at his worried face, realizes he thinks she’s gonna back down from this and curses the fact she’d really rather. Impotent anger rises up in her for a brief flash that she didn’t have more time to prepare for this, that no one told her so she might settle her terrified little belly to the thought of him—

—it’s too awful to be pondered for long and she takes a great deep breath and holds it in the way she learned at the hospital, to calm a bout of panic, staring off across the room at the portrait of Jesus he has hung by the closet door. She thinks about how best to fly away while he does what is necessary, she thinks about babies, she thinks about how pretty and sweet he is. She thinks about her mama, and wonders if the procedure is so awful, why didn’t she and every woman in her life warn and prepare her for it? Now her aunt’s words make sense. Be good and let him do what he needs to. If this is what he needs to do, then she reckon’s she’ll just have to let him see to it.

“Elaine?” he begs her to look at him, his warm hand gently grabbing her chin and turning her face to his like an ornery mule by its bridal. “Elaine, what’s in that pretty head? Talk to me please,” he puts his face all up in her own’s business, hands cradling her face and noses brushing, she can feel the brush of his lips when he speaks again softly, “Ya don’t think God would tell folks to be fruitful then make it awful for ‘em, do ya?”

It’s as if he’s read her mind, her own rationalization on the subject and she gives a slow nod of dissent, “no,” she agrees, and realizes due to her watery voice that she must’ve started crying somewhere along the way. It rankles her, being so skittish, being so troublesome for her groom when she’s not even been married a full day.

Lord, instead of being angry, he’s nuzzling her tear tracks across her face and swearing never ending tenderness to her. Her heart does another flip as his lips trail down her neck, and she warms again, her ache returns and it reminds her of his own. She tilts her head so he can better suck at the soft skin of her neck and casts her eyes down to his lap, finding him still eager. His key looks so desperate and needy, and despite her grievance against its size, her hand darts out instinctively to swipe at the leaking mushroom head like she would anyone’s tears from beneath their eyes.

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

Elvis lets out a choked cry and crushes her arms where he holds them, his kiss bitten cry turns into a chomp on her shoulder as the shock of his reaction makes her squeeze his member harder, eliciting a yet greater amount of pleasurable anguish from him. The way the previously dribbling precum gushes over her knuckles is entirely the most heady thing she’s ever managed to feel in her life. That molten warmth in her belly ignites again, and she kisses his own neck in delight at the responses he gives her, even as she drags the flat of her palm up and down his key, taking notes on the way he bucks against it.

“Elaine—” he garbles into her throat and she kneads his neck comfortingly even as she continues to watch the way this new friend throbs and gushes under her tiniest attentions. Like a personable pet or a responsive baby, it’s a joy to have something react to her with such inordinate eagerness.

“Alright, I believe ya,” she whispers soothingly as she thumbs at his leaking slit and strokes down his foreskin, noticing a definite ridge and then a puffy head differentiating the head from the rest of the shaft, “Just the tip has to go in, right?” she surveys the bulbous little head and calms herself. It’s not that big, just awfully wide. She can manage it, for the babies.

“N-no baby.” he stutters into her throat, miserable and worried sick about repeatedly having to be contrary, “S’all gotta go in.”

“But, but you can just spray up once it’s in!” she cries out, laughingly incredulous and a single sentence away from reverting back to suspecting him of playing a trick, “Why’s the whole thing gotta go in when it shoots the stuff a foot or more?”

That’s- that’s a worrisomely valid point, he thinks, but he can only deal with the logic of her hand fondling his cock right now and so he insists, “No baby, it’s gotta go deep, way up in your belly so it don’t get lost with all the cake ya ate.”

“That ain’t gonna get very deep.” she’s rather unimpressed with his length and it brings him right back down to earth with an Elaine shaped thump, “It’s the girth that’s unnecessarily…plentiful.”

“Ya sayin’ God didn’t know what he was doin when he made me?“ Elvis feigns outrage and pulls away to grin at her, to confirm she’s grinning, too.

She rolls her eyes, then that famillair, sweet smile overtakes her face as she flits her eyes all across the lean yet soft, pale yet golden, masculine yet boyish whole of him, -she finds him very good. “I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” she murmurs wryly, her stare dragging up his form, “I just object to the practicality of so few brains and so much—”

“Elaine!” he growls, gripping the back of her neck, “Kiss me, woman.”

She kisses him with the same gusto he’s previously seen her reserve only for football matches on the lawn. She catapults forward and it knocks the wind outta him, lands her solidly in his lap, a smooching, hair tugging goddess of a mad woman, and he scrambles to keep up, to assist the gearshift that just occurred. Zero to sixty it seems. Elaine can’t seem to hold still when she kisses, always leveraging up and wiggling around and it makes for two of them writhing, to the immense satisfaction of his cock that gets wedged between his belly and hers during this heavy make out.

Eventually she seems to notice -Elvis wonders what gave lil Elvis’ position away: the incessant twitching or the gallons of precum dribbling down the front of her gown.

She pulls away from the kiss and looks down, suddenly reaching and straightening his cock against her belly and through the haze of ball tingling appreciation for her touch he realizes she’s measuring the depth against her belly. That thought makes him spurt so violently he’s not sure if he’s cummin’ a lil or just, just gushin’ like he’s never seen himself gush before. Thank God this sweet little girl seems to like the fact he’s a messy, sensitive, uncut hick of a boy.

“We’ve just gotta try our best, hmm?” he stifles his anticipatory giggle at the size comparison to her abdomen and thumbs at her throat coaxingly, “I’ll try’n get it real deep, and you’ll be good and lemme, right?“

She will, for the babies, he already knows that. Knew it the minute she agreed to marry him. It’s why he wants her.

“Right.” she agrees and tries to not make it sound like she’s being condemned to torture, “I’ll be good for ya.” Be good and let him do what he needs to.

“And I’ll make it nice,” he swears adamantly and she nearly believes him, “It won’t hurt much, not at all after the first time, I’ll make sure you enjoy it, baby. Have ya begging for it in a few hours, you’ll see. It’s gonna be nice, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is unsure but she waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then, before another promise can be made, she bends away from his lap and flops on her back, legs spread, baby blue silk riding up to show her wet curls, hands serenely crossed across her chest, face expectant. “Well, c’mon, gimme those babies.” she eggs him on, somehow keeping the wobble out of her thin voice.

“Elaine, honey, you’re shakin’,” he worries, noticing the visible battle in her body between desire and fear.

“I am a little chilly.” she replies very decorously, and with a liar liar pants on fire smile of assurance.

“Bullshit, you’re terrified,” he murmurs, petting her spread legs that are still partly in his lap, sliding his warm palms up her inner thighs and noting with satisfaction the way it makes her nipples pebble helplessly beneath the silk. She even rocks her hips towards his soothing attentions and that’s perfect, that’s how he’s gonna handle this, just soothe her into it, her entirely absent prudery a great aid. Although this next little detail he’s gonna teach her may push her to the limit.

“Now, ‘fore I go in, there’s a great deal of prep’s gotta happen or else I’d not be a husband, just a mean bastard, you understand?” And he watches closely as Elaine’s chest heaves in relief that she’s got a little more time before the main event. Come to think of it, he should buy her more time, maybe a bath to get her all loosened up and pliant. “How bout we take a bath first, ya wanna take a bath, baby?” he suggests and knows that it was entirely too random a segue the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Not–not right now.” she whispers honestly, her hands still crossed across her breasts and she makes a motion that hikes the neckline a little higher, telling him all he needs to know about her shyness. He’ll let her leave the slip on for now, the fact her cunt is considered husbandly property but her breasts are sacred maidenly assets makes him feral with want. “I’d like to just get this over w- to, experience it,” she does a decent job at damage control of her initial sentiment but he figures it’s understandable to want it over and done with, like a procedure, like a tooth being pulled. “Honestly Elvis, I’m too nervous to enjoy anything till we do it,” she admits, no pretty turn of phrase, just that precious honesty he appreciates so much about her.

Boy does he have a surprise for her, then. He grins and he nods understandingly, “I getcha, baby, we don’t gotta do nothin you don’t want,” he swears, “Just gotta prep ya then we’ll get on with it. Hey, stop shruggin’, ya just might like it.” He pinches her thigh and it makes her giggle, she gives him another unconvinced shrug that he takes as a gauntlet thrown to turn her into a whimpering cock slut.

“I-I’m gonna pull this up a lil,” he narrates gently, figuring it might put her at ease as he matches his words with the action of rolling her hemline up to her ribs. Her soft belly caves in with the breath she’s holding and he lays his searing palm on it, coaxing her to settle for him.

She can feel his calluses and the grounding weight of his broad hand on her womb, and the rightness of it turns her body pliant. That dreamy submission he first coaxed from her to make her sleep after her mother’s funeral -she can feel it coming over her again and settles glady. He’s never steered her wrong yet, and he’s let her keep her breasts modest, a sweet concession she is eager to thank him for with obedient compliance. She focuses on his large hand and the way it’s now petting, no, more like digging gently, with his fingertips into her lower belly, little digs and pulls upwards over and over again. She can feel each tug downstairs in her little house, like his fingertips are tugging at her little button’s string from the outside in. Her head truly sinks back into the gold tufted comforter and she absently palms a heaving breast. This part of being married is lovely.

The awed look overtaking Elvis’ cherubic features as he stares down at the freshly undressed slit between her legs is reward enough for her. Life is suddenly dreamy and hazy, like she’s viewing his rich coloring and decadent face through a stocking over a lens, like the girls do to minimize their pores in photographs. He looks like that naturally, too rich and pretty and lovely to be true, now muddled and smeared from the feelings his hands excite, he looks otherworldly and she lets slip a moan of appreciation.

“You’re so pretty.” she babbles again, unsure if any of it actually made it out of her head. It seems very pressing to tell him, maybe in lieux of the “I love you” he’s dying to hear but made her swear she wouldn’t say till she meant it.

For Elvis, the entire picture of Elaine, melted ivory skin with a halo of chocolate curls and a wisp of sea foam silk covering what he’s dying to see -she is like an erotic painting brought to life just for him to lick and squeeze and split open on a sea of gold. He shudders and keeps his finger tips massaging her giving belly, this ole trick of Johnny’s obviously not half bad, judging by the way she goes boneless and her long legs begin to spread of their own accord, knees bending out and her pink petals beginning to make an obvious flutter beneath the curls.

“You recall what Dodger said.” he asks her very softly, mumbling it into the soft skin of her inner knee as he gets her used to the feeling of his lips creeping closer to the place he’s about to devour, “remember her sayin I was to lick you?” he prods, knowing that bringing up his grandmother is not ideal seconds before slurping at his wife’s beaver, but he guesses rightly that he might benefit from some moral backup for what he’s about to propose.

“Y-yes, yes before a pecker o-“ Elaine’s already a little incoherent as he permits his hand to stray from her belly and scratch amongst their curls, digging and tugging at her outer lips from afar, making them glide against each other in a soft stimulation, like a foreskin getting rubbed over the glans.

“Pecker’s jus’another word for key.” he whispers into the butter soft skin of her twitching thigh and her hips jerk from the tickle of his voice.

“Oh is it?” she manages to laugh, even as it’s a far away little sound, “dear Dodger.” is all she adds.

“So like she said,” he carefully moves himself to a crouch, taking care not to jostle her out of her docile trance, crouching like those mountain cats between her legs, he carefully replaces his hand with his cheek as he rubs his face against her belly -entirely cat like, “like she said I gotta lick ya. See, cause….’‘fore ya use a-a key in a new lock ya gotta grease, it, right?”

Elaine Presley is so bewildered and terribly hungry for something, anything, Elvis could suggest just about any sort of fuckery right now and she’d agree. As is, she thinks she’s read in the Bible about a man kissing his woman down there, a vague reference to pomegranates that King Solomon might’ve thought real slick, but wasn’t subtle. There was certainly more of an illusion made to it in the good book than anything about chubby snakes going up inside a girl. She has no qualms against it, also very few brains at her disposal right now it seems, and she finds it’s nice having one’s mind wiped blank after such a hectic two weeks of planning and organizing.

“S-so I’m gonna lick ya down there, a k-kiss sorta a-“ Elvis is explaining, unnecessarily thorough in a pained, urgent, desperate whisper that he uses when he wants a thing bad but he wants you to think you want it badder and she-

-Later on in life, later on the next day even, Elaine could never quite tell or explain where the urge or the bravery or the biblical amounts of entitlement to his services she suddenly felt in that moment. All either of them had was the memory of her fresh as a daisy self, steering her groom by his hair till he was face planted between her legs, doing his duty. Licking her open, pink tongue wriggling and lapping.

Terrified shitless that somehow, somehow he’d mess up the one thing he was certain he was remarkably good at, Elvis’s skilled tongue had bolted into her wet heat like a colt through the starting gate with a lot to prove. And he maintained that ferocious pace and fervor for a undocumented and unrecalled amount of time. He was not sure how he managed to breathe down there for the hour or more he spent sucking and licking and jabbing his tongue into Elaine’s long dreamed of cunt, living off fumes from the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted, hair tugs of gratitude his only payment and the sounds of shock and awe spilling out of his new wife at every bout of pleasure he tore from her.

The sounds she was making -they were the same as when the two of them went down to the flower festival in New Orleans, while he was on set, where she’d gasped and cried and exclaimed joyously over five street blocks worth of Lilies and Dahlias and the stringy flower bushes Elvis’ didn’t retain the name of.

“So, so nice, oh, oh right there”. This frantically happy compliance, this unabashed enjoyment by a virgin girl smashing his face into her snatch -it was more than Elvis’ wildest, most self indulgent fantasies could have hoped for.

He had noticed in Elaine a peculiar sort of common sense that most people didn’t have in common. If a thing was not harmful or explicitly forbidden, she had no objection to it, in fact, she considered it free game. And bucking her hips up to meet his tongue and utilize his nose against her button -was obviously one of those non prohibited joys of life. And he set about to make it so addictive that she would be collaring him for a lick every day of her life for the rest of their days. His hands slowly gravitated up her belly, squeezing and appreciating the firm give of her sides and up to her breasts that she still guarded with panting lassitude. He didn’t know if he had snuck his hands under hers to knead the firm mounds or if she’d allowed him under of her own accord, and placed her hands atop his in blessing. But either way, he stayed bent like that, hands groping at her tits and jaw near unhinged to swallow her down, his own hips rutting into the mattress, the seams of the bedspread chafing his cock pleasurably.

“Can I have another?” she would ask eagerly after having shook apart and dribbled over his tongue for the tenth time.

Who was he to deny her?

He worked his fingers in gently, but after the amount of spit and slick they had produced together, it was a mere pinch for her when he snuck in first one long finger, then another. Careful to keep her revving, he dallied for a while with just the two, scissoring them and spitting inside the tight little hole until her objectioning mewls turned to breathy sighs again. Working in the confines of her wet heat near drove him mad, feeling how tight she was around just a few digits had his cock aching and groans of his own came pouring out of his mouth, buzzing her clit and causing her to writhe.

He took to curling his fingers inside her, her walls giving under more readily after his patient coaxing and he rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers up and curled untill he found a soft, giving little spot unlike its surroundings, spongey in a way he’d only ever heard about. Her reaction to his touch there was also something that had before only been mere hearsay from the boys on the road. Her hips leveraged off the bed like she was possessed, and through the smash of her thighs about his ears he heard her scream, and perverse determination was entirely to blame for the way he forced his fingers to keep curling as her little house clamped down around them and suddenly his head was being crushed like a melon between her legs and a jet of sweet, Elaine flavored goodness was spewing at his grinning face.

“Sweet Jesus would ya look at tha-“ Elvis heaved in a dozen breaths the minute her legs fell apart again, propping up on his forearms and watching his stunned wife tremble violently, her belly and thighs shaking like they were motorized, her pussy still gushing feebly and her hands patting herself down as if to make sure she was still all there. He’d only ever heard of squirting, and here he was now, half blinded by her spray.

The sight of the teary eyed, mortified yet pleasure dumb confusion clouding her exquisitely clever face had given him no other option. He had to have her, had possess her, had to take, had to fuckin’ take his due. Now.

She was in no position to deny him, shaking in pleasurable shock and splayed out boneless and unsuspecting. Through a tunnel of starry spots she saw his glistening wet face come in to view, hovering over her own, and felt the warm weight of his body settling over hers, famillair and steadying. She tried to raise her floppy hand to pet his rosy cheek, to somehow convey how lovely he made her feel, but her hand wouldn’t respond beyond flopping around a few inches from the mattress like a beached fish. She began to giggle and could not stop, thinking she should stop so he could kiss her: ya can’t kiss a giggling woman as her lips aren’t available when she’s giggling and he’s gonna kiss her —

—he didn’t kiss her, instead he had gripped her cheek and it steadied her enough for the giggles to die out almost as effectively as the sobering feel of a blunt, slippery, heated thing pushing at her entrance.

“No, no, no” Elaine’s mind whimpered in betrayed protest, “no, no it had been so lovely, it had been so lovely, it had been nice acting married.”

Tears that had gathered and spilled from the nerve wracking ecstasy he had forced out of her, now spilled afresh down her splotchy cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered like dazzling pools of hurt, her head tilted to the side in disagreement with his plan.

Of course, of course, she thought, there’s always something more to be asked of a woman, a banquet can be enjoyed but there are always dishes afterwards, you get your pretty breasts but you have to bleed every month for them, you can have your house licked to madness but it’s only so that a hungry boy can more easily split you apart.

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

Elvis had of course thought about fucking Elaine Phipps until she cried, he sometimes dreamed about her thrashing from too much pleasure her eyes streaming tears and her mouth twisted as she tried to let him finish, as he made her enjoy it more than she thought she had the capacity to. He’d thought of it, but it wasn’t the same as trying to push into a hole belonging to a girl mindlessly whimpering “No, no” beneath you.

Having an innocence kink, Elvis was discovering, was a lot sexier in theory, before stupid feelings emerged and pesky consciences nagged and the shuddering terror of your wife beneath you was abundantly tangible. That was a fantasy best kept between himself and his fist, and rock hard as he was, and nearly unhinged from waiting, he just couldn’t manage to do it this way. That old insecurity, that burning awareness that he had always wanted her more than she had wanted him came crowding into his mind, making his own eyes burn in rejection and fear.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s alright’ sweetheart, hey, hey it’s me, me c’mon, look at me.” he had begged her, hands engulfing both sides of her face, “I’m sorry, Elaine, I’m sorry.” it spills out in cry of his own because he doesn’t know how else to admit his long harbored expectations of her, the carnal weight of what he has wanted all this time, and all the wasted years he’d never told her he worshiped the soundboard her yittle fingers so cleverly levered , “I’ve loved you ever since I came back and found ya grown. I’m sorry, I’ve -I-I’ve wanted to have ya for years. You’re the most perfect thing alive. I-I-I just gotta have ya, I just gotta. I-I’ll d-d-die if ya don’t want me, too, honest I’ll die.”

When she looked at him then, looked and truly saw the soul of him stamped on his face -suddenly she saw everything she once doubted existed. He loved her. Elvis loved her and she was at peace.

It was Elvis. Dear ole Elvis, the boy at the studio who liked her sandwiches, the boy who she could most likely find sitting on the couch with his mother talking about his day, the boy who brushed her hair out for her the day they buried mama. It was Elvis, who was gonna give her babies, who’s gonna make sure she never wants for a thing, who is never going to let her be lonely or purposeless again. Elvis who was the most beautiful, exquisitely potent man she’d ever known, laying on top of her, shaking in desire to be inside her. He wanted to be inside her, so badly in fact, that all his power and his verve and his pride were shaking and shuddering above her.

“Oh my darling, you made me feel lovely.” she whispered to him, wanting that said before he split her open and took away her innocence. “Your love makes me happy, so happy. How could I not want that?“

“You want it?” he begged against her lips, he begged to hear it again while grabbing his tip and smudging against her clit, making her jerk and bow up in his arms. A reminder of what he can do to her, what he can give her, why she should be obedient.

“Yes, yes I want it.“ she repented of thinking anything unkind about her husband’s cock that’s gonna water her garden and grow her a family, that’s going to pry her open so children can pass through.

“Alright, ok.” he gathered his wits one last time, terrified to think of how he’s gonna lose all grip on himself once inside her after expending so patience beforehand, “Here's what we’re gon- we’re gonna let you control it.''

His brain pumped out fragmented explanations but he managed to sit up and bring her with him, landing her in his threatening lap, his arms cradling her little self, and he scooted higher in the bed until he was sitting upright, the padded black headboard at his back.

“There, here… we’ll, we’ll get it in like this.” he took to referring to his own body like it was a stranger, heaving in ragged breaths like a snorting racehorse. “At’cher own pace, baby. Ya-ya can…ya can sit on it.” He was no longer bothering to make sense, and thank God she seemed to realize that.

Being naive did not mean she was a fool. The novel concept now explained it was abundantly obvious in mechanics. Elaine grasped the slippery length of him firmly again, relishing the aliveness of it, holding it as she had when measuring him against her tummy.

She bit her lip with savage determination. Babies, he’s gonna give her babies.

Her husband’s face was all lash fanned anticipation, his pouty mouth grimacing in barely contained fervor and his eyes crinkled in a wince of pleasure from her grip. She saw a single tear escape his thicket of lashes and run down his prominent cheekbone, headed towards his hairline. She swiped at it tenderly with a thumb and had her hand grasped by him in response, tremblingly guided to his shoulder.

Leverage, she realized, he was giving her leverage and she raised up with her thighs like she would in the saddle, felt his hand meet her own down there to line him up, the size of his head against her giving her a thrill of horrored excitement.

Gently hovering and squatting, she gentled the puffy, leaking head of him in. The burning little sting of it only served to confirm that Elaine was about to be split apart when the rest followed. Now nestled far enough to need no guide, he grabbed at her other hand and put it in place on his shoulder, their noses touching, their legs bent atop the each other’s, arms encircled -suddenly this embrace made it feel completely essential to Elaine that they be connected in that remaining way. As if he could feel her submit around his first inch, his eyes flew open and a hungry azure gaze burned her up as her hair curtained around their faces and—

“You were made for this.” he reminded her as she whimpered at another little bit of length inserted, “You w-w-were fashioned u-up i-in heaven f-for this m-moment.” and the young man who couldn’t be made to stop wiggling in a Church pew tried to hold still as his drippingly tight wife cringingly lowered herself more, “In the doll factory u-up above, h-he m-m-made this lil house to t-the direct d-demensions t-t-to squeeze me d-dry —oh fuck, baby c’mon! That’s it, m-more come on, take me. Take more of me!” he groaned, his head bowed and watching where he began to disappear inside of Elaine, the culmination of all his madness.

“God Elvis it’s-its already awful.” she admits, staring at the stupid black headboard and registering every pulsing inch and vein and ridge of his rock hard, half jammed penis inside her tiny canal. “I dunno if i can-“

“Aww no ya don’t! No -don’t ya dare.” his snarled and gripped her hips as she began to raise up and dismount -it was only going to make it worse to try again and he was gonna make her finish this for her own sake, “Good wives don’t get off their husband’s cock till he says so. We’re ruinin’ ya for anyone else, babydoll, course it's gonna hurt something awful first time. Gotta see it though, don’t ya lose our progress.”

He saw a vicious emotion flash across her face -and he recognized it. It was the one from the mirror before a show, that wretched look of ambition that keeps him from fleeing from a crowd when all he wants to do is hide and puke his nerves away. He barely had time to brace his back before she was impaling herself on him again with teeth gritted ferocity, seething in his ear something about how she’d rather get kicked by Trojan -her gorgeous quarter horse. It made Elvis think of horses and her thighs working in the saddle and horses and stallions and stallions mounting mares and fuckin ‘em full and he-

“You’re gonna, you’re gonna take me.” he declared inexorably as she whimpered, “You’re gonna do what God made ya for, you’re gonna take my cock.”

“I can’t.” she wasn’t even whining, she could just feel him hitting a barrier and she couldn’t take more. “Please E, be nice, I-I ca- it’s not gonna fit, E!”

“It will, you’re my wife, ya will. You’ll take it all.” he kissed her check while reminding her steadily.

Then he snapped his hips up to meet hers in a powerful pump that tore her right through. She landed flush in his lap, a gush of virgin blood pooling between them, full to the brim with his thick cock nestled inside. Not even a cry let past her lips, just open mouthed shock, as if he’d punched the scream right out of her diaphragm.

Holy shit, his mind supplied, she was the tightest, most spectacularly tight -tightly wet pretty- tight woman. His whole body shook in delight at the wet, moldable grip of her walls, and he held her closer, blessing her for being so perfect, mumbling in between her still clothed breasts that he was gonna ruin her cunt for any other fella.

Elaine recalls just trying to breathe, even while clutching at his shoulders and listening to the filth pour out of his panting mouth, filth that confirmed his confession that he’d had designs on her body long ago. It made her shiver, which rubbed him inside of her and she doubled over into his chest, whimpering at the fullness and the burning sting of her stretched entrance. A thought flashed across her mind that he was mean to make her take all of him, the tip would have done just as well, and now she feels like she’s impaled on a pipe and his hips won’t stop squirming to force it that much deeper. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, maybe even having a vision of heaven buried inside her, and in that alone she took joy and made herself disentangle from him enough to glance down at the marvelous union they’d made.

It made her gasp in awe. She had swallowed him whole with her own body, taken him down to the root, his sack warm and full beneath her petals, absorbed him till there was no longer a he and she in the bed, but merely them. The Presley’s.

“Lord almighty, you’re tighter than hell.” Elvis moaned in appreciation of the absolute restructuring of her privates that he’d just done, gripping her back with his sweaty hands and letting his eyes roll into his skull in ecstasy.

“Tight yes -great balls of fire E, it hurts like hell.” she reiterated, a little petulant over his enjoyment of her wounded kitty, but he could tell even now she was recovering from the initial tearing open. “It’s not, it’s not supposed to -I can’t believe it fit.”

Curious despite herself, Elaine snuck a hand between them and gingerly felt the stretched ring of her hole and the thick base of him where they were flush, dark curls meeting together. He put his hand on top of her own and encouraged her exploration, making her pet herself and making her squeeze him despite the pained whimper she let out each time her pleasure made her please him.

“Jus’ ruinin ya for anyone else.” he repeated and she shivered in his arms, flicking her eyes up to meet his and sensing a beastial sort of claiming in them she had never seen before, “My wife,” he gloried in the title as his hips began to gently rock her in his lap, making her mewl, “my pretty wife, my good wife, look at you takin’ every damn bit of my cock, look at ya makin yourself useful, pleasin your man, ya like pleasin me dontcha? I know ya do, I’ve felt ya shiver when I praised ya before, I feel ya watchin me to make sure I like a thing you do. I know you, ya might not love me but ya love to please me, I know what you want. You wanna please me, always have since I first saw ya. Ya know what pleases me baby?” he tilted her face to his by her chin, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth panting as he ground inside her deep and hard as granite, ignoring her whimpers -only her eyes showed the wild revelry she was feeling at being spoken to like this, “Know what makes me happiest?”

“No sir.” she gasped, respectful and suddenly aware of how helpless she was in his lap as his huge hands engulfed her plush hips and made her to swivel and grind on him, the motion tugging her lil house apart even more.

“Pleasin’ God by pleasin myself by filling you up. That’s what. That’s what makes me happy” he stated, the look of girlish shock she showed at his language shooting straight to his cock and making him jab up into her body until she clung to his shoulders and wailed, painfully aroused by the concept and terribly hurt by the process.

“Please, please.” she sobbed into his neck as he gripped her ass and leveraged her up and down on his thick shaft, his groans mounting joyously and her body trembling at being used so presumptuously. It’s too much, he’s too much of a man and her womb aches from his thrusts.

“Please use me?” he grinned into her neck wildly, “That wha’ you’re tryin to say, lil one? can’t get it out with a cock in ya, can ya? So yittle I bet I’m clean up through to your throat, ain’t I? My poor lil wifey.”

It was his glutted acknowledgement of the fact he knew she felt like he was spearing her beyond her capacity, yet he wouldn’t stop, loved her too much to stop driving himself into her, making himself fit in her. He wanted to be a part of her so bad he’d grab her wrists and bruise her hip with his grip and snap his pelvis against her own ruthlessly -just so he could be close to her. Just so she would be his.

It had her moan again, this time from something besides pain.

“Elvis.” she moaned out, trying to tell him, to somehow alert him to the fact she was willing and good and could feel her body had begun to give into its natural purpose, she was slumping into his chest, and her pussy still burned and ached but had surrendered to the veiny little conquerer plundering her depths. “Elvis I-I- yes, yes, use me.” she managed and was given a proud and searing kiss in return for her submission. “You’re so pretty.” she said it like it was some dazed explanation for her obedience.

With Elaine’s pussy giving and wet from blood and slick, he knew he could begin in earnest now. So, gently, he tipped her backwards out of his lap again, laying her on the golden sheets and falling deeper inside her as he got back on top, never pulling out through the whole maneuver. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him lay atop her, buried to the hilt, her legs pushed apart to bracket his waist and allow him deeper. She threw her arms around his neck and breathed in like she was about to be dropped on a rollercoaster, some imminent adventure obviously looming as he buried himself deep and got a thorough grip on her shoulders before kissing her ardently.

It was when she was kissing him back and thinking how wonderfully sweet he was that she first felt those famous hips pull back, then drive himself inside of her with shocking precision. It made her cry out, and before she could suck in breath to replace her cry he was pulling out and pumping in again, little gusts of shock mined out of her at each powerful and measured pump and her back began to rub against the bedspread, her whole body seemed to shake from the force of absorbing his vigor.

“Thank me.” he required, aiming to find that spot that had made her spray his face, determined to wipe that pained grimace off her face and replace it with pleasure.

“Thank -thank you?” her tone was dazed and he wasn’t sure if her confusion stemmed from what she was supposed to be grateful for, or if she disagreed. She gripped the comforter, hands above her head and out to the side, absorbing the ripple he drove into her flesh.

“I've made ya a woman.” he reminded, proud and smug as only a 23 year old boy can be when tumbling his pretty young bride in the sheets beneath him, “So thank me.”

She pensively watched him as he swayed above her, blocking out the gaudy chandelier, his hair flopping into his eyes and moving with the cadence of his body, his body was unforgiving and driving into hers with a steady, slow beat, but his face was still desperately insecure, searching for approval and a hint that he was doing well. She loosened one hand from the counterpane and brought it to his cheek. He melted, a huffed out whimper of his own, in sharp contrast to the rigid power of his desire.

“Sweet man.” she whispered, “So good to me, always so good to me.” she assured, and he gave her a wet kiss full of wanting, letting her pet down his neck, over his back, stroking the swell of his flank, remembering the reaction it had elicited in him and figuring she’d thank him once he managed something worthy of it. Which he was very close to doing, she sensed, if he could relax himself. “Elvis,” she nuzzled his nose with hers, propping herself up on her forearms, to look down the length of her belly at the place where he speared her, “gimme those babies, and I’ll thank ya.”

Her daring grin had the intended effect, his nostrils flared as he heaved in a breath and his pupils blew wide, he pried her other hand from the bedding and interlaced it in his much larger one, pressing the knuckles to the mattress,

“I love you.” he swore before gripping her hip and tilting her pelvis off the bed, to the angle of his satisfaction before he drove his hips in with the purpose of finding that place that made her wild, the one his fingers had discovered and got her to spray for him.

He knew he’d brushed it when her face went from sweet compliance with the discomfort and placid curiosity for the proceedings to eyelash fluttering shock.

“E!” she gusted out urgently and a little unsure, unsure that this horrid taking of him could really be morphing into the spine tingling thrill she was now feeling each time he drove in, the tug and ache of his size still apparent but almost serving to heighten the aliveness of her feelings down there. “Right -right there it’s, it’s oh, it’s-“ she hadn’t a word for it, as the feeling was growing in strength and any moment there might be some shift that turned it back to pain, his speed was picking up and it scared her as much as it excited her. Like when he started speeding on the winding roads of North Carolina just to hear her shriek, conflicted between excitement and fear.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shining with sweat and heat above her, his hair darkened and his eyes darkened and his lips darkened and he- he looked so flushed and dark and decadent and she moaned at the sight of so beautiful a creature possessing her, pleasuring himself with her body, like any animal or male would do with a mate. He could have just hunted her down on a forest floor, chosen her for her scent alone, pinned her fist to the ground and her hips up to his pelvis and -it was that primal. She loved it. Like all the energy and raw potency of life he had in him when performing was now being driven into her aching belly. “Yeah? Yeah that’s where ya like it? Tell me how ya like it, jus’ tell me and I’ll do anything. Anyhtin’ for ya, Elaine. I done told ya, told ya I’d make it nice.”

Nice was a pathetic word for what he was making her feel and she found herself wishing she had an extra hand to stifle the sounds that began to wail out of her throat at his unforgiving depth. His own moans and breaths were shuttering across her face and the intimacy of what they were doing filled her with a serene joy she’d only felt on crisp, tea drinking early dawns in autumn. It made her squeeze him closer and she could just feel the comfort he took in it, his whole body melding to hers. Elvis’ slow and long pumps had her adjusting well and the unerring accuracy he maintained when noticing something she liked soon had her clenching from pleasure rather than pain.

“You’re in me.” she stated the obvious with a little shock in her voice, turned silly beneath him as he shuddered and pumped in her, “Oh god you’re in me, and, and it’s, it’s -you’re so good at this…”

There was a kind God above after all, and she let out a giggle at the joy of it, at the joy of taking Elvis Presley to the hilt like she’d been born to do. The pride on his face came through the feral pleasure painting it, his hands beginning to map her own body, feeling the jiggle and give of her as he fucked her up the length of the bed, shock coming across his own features as he registered something new that first made a flash of panic burn through him.

He was in her, entirely bareback. And, well, he knew that of course but suddenly, the mind bending intensity of sensations around his cock made sense. It was the first time he’d been inside a woman without a barrier, no condom to distract from her silky grip, his precum gushing and spluttering, slicking up the way for his cock to drive in, turning their love making into a lewd cacophony of sounds that made the man in him exult. It’s my wife, he reminds himself both jubilantly but also to keep the reflexive panic of going in raw at bay, it’s my wife and I need to give her babies. To keep her I gotta fill her up.

“Look at that perfect face.” he groaned aloud to himself, and he meant Elaine’s “taking-cock” face, which he had imagined a million times, but her open mouthed, eye fluttering, hands in hair image below him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in all his life, “Look at that perfect fuckin lil face.” he repeated as he forced himself in her all the way, bumping at her crevice and making her let out some form of sob.

“Y-you’re in deep enough?” she gasped out an inquiry, suddenly able to recall what this was all for, accepting of her purpose and close to feral in desire to accomplish it well.

“Ya can take more?” He asked, truly about to lose all grip on himself and wanting her blessing for it, “Gonna lemme get deep, baby? Make me a daddy, hmm? Gonna make me a daddy?”

He sped up with each sentence, her frantic nods and her “yes, yes Elvis, give me more, all of you!” spurring him on till he was driving into her and making those gorgeous breasts of her’s bounce wildly beneath her much abused silk nighty. “Get it deep, please, please get it deep.”

In theory he knew she wanted his swimmer's up past the cake she ate, his own perverted lesson suddenly coming back to bite him with a vengeance as her pleas sent him careening towards his own orgasm faster than he had any intention of blowing. But he was a man, and all his cock heard was “deeper.” And so he drove in deeper and harder.

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.” he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

[allykatsart]

Howdy! Is there a recommended way to read your Mortal Radiance comic in sequence?

Sequence is a little hard... Because the first comic I made was in the middle of the story, and also I wanted to give credit to the fic I was inspired by. So right now they're organized (mostly) in the order I posted them in. However, here's the comics as they are in sequence!

Consider this the Mortal Radiance AU Masterpost!

Main comics, in Chronological order

Vile creature

Pathetic prison

Instructions unclear

Seer ref (and sketches)

Radiance isn't the only one with a penance to serve

Dig until you are covered in mud and dirt, then pray that only the wyrms find you

The first nightmare of many

Fate...a peculiar thing

Grimm appearances

Nightmare come to visit

Given some time you might just make things right

His legacy ends here

The world will burn, and where will you be to stop it

Can gods truly die?

Or can they only be devoured?

And time marches on

Should have buried his mouth too

Little light, the old shadow has come for you at last

The ballad of prayer

Sit with mourners, know their pain

And understanding blossoms

Sentimental notions of an old god

Come sweet soul, rest your weary head, for sloth is only a sin of the living and we are in the land of the dead

A candle to never be relit

A debt to never fully be repaid

And another graveyard to be dug

Other items!

Radiance Reference Sheet

Height Chart

Random Radiance Picture

Sad Cat Radi (cursed)

Rotating Radiance

Hollow & Grimm Dance

Tentacle Grimm

Up you go

Hornet, Protector God

Other beings of power

Comic Retrospective

What comes after?

Dubs! (By @sassinapaperbag @phoenixvitae @mimikiplovesgaming )

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Episode 7

Episode 8

Episode 9

Episode 10

Episode 11

Episode 12

Episode 13

Episode 14

Episode 15

Episode 16

Episode 17

Episode 18

Bloopers 1

Bloopers 2

Bloopers 3

Bloopers 4

Bloopers 5

Animated bloopers!!!!

[sevensoulmates]

7x05 Buddie Meta YDKM Part 3 (of 4)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

Eddie. I cannot stress this enough. If this was a partner that you actually had a good relationship with, you could go home and talk to them, tell them your feelings. Hell, you should feel safe enough just to say, "hey, I don't feel like having sex right now" and your partner should be able to accept it.

Why does the idea of saying no to sex terrify Eddie? There is a stigma that men are always supposed to want sex, and when they don't, that automatically means something's wrong, either with the man or with their partner. A lot of women might think they're the problem. One could argue maybe he doesn't want Marisol to feel bad, but if that was the case, then he would be doing his damndest to reassure her that he just needs a minute with the nun thing and not to take it personally. Instead, he avoids her, doesn't respond to her messages, and now--looks very panicked at the idea of her possibly trying to initiate sex with him. Which is kind of hilarious because what makes you think she even wants to have sex with you right now after you've been avoiding her all day?

This is another interesting line because it suggests that Eddie finds sex to be a chore. An obligation. Something he must provide his partner in order to keep them satisfied, and something that he's always done just to please his partner. I'm not saying he gets no pleasure from sex with women, but it doesn't feel to me like sex is really something Eddie really likes all that much just for himself if it's something "he'll get through somehow." I understand that this is a joke on Buck's end, but it's still written into the show on purpose, and sometimes jokes are just ways to cover up speaking the truth.

I want to talk some more now about Perception, specifically how both Buck and Eddie felt perceived this episode in ways that made them uncomfortable. For Buck, he was experiencing for the first time what it feels like for the world at large to perceive him as a queer man. Seeing eyes everywhere when no one was really watching. And for Eddie, it's the same, except instead of society perceiving him it's God. Both society and "God" are both entities that are known to be judgemental overall. But my question is, why does Eddie feel judged for sleeping with a woman who never even made the final steps to become a nun?

Buck is right, if God is an omniscient presence he would've always been watching, so why now does the idea of an All Powerful Being perceiving Eddie having relations with a woman terrify him so much? Is he afraid of "someone" knowing what actually runs through his head when he's being intimate with a woman? Is he ashamed that he's not actually as into it as he appears to be? Maybe now that the catholic guilt has been brought back up in Eddie consciousness, the thoughts are spilling through, and he's not able to stop them this time, and he's scared that someone, God, or society, or whoever, will see that he's not actually as into women as he wants people to believe. All of this is something I don't think he's realized. It's just as much unconscious to him as Buck's bisexuality was to him last episode. But something is bound to happen that finally clarifies it for Eddie.

He comes to the conclusion that he has to break up with her. But when confronted, he says he doesn't actually want to break up with her. Why? Because she just moved in. Not because he "really likes her" or because "he wants to build a life with her" or because "he wants her there" or because "he wants a relationship with her", it's because it's inconvenient because she just moved in and it makes him look bad (honey, far too late). He doesn't actually want to be with Marisol, he just likes the idea of cohabitating because it gives the illusion of a family without actually having to put any effort into building and strengthening it. This is exactly like how in the scene previous, he admits to Bobby that he liked being married, not necessarily that he loved Shannon. He just loved being married to her. This is the exact same thing.

This showcases Eddie's fundamental misunderstanding of both Tommy AND Buck. He has his blinders on the entire episode, and he walks a fine line between just misunderstanding or being willfully ignorant. The same way he doesn't see Buck and Tommy's queerness is in my opinion, the same way he doesn't see his own queerness.

Eddie's facial expressions here--Gosh, hats OFF to Ryan!! He really looked like he was shaken to the core. Especially his face in the last still. You can tell he did not see it coming at all. Because for "manly men" like Eddie, Buck, and Tommy, he's probably never even thought of it being a possibility for people like them.

This is especially evident when his first thought is not of Buck being queer, but of Tommy. And I don't think this is because he's surprised more about Tommy, or is not putting enough emphasis on Buck. I think it's more so that Eddie is aware that Tommy and he have A LOT in common, so much so that Eddie probably heavily identified with Tommy, and to have this part of Tommy be something so "different" from what Eddie expected is more shocking to him in the moment. Because if a man like Tommy (Eddie's narrative mirror) is queer, then what does that say about Eddie? I think that's why his first thought is about Tommy.

It might also be because it's easier for Eddie to process Tommy's queerness in the moment than it is for him to process Buck's queerness. In the same way that Buck was so unsure of why he was so hesitant to tell Eddie, Eddie might be struggling to comprehend Buck's queerness and what that means for them and their relationship without appearing to be unsupportive.

Additionally, it's interesting that Tommy's queerness never came up in conversation since it seemed like Tommy and Eddie got pretty close and "clicked" in a very short period of time. Is it possible Tommy is supposed to contrast Buck here? Buck says "Tommy just doesn't offer that information up". Maybe Tommy is also aware of how supposed "straight" men react when they learn that someone like him is into men. It provides an interesting contrast to Buck, who was so anxious about telling Eddie because he worried about how it would affect their relationship in particular, whereas Tommy just opted not to tell him at all just because he doesn't tell people unless they ask.

Buck asks if this is weird for Eddie, but Buck is aware that Eddie is not a homophobic person, and therefore wouldn't need to be worried (like Tommy could've been since he's only just met them both three weeks ago). Buck's known Eddie for six years, he knows Eddie knows plenty of queer people and has never had an adverse reaction to them. But this is personal because Buck knows that he's one of, if not the closest adult in Eddie's life. If Eddie is uncomfortable with Buck, it ruins their entire...everything. This says to me that Buck knew that by telling Eddie about this something would change, but he just doesn't know what.

I told myself if Eddie said any statements in this episode along this line, anything that felt like it was in the same vein as "no homo" that it would signal to me immediately that they were going to go there with Eddie's sexuality storyline, and this counts for me.

Eddie, it should be a given that you don't like Tommy in the same Buck does. No one in the room is accusing Eddie of being queer, and yet he says this all on his own for no reason other than to purposefully distance himself from queerness. All of which point to internalized homophobia. A person who was secure in their straight sexuality would not feel the need to clarify that they are straight (making it a bit about yourself there, huh, Eddie?) immediately after a close loved one just came out to you.

This is not a scenario where someone's coming on to Eddie and he has to say "no, sorry I'm not into men." This isn't someone asking him point blank, "are you gay?" and he says no. Nowhere in this conversation was there anything that Buck said that could've made Eddie feel like he was also being accused of queerness and yet Eddie feels the need to make it known that is in fact, not gay.

Eddie, a confident straight man, should understand that this convo is about Buck's queerness, not whether or not Eddie is being perceived as queer. This coming right after he looked so shocked about Tommy, when the last two episodes spent a lot of time painstakingly telling us that HEY! HEY! EDDIE AND TOMMY ARE SUPER ALIKE!

Eddie. My guy. Your queer realization arc is coming and of that I am certain.

This line read to me in the same way as the line in 7x01: "but with only one [gender] is there underlying sexual tension". This line, spoken by Buck, was disproven in episode 4. This line here from Eddie is put there to eventually be challenged. This line has two meanings, which is that of course the foundation of their friendship will not change because of Buck's queerness, but it does signal to the audience that some part of their relationship will change. What could that be? The only thing that makes sense at this point in the story is for the romantic aspect of their storyline to finally be explored. I think this is foreshadowing that story that's likely going to come at some point down the line. I don't know if it'll be this season, but it's going to come, of that I'm sure now.

Bucktommy as a direct parallel to Eddiemarisol is so interesting because whereas with Buck you can tell that he genuinely has interest in Tommy, it's heavily juxtaposed by how uninterested in Marisol Eddie has acted pretty much since the second they got together in season 6. Even Eddie's face here looks like he's thinking "wish I knew what that felt like". Don't get me wrong, I do think that Eddie wants a real connection, but I think he thinks that if he just stays with a woman for long enough one will just develop through proximity alone. But that's not how relationships work. It didn't work with Shannon and their relationship continued to be dysfunctional until the day she died. It didn't work with Ana, but that time, his physical reactions were enough to get him to break up with her. With Marisol, I think Eddie's at his patience end. He doesn't want to give up and be alone again. Or worse, have to start trying all over again. He doesn't want to fail again, because failing this time not only means failing himself but failing Christopher as well.

We just saw in 7x01 that Christopher believed that it wouldn't matter what he did, people (girlfriends in this case) would always leave. Christopher learned this from Eddie. Eddie deciding to stick it out with Marisol is both him desperately trying to grasp onto the possibility of a connection, but also a way to prove to himself and to Christopher that not all relationships have to end.

But in this case, Eddie's advice makes sense for Buck, because he's literally in the early stages of this relationship with Tommy, he's still trying to get to know Tommy, and he's trying to adjust to queerness for the first time in his life. For Eddie, this is at minimum a 4-6 month old relationship, one that he's just randomly decided to take "to the next level" and he did all of this without bothering to get to know Marisol AT ALL. That ENTIRE time. While it's true that Buck hasn't yet had a chance to figure it out what it is with Tommy, Eddie has had many chances before but has chosen not to take them. And I think when faced with the reality that he would giving up on yet another relationship, the prospect of failing yet again, he decides to go against what his gut is telling him and stays with Marisol.

I love that Eddie realized before he left that Buck needed physical assurance and gave it to him. This is their first hug in many seasons and it's a beautiful one. Eddie puts his thumb on Buck's pulse yet again, and I'm sure that was a very reassuring thing to feel, to know that Eddie still cares that deeply for him. He even puts his finger up and tells Buck to call Tommy, showing his support for Buck's relationship with Tommy, which was never a question that he would do. Because it's no question that Eddie loves Buck to the core, and he will always want Buck to be happy. He just hasn't figured out that his own happiness is possible specifically with Buck.

This entire scene also was physically blocked very similar to the scene in the episode right before, the scene that ended with Tommy kissing Buck. The only difference here was the topic of conversation and the fact that it ended in a hug and not a kiss. Buck lets out a sigh of relief as Eddie leaves, exactly the same way he let out a sign of relief after realizing his attraction to men.

Marisol's possessions in this episode have been a metaphor for who she is. Eddie's choice to look in the boxes at the beginning of the episode was him finally dipping his toe into learning who she is and he was uncomfortable with what he saw there, not because of Marisol, but because it reminded him that he's not being true to himself in this relationship. And now, he's given another chance here at the end. Marisol's metaphorical box is open, and an invitation for Eddie to take to get to know her more, and instead of wanting to get to know her, he says he "doesn't want to know what's in there". He admits that not only does he not know Marisol, but he doesn't WANT to get to know her.

In the same way, Eddie doesn't know the truth of who he is, he doesn't want to find out the truth. He doesn't want to open the pandora's box inside him and wade through the shit until he finds the tiny little bit of hope. Eddie would rather close the box and leave it closed and keep this relationship with Marisol going rather than try to dig deeper to figure out the real reason why this whole issue happened.

Marisol's reasons for not telling Eddie about the nun thing herself are understandable. She was worried about judgment, rejection, or possible fetishization. It makes sense to me why Eddie, in the end, was able to ask for just a minute to digest it. I think he realized that in the end, the nun thing isn't the whole dealbreaker here, it's something else. Something he's not willing to examine at this time. And since he's realized that the problem isn't Marisol, but him, he can move past the weirdness, and accept Marisol.

Because it's not Marisol he's accepting or rejecting, but the promise of a continued relationship in the future.

Marisol offers him a chance to back out, and you can tell that his first instinct (his "gut" reaction) is to take it. And yet....he adds a "yet". He keeps her on the hook, and he ignores the signs his gut is telling him. In an episode written partially by Taylor Wong who laid all the same "the universe is screaming" and "I do not panic" story threads, Eddie is once again ignoring them and going against his gut despite what he says next.

Eddie tells Marisol that he tends to rush his relationships, and this is true. Despite Eddie being so stubborn and hard to get to know most of the time when it comes to his romantic relationships, he over-commits. I've already talked about how he did the same thing with all of his relationships, including Shannon. He over-commits and under-delivers. I'm glad that they're pointing this out textually in canon because it's true and it's a large part of the issue, even though the root of it is not yet being explored.

However, him saying he "goes with his gut" and lets his head catch up later, is both a true and false statement. When it comes to his romantic relationships Eddie purposely ignores his gut, each and every time. When his gut tells him that he shouldn't bring Shannon back into his life, he ignores it (though this situation is a bit more nuanced). When his gut tells him something's wrong with his relationship with Ana, he says he's going to stick it out anyway. When his gut tells him to end things with Marisol, he doubles down.

The true part of this statement is that he lets his head catch up later. But the thing is that when his body tries to show him later on that something is wrong, whether that be through panic attacks or sexual dysfunction, he continues to ignore it or refuses to dig into it deeper. He still hasn't confronted the truth of his unhealthy relationship with Shannon. He didn't examine why his relationship with Ana didn't work, and he's not questioning himself deeply enough to ask why he's so deeply uncomfortable in his relationship with Marisol.

One thing is for sure, Eddie is an unreliable narrator. He has a hard time understanding his feelings let alone communicating them, and therefore whenever he says statements like these, I think it's worth it to always question it. Does it actually feel like he's telling the truth from a place of understanding, or from a place of what he wishes he could feel?

Go to part four (last part).

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4