#everyone who abandoned family and chosed the world first

[nelkcats]

The Spiteful Ghost

Danny loved space, and loved exploring it almost as much as he loved the Realms (yes, apparently he had made a home there, and learned to love its quirkiness, who could knew right?). The problem was that over the years the halfa acquired another characteristic: He hated heroes.

It might seem ironic, considering his teenager years but he just couldn't stand the concept of heroism (he never chosed to be one), not after all he had been through. Not after losing his family and ending up with more than deep wounds, not after humanity called him a villain for protecting the ghosts, not after the world chosed to sacrifice him after all he did for them (Amity was his world, and the city handed him over on a silver platter to save itself, they forced him to take drastic measures, actions he should never have taken, but when you're alone it turns out that no one can stop you)

They say that rancor can change you, the halfa can confirm. The point is, Danny hated heroes (he hated what they had to go through, hated that adult heroes weren't there for him, hated what it took to be a hero, leaving everything for the world was absurd, why would you accept something like that?). When the ghosts told him about the DC dimension he didn't take it exactly well. Although at least those heroes had a base in space.

Clockwork forbade him to go for a few months (he understood his grudge, quite personal, but he didn't want it to destroy him, he didn't want him to destroy himself), but when he saw him lost and depressed he allowed it, probably because he knew it would cheer him up for a while. Maybe he saw some future where he reconciled with the "profession", or maybe he thought he needed it (the halfa wasn't evil, Clockwork knew he wouldn't hurt anyone).

So, Danny arrived in the hero dimension and set out to be the world's biggest nuisance: moved chairs, ate their snacks, disappeared their stuff. He wasn't doing anything exceptionally big until he overheard an argument between the Red Hood and Batman.

After that, Batman ran out of gadgets in no time and Red Hood found little desserts everywhere. By the time they called JLD, it was pretty obvious they had an invader (the invader strangely loved Young Justice, and anti-heroes, seemed to hate Batman thought).

John Constantine entered feeling that he was walking to his funeral, why the hell had the Ghost King installed himself in a hero base, if it was rumored that he hated them to death?

#dpxdc #ghost king danny #The GIW went too far #and killed everyone that Danny cared about #Amity blamed him for those deaths #They blamed the ghosts for everything #and soon after that the whole city called him a villain for protecting the ghosts instead of just collaborating with the GIW #But Danny couldn't do that #the ghosts comforted him #the ghosts gave him a home #they understood #dp x dc #dc x dp #He ended destroying the GIW and leaving Amity #After Amity betrayed him and almost got him double killed #he couldn't stand the concept of heroism after that #he began to hate everyone who called themselves a hero #everyone who abandoned family and chosed the world first #because deep inside him Danny felt that that was the wrong choice #but even if it was he didn't like killing or anything #so he did some pranks to the JL #He sabotaged their equipments and was a nuisance in general while helping teenage heroes who didn't know better #Danny hate heroes #danny is tired

[the-broken-truth]

Broken-Style Remix: No Peace For A Peace God

Broken: Hello, Everyone! My friend - @anxiousnerdwritings - allowed me to make a small snippet they created about a Minor God of Peace Reader leaving the Patheon they were in to live their immortal life in the mortal world; however, coming in contact with Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and the Amazons makes that rather difficult. Let's see how everything goes. Let the words weave together!

Note: [Name] is a Minor God of Peace in the Greek Patheon; I chose Greek because the Amazons have ties to the Greek Patheon. This one-shot will be told from a first-person perspective.

Based on my observations, it seems that people eagerly anticipate the point in their lives when they no longer have to work. They view it as a time when they can live off the money they've saved over the years or the pension they receive from the government. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like if I were a human being, attending school, getting a job, starting a family, and growing old before passing away and potentially being reincarnated to start anew.

Alas, fate did not wish that kind of life for me; thus, I was given the life of an immortal, even if my former role in the patheon was not are important as others were.

I am [Name], a Minor God/Goddess and the God/Goddess of Peace in the Greek Divine Pantheon. However, I must clarify that the rightful title of Goddess of Peace belongs to Lady Eirene. Though I am a Minor God/Goddess, I possess some powers similar to Lady Eirene's, but not on the same scale as hers. I can bring about peaceful solutions amongst mortals in small groups, such as villages and some of the other minor gods who reside on Mount Olympus. Lady Eirene, on the other hand, is responsible for maintaining peaceful relations between full-blown towns and councils with Olympus' Elite Gods. Although we both perform our duties well, Lady Eirene's name is more well-known and overshadows mine. As a result, I rarely receive offerings and prayers, and although I know I shouldn't be upset about it, it sometimes hurts my feelings.

As time passed, I began observing humanity closely and grew curious about their way of life. I even found myself envious of them. I considered leaving Olympus and living my immortal life among mortals, but my duties as a divine being held me back. I thought I still had a place among the gods and goddesses of Olympus, so I stayed.

One day, Lord Zeus invited all the minor and major gods and goddesses from other realms to a party on Mount Olympus. I arrived just before the party started, but was stopped by Lord Ares and Lord Zeus before I could enter the Great Hall. They told me that I could come to the party, but I argued that I was also of divine origin and therefore should be allowed in as well. Lady Eirene appeared, sensing the tension, but instead of vouching for me as a fellow god of peace, she told me that I shouldn't consider myself a god or goddess since I rarely received any offerings or prayers. She told me to leave Mount Olympus since the night was for the "true gods". That was the last straw for me.

I told them that I would no longer listen to them and that I wouldn't be tied to them by my divine blood. I abandoned Olympus and my fellow gods and goddesses at that moment and descended to the mortal realm. From that day on, I would live the remainder of my immortal life as a mortal. I was finally free.

Although I have lived for centuries, I appear to be only 18 years old. During my long life, I have accumulated a vast collection of gems and treasures. With the aim of starting my life anew, I decided to sell a small portion of them and make a decent amount of money. I took my collection to an appraiser, who gave me a fair price. Since I didn't want to stay in Greece any longer, I used the money to purchase a ticket for the first boat out of the country.

Destination?

A place known as Gotham City.

The boat ride from Gotham was long but that gave me all the time I needed to make the proper plans I needed to start my life over: I would use my power to give myself citizenship by creating the necessary documents such as a birth certificate and social security number. Next, I would find a decent place to live before finding a job; I may have the funds I need to live on, but I still need a life for myself. I made a mental note to purchase a device known as a 'cell phone';; a passenger on the boat was watching something 'videos' on a social platform known as 'YouTube'. I was going to need this strange device and knowledge of these social media platforms if I truly wanted to be a human.

I acquired a cell phone and started searching for apartment listings in my area. I found a decent 2-bedroom unit with a bathroom, living room, dining room, kitchen, and a balcony. I contacted the realtor and he was eager to show me the apartment the same day. We agreed to meet at a local cafe that was currently hiring for a barista and baker, as it was located right down the street from the apartment. Before the realtor arrived, I managed to pick up an application from the hiring manager. We then walked to the apartment, which was rather nice with dark wooden floors in the living and dining rooms, tiled floors in the kitchen and bathroom, and carpet in the bedrooms. The rent and deposit were reasonable, and the realtor had the paperwork with him. He told me that if I signed it, I could move in the same day. I had a look at the leasing contract to ensure that there were no hidden terms, and upon finding nothing, I asked a few questions with the recording app on my phone to use as evidence in case the realtor tried anything suspicious later. After signing the paperwork, I received the keys to the apartment and mailbox. The realtor informed me that I would receive a copy of the lease in the mail, and then left me alone in my new apartment.

A week later, I returned to the cafe with the filled-out application for the barista and baker positions; after a test to prove I would be capable of handling the tasks under pressure - there wasn't really any pressure since I used my aura to keep everyone calm and acting decent and in order - I was given the job.

It would be another month when my mortal life started shifting in another direction upon meeting Bruce Wayne.

I was working the morning shift when a well-dressed male with piercing blue eyes walked into the cafe and walked over to the counter; there was no line since I already handled it an hour ago. He ordered a dark coffee and a strawberry cheesecake muffin before he took a seat in the booth; there was something about him that radiated sadness. He continued working on his laptop for about 2 hours, long since finishing his coffee and muffin; I made him another coffee, warmed up another muffin, and placed them before him, causing him to look at me with confusion in his eyes, I smiled at him.

"You seem like you are under a lot of stress, these are on the house." I said before walking away. Just then, the door burst open and 3 masked figures barged in with guns, causing everyone to scream in fear while cowering in their chairs but I refused to move from where I was standing. The leader of the group pointed his gun in my face but I looked calmly down the barrel before lifting my hand and moving the gun away before looking into his eyes - into his soul - and his secrets were revealed to me; he was doing this out of desperation.

"Do you think that she would want you to do this?" I asked, causing him to look at me confused, "I know that you are not doing this because of malice in your heart. I know that you are shaking in your soul with fear and anxiety. You want to be a good son and save the woman who gave you everything but this is not the way to do that."

"Then, what can I do? What other option do I have?" He whimpered at me. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small ruby, and held it out to him before placing it in his palm.

"This is a Burmese Ruby. A Ruby of this size should be worth around $20,000; that should be more than enough to pay for her treatment and aid you in what else you need for a while. Please, never resort to this again; there is always a better way. Do you swear this?" I asked. He looked at the ruby, closed it in his fist, and sobbed before hugging me for a few moments and leaving with the other masked them. Everyone watched me for a while as I walked back around the counter to continue working as if nothing ever happened.

It would be about 3 days later when I received a visit from the Guardian of Gotham.

I had just arrived home after a long day at work, and the visage of a piping hot pizza filled my mind as I pulled out my phone and called my favorite pizza place and asked them to deliver my favorite [Pizza Type] pizza along with [Favorite Soda Type] soda with an [Dessert] in addition; I had some extra cash and I felt like I deserved something sweet for all my hard work. I sat down in my favorite chair and turned on my television to watch [Favorite TV Show] while waiting for my pizza. I was intuned with my show when I felt a familiar aura coming from my balcony, I looked in that direction and saw a towering figure standing on my balcony, watching me while blocking out the moonlight. I rose from my chair and walked over to the door before sliding it open and came face to face with a man in a bat suit. I looked at his face, the upper part of his face covered by his ask with a glare on his face as he looked down at me; however, his aura gave him away.

"You are aware that I don't have muffins and coffee here, right?" I asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile on my face; he looked shocked by my words and marched into the apartment, causing me to close my door and walk over to him with my arms folded, "Is there a reason you are wearing that suit and staring at me through my window, Mr. Wayne?"

"How do you know who I am?" He asked.

"Your aura gave it away - you're radiating the same sadness you were the moment we met. You can change outfits but your aura shall always remain the same.

"You can read aura? You are not human." He said.

"Nope. I'm not human, however, I do prefer to live like one; I've been living like this for the past month & a half and I prefer living to this than I did my previous life." I shrugged.

"If you aren't human, what are you exactly?" He asked.

"I'd rather not say." I heard a knock on the front door, and my mouth started watering, "Food's here! About time!" I walked to the door, greeted the delivery man, and paid for my food while giving him a generous tip before closing the door behind me with my foot since the food was in my hands; I looked around to see Burce was no longer there but I didn't care. Time to eat!

Life going forward would be difficult after meeting Burce Wayne because he didn't learn how to leave me the heck alone. He would come to the cafe and attempt to make conversation with me, trying to gain personal information about me. He would show up at my apartment as Bruce and Batman constantly trying to make me change my lifestyle to a 'healthier' one; he doesn't approve of the additional muffins I take home or the amount of frozen food I have in my freezer. Even when I am out in public, he somehow manages to find me and tries to interfere with my plans or worm his way into them. Then, he literally tried to tell me that I would be adopted into his family; no matter how many times I refused. He was really starting to get on my nerves.

It would be another month when I met another person who would attempt to uproot my life & alter it to their liking: The Man of Steel, Kal-El.

While working at a cafe, I discovered my passion for drawing, specifically digital art and animation. One day, I came across a contest on TV offering a drawing tablet as the prize and decided to enter. To my surprise, I won the contest and received the setup at my doorstep a week later. I set it up in the second room of my apartment, which I converted into an office. Initially, it took me some time to get used to the tablet, but soon I started creating digital art and animations, which I shared on my social media accounts. That was the beginning of my journey.

After accumulating a massive following on Facebook and Twitter, I received a message from an Animation Company stationed in Metropolis; they were requesting that I come in for a meeting for a possible partnership in regards to my art and animations. I agreed to their request and I received the time and date for the meeting; Metropolis was a decent distance away but I happened to have purchased a motorcycle last week and was looking forward to the meeting.

I got on my bike with my flash drives full of art and animations and headed to Metropolis for a meeting. Once I arrived at the building, I gave my name to the receptionist, who then took me to the meeting room. There, I presented my work and the representatives were thrilled with it. They offered me a generous signing bonus and commission for every artwork and animation I created for them. I agreed to do commission work as I wanted to keep my weekend job at the cafe but would work on their projects during the week. After reading and signing the business deal, I left the building. As I was leaving, I bumped into a tall man with light blue eyes, black hair, glasses, and a reporter's outfit with a camera around his neck, as well as a notepad and pen in his hands. He introduced himself as Clark Kent, a journalist and reporter for the Daily Planet of Metropolis. He wanted to interview me as the youngest person to be hired by the Animation Company. I offered to take him to lunch and give him the interview he was looking for after hearing his stomach growl.

During our conversation, he told me about his family: His wife and work partner, Lois, his son, Jon, and his younger brother, Connor; as well as his parents John and Martha Kent. I expressed how lucky he was to have such a close family since I wasn't close with my family. He seemed sad for me and offered to have me meet this family and even offered to have me take the Kent Name for myself since I didn't have a surname, but I refused his offer and went back home to start getting to work on the content my new bosses wanted me to do for completion in 2 weeks time. However, that would not be the last time I would ever see Clark Kent.

I was doing work in my office when I got a video call from Bruce, who was still pestering me to join his family and become [Name] Wayne, but I continued to refuse him when I noticed there was another request for a video call from someone I didn't recognize; curiosity got the better of me and I accepted the call - it happened to be Clark.

Clark (Smiling): Hi, [Name]! How are you doing today?!

[Name]: How did you get my contact information, Clark? I didn't give it to you the last time we talked.

Clark: I happen to have a friend who knew you and I got your contact information from him, but that's not important right now! Have you thought about what we talked about?

Bruce (In the background): You were the one who broke into my computer and stole [Name's] Contact Information, Kent?

Clark: Bruce? Is that you?

[Name] merges the call between Bruce and Clark]

Clark: Bruce, why are you talking to [Name]?

Bruce: I can ask you the same thing, Kent. I'm am trying to convince [him/her] to accept the Wayne Name.

Clark: The Wayne Name? No way that's happening! [Name] is going to become a Kent!

[Name]: I'm not taking either of your names nor am I joining your families. The Bat-Family & Super-Family have nothing to do with me and I want nothing to do with either of you. Now, I'm working, leave me alone.

[Name] Leaves The Video Call]

After that video call, it was silent for about 3 weeks, I thought the two of them got the message and decided to leave me alone; however, I couldn't be more wrong.

It was around that time a 3rd Player entered the game and I was going to have a hard time shaking this one off.

The Princess of the Amazonian Nation and Defender of Man's World: Diana of Themyscira.

It was one of my days off and I had nothing better to do, so I decided to do something I hadn't done in a long while - go flying. I waited for the sun to leave the sky and the full moon to shine, I stood on the roof of my apartment complex and made sure no one was around before I allowed my Divine Power to flow through my body and took off into the thick layers of clouds. Using the clouds as cover, even though I was almost certain no one could see me from this height, and if they happened to see me, they would have most likely mistaken me for a bird. I was enjoying myself, feeling the breeze on my face when I felt another aura quickly approaching me; I stopped flying and floated there for a while I noticed a figure approaching me and stopped a few feet away from me - A Woman.

No.

An Amazon Warrior.

"I am Diana of Themyscira - Princess of the Amazon Nation. I have served the gods faithfully and have always been able to sense when someone of divine blood was near. Imagine my surprise to find a Divine One masquerading as a human and living as one. I heard of your actions from 2 Males I have been working with to protect Man's Word; I can feel it within you - You are a God/Goddess, I can tell from your aura." Diana explained to me, I exhaled before folding my arms while looking at her.

"You are correct, I am a God/Goddess of Peace; however, I am a Minor God/Goddess. I was sick of the way I was being created on Mount Olympus and decided to leave and live as a human. I have been enjoying life as I have been now; with the exception of Bruce Wayne & Clark Kent bothering me to join their families, alas, they refuse to take no for an answer." I exhaled with a shake of my head at the thought of all of Bruce's & Clark's attempts.

"They shall not get the chance. You are of Divine Blood and you need to be treated as such. You shall come with me to Themyscira and we shall worship you as you are meant to be." Diana said.

"I'm not interested. I love being a human." I said.

"You are not human...and you shall not continue to live as one. Come with me willingly, or I shall take you by force." Diana warned.

"I said that I am not interested. Goodbye." I said. She charged at me and attempted to grab my arm but I vanished and teleported back to my living room in a flash of gold light.

I ran my hand through my hair, pulled out my phone, and requested a month's vacation from both of my jobs. Once I received confirmation on both ends, I called a friend who owns a cabin in the woods, away from Gotham & Metropolis, and asked to use it for a month. He agreed since he owed me a favor. I packed a few things such as clothes, my sketch tablet, grade & color pencils, and my wallet. I made sure my bike was locked securely and asked my neighbor, who I was on good terms with, to watch my house while I was out of the city. After receiving confirmation from her, I went back inside to grab my suitcase before teleporting to the cabin's location since I had been there before. I knew where the spare key was and went inside to get some sleep. I just wanted to relax.

Currently, I was sitting on the porch of the cabin with a cup of coffee in my hands when I felt 3 Familair Auras approaching my current location; I knew they were going to find me eventually but I was surprised it took them this long - my vacation was going to be over in 3 days; might as well deal with this now. I sipped my coffee just as a black bat-themed jet appeared over the treeline before hovering on the ground and the cockpit opened as Batman jumped out and started walking towards me as Superman and Wonder Woman landed on the low grass at the same time, glaring at each other before glaring at Bruce who was standing before me, telling me it was time for me to join his family.

Superman matched over to his dark-dressed friend and grabbed his shoulder to push him away from me while barking that I was going to go to the Kent Farm in Smallville, Kansas to live with his Pa & Ma; he already told them about me and they were looking forward to meeting me and welcoming me to the Kent Family.

Wonder Woman pushed the two men apart and roared at them that I was a God/Goddess, therefore I needed to be treated like one and not a human as I have been living for the past few months. I would go with her to the Amazon Island and be worshipped as I was meant to be; while that would have interested me in the past, I wasn't interested in it now.

As for me, I just sat there watching them before exhaling, 'Just as there are geniuses in Humanity, there are also idiots.'

[End of the Remix]

Broken: And done. What do you think, @anxiousnerdwritings?

#minor god reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere #batman #superman #wonder woman #bruce wayne #clark kent #diana of themyscira #yandere

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hello) Playing with a high elf noble Tav right now and just thought... Astarion and Tav with a Noble background headcanons?

Noble Tav is an interesting choice! I will stick to Noble Tav \ any race, but, if you want Noble High Elf Tav, let me know in the asks! There are a lot of things to write about Tav, who is an Elven royalty.

And I also found there is a sub type of Noble Background called Noble Knight. Basically a member of the nobility, who chose a life of adventures and helping the less fortunate, which I also can write, if you send me a request.

Astarion x Noble!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You were born to luxury and power, being a member of an ancient house whose lineage can be traced back to the first centuries of the Dawn of Humanity.

Will you choose the life of power? Or would you prefer to thrive on your ancestor’s legacy by simply having fun?

Since childhood, you’ve learned a lot about the history, culture, and politics of Faeurn.

You are intelligent, well-behaved, and hungry for power.

That’s why your family chose you to be sent to Baldur’s Gate to establish connections with local lords.

Baldur’s Gate looks like a dumpster to you - too loud, too dirty, too vulgar.

You receive the message that your mother has gone, and you have to return home to rule your lands.

But you are kidnapped by Mindflayers.

There is a positive side to being spoilt-rich from birth.

It’s the desire to live.

Being confident in your skills and luck, you not only manage to escape the inevitable death, but also embrace your legacy as a powerful leader.

You are going to be in charge, kick everyone’s asses and no god will bestow their will upon you.

But there is also a lesson of injustice, unfamiliar to you.

Your vampire lover and his horrible past.

You don’t believe he was a bad person.

And even if he was, he didn’t deserve this cruelty.

Besides, you see through his lies. He tries to look like a nobleman to you, with his mannerisms and habits.

But you know they are as fake as theatre decorations.

If anything, Astarion looks like a former slave trying to blend with his former owners but remaining inferior to the people of power.

Using your skills for diplomacy, you make a lot of allies - and you also think that an army of 7000 spawns is a very good dowry

What if you need them in the future?

You win and accept the title of the Baldur’s Gate hero.

Once Astarion starts burning in the sunlight, he runs away from you and you are afraid he will never come back

He does. But he wants to say goodbyes.

“Darling, I appreciate everything you‘ve done for me. But your future is without me. You are an heir, a fucking nobility. What will your people think about me being a vampire? What will your family think? They will either kill me or kill us both. Live your life, I won’t forget you.”

Before you manage to object, he disappears in the shadows again and you return home brokenhearted.

You feel lonely in your palace and helpless with things you have to do.

Laws to introduce, alliances to make, and shit to deal with.

But one day you wake up, feeling that someone is in your room.

Before you snatch your dagger, a cold hand shuts your mouth.

Astarion sits on your bed, wearing a traveller hunter suit.

“I missed you, love” he whispers, pinning you to bed.

You yell at him. You curse. You are actually so loud you wake up the guardians but when they rush into the room they get an order to treat Astarion as your guest.

You are still angry and you need time.

Astarion has a proposition. “Let’s run away! There is a world to see together. I am free but there isn’t much worth from it if I can’t share it with anybody”

You refuse. You have duties and you won’t abandon them.

You ask him to stay. To rule with you as your “dark consort”.

Besides, it’s always better to have a vampire of your own than having to deal with a vampire you don’t know.

First of all, you forge Astarion a noble ancestry. Anyway, mostly all of the ancient elven families left for the Isle of Evermeet a century ago, and it’s always possible to pretend to be one of them.

Then, you make a good excuse for his nocturnal lifestyle.

A curse. As ancient as your own house. Can’t go into the sunlight, very believable.

But you also offer a reward to anyone who will be able to bring you either a Sunwalker Ring or the Cloak of Dragomir.

Astarion helps you deal with the most difficult legal mess left to you by your ancestors.

He knows about such things much more than your court.

Astarion is your consort, your advisor, your right hand. He rules from shadows, meanwhile you shine in the sunlight.

Astarion enjoys this life of luxury to the extreme.

The best fabric for his clothes, the softest bedlinen, adornments you could buy a village with.

He is also very good at managing the palace - especially the dungeons below it, which hold thousands of secrets.

And Astarion often calls himself “your trophy husband”.

Well, he is. As the Baldur’s Gate savior, you returned empty-handed.

A beautiful prince is the least you could claim!

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion imagine

[lemonluvgirl]

Anybody who says Katniss was bullied into marriage and having children either, A.) Doesn't know Katniss Everdeen, and therefore did NOT read the books, or B.) They have completely misinterpreted the entire message of The Hunger Games series and are incapable of seeing the bigger picture.

Which is that Katniss never wanted to be anything more than free. She just wanted to take care of her family and live her life freely. All these people harping on her for getting married and having babies forget that Katniss made her vow not to marry as a reaction to her father's death and her mother's abandonment.

That decision and almost all of her subsequent decisions in the books up until the end of Mockingjay regarding love and marriage revolve around fear.

The message of the Hunger Games when it comes to love is not that there is nothing to fear about falling in love or getting attached to people. All through the series its proved time and again that love and emotional attachment is costly. Because everytime Katniss allows herself to get close to someone they get hurt.

But what Katniss learns is that love and caring for others cannot be avoided completely. It's part of the human experience that cannot be denied unless you want to end up like President Snow, emotionally dead inside, caring only about yourself and what people can do for you. And avoiding/running away from human connection is often just as painful as losing it. And it is detrimental to people.

Katniss loses her sister in the war and almost loses herself because feels she failed at protecting the people she cared for. Everyone from Prim, to Rue, to Cinna, Squad 451, Finnick, and Peeta. She is barely alive and barely hanging onto her sanity after the war.

The thing that brings her back to life is Peeta moving back to District 12. His return is the sign that she can rebuild her life after losing nearly everything.

Because Peeta too, lost nearly everything including his own mind. But he fought hard to reclaim his memories and his mental health. He helps Katniss recover from the mental and emotional toll the war and everything that came before.

Because at the foundation of their relationship is their enduring promise to keep each other alive, to protect each other, and it goes so much deeper than romance or sex and whatnot.

They've been through hell and back many times and know each other inside out. When they fall back in love it's not because they feel pressured, but because they finally feel free to do so. It's just them and Haymitch in the Victors village and they know they don't have to put on an act for him, or anyone really.

Their relationship is finally allowed to take it's natural course, which Katniss clearly states was inevitable.

This would have happened anyway people.

And when she decides to have children she is afraid at first. From personal experience I can tell you it's terrifying, the idea of bringing new life into the world. It's a feeling of responsibility that never gets easier or ever really goes away. But the joy of allowing yourself to love and be loved in return is incomparable.

Not every heroine needs to get married and have babies, I will admit. But for Katniss it closes out her character arc perfectly.

She fights so hard, and loses so much, but ultimately rebuilds and faces her deepest fears. She doesn't let her loses define her. She believes her life can be good again. And then she makes it good again. One day at a time.

Which is a lesson to all of us about the endurance of the human spirit and about how female characters are allowed to find happiness and contentment in whatever form they chose. Flower dresses and chubby newborns and all.

#thg #katnisseverdeen #my opinions #but also they are the correct ones #katniss chose her happy ending #i will fight anyone who says different

[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.

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@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #elvis x you #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis fandom #austin elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis x elaine #elvis one shot

[roseadleyn]

CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO MORE YANDERE CASSIS FICS

i would never abandon you guys after you sent asks like these

i'm sorry if this took too long. i'm still busy and this took me time, i do hope it was worth the wait though!! enjoy <33

WHY DO I STILL FUCKING MISS YOU? || Cassis Pedelian.

tw: hints of abuse, sexual implications, said sexual implictions are dubcon, obsession, reader is on the breaking point and falls off of said breaking point

this is cassis after the timeskip

'Sweetheart.' His voice is like honey, sweet and rich and deep, but in your dazed and hazy state, all it does is pull at your sanity even more. 'I need to go.'

You hadn't slept.

How could you? How could you do anything except stare, and stare, and stare into blind nothingness, with hot, stinging eyes, because you were in the embrace of a man who claimed to love you, yet he isolated you from your life and the world and everyone you ever knew, and locked you up in dark, dark rooms where you were all alone, and did such unforgivable, terrible things to you? How could you sleep?

Your captor's hands ruffled your hair. You knew he had seen your state of unhappy consciousness, and you knew he was waiting for a reply.

The thing was... as messed up as it was... you didn't want him to leave. If Cassis left for the day like he usually did, it meant you would be doing nothing the entire day, just lying there in silk and lace, waiting for him like some kind of toy. When he was here — and when you actually behaved — it was at least a relief to have another human being in the same room, someone who ran their hands through your hair and rubbed your tired, weary shoulders, someone who talked and even told you stories about his day. You had read almost every book in the household, and there was only so much painting you could do, and because he had taken you to his own palace, you couldn't even see his family —

'Angel?' You could practically hear the smile in his tone, prompting you, warning you, to say something. To say what he wanted to hear.

You made your decision. Letting out a shuddering breath, you inched closer into his embrace. 'Stay.'

Cassis moved the hair away from your eyes. 'Yeah? You want me to stay?'

You nodded, tears forming at the thought of another day of just roaming your way too big home, doing absolutely nothing with your time and — no, wait — it was not your home. It was his home. This was just your house. Yes. That was it. 'Please.'

Cassis kissed your forehead. 'Are you sure?'

You reach pale, trembling hands around his shoulders and look up at him with wide, sleepless eyes. 'If you go… no… please…'

You didn't like this, but he really was all you had now. It was him, and it had been him for so long, and it was still going to be him, in the future, as far as you could see. Was it really wrong? Was it wrong to miss him when he left? Was it wrong to feel joy when he returned? Was it wrong to let him pull you close and wrap you in his cashmere sweaters that were way too big on you? Was it wrong to love him when he kissed you breathless?

No. It couldn't be. Cassis was good to you; you could talk to him. You could make it okay. He had never… never hurt you… even those long, long hours spent in the darkness of the room… he hadn't hurt you, he'd done it because — because you broke his heart first. How could you reject him so, when he loved you so much that it destroys him?

'So… you'll stay?' You ask, and your voice is both hopeful and heartbroken.

Well, if he heard the break in your voice, he chose to ignore it. He smiled, and that damned smile of his was pretty enough to make you tear up all over again. 'Of course. I would never leave you.'

That was all you needed, and you let Cassis hold you, kiss you, murmur praise in his low, calming voice into your ears, run his hands over your body and underneath your nightgown, to the place that still made you tremble — except this time, you did little to stop him.

You thought about how, a few months ago, you would've fought back against him — fought back against him fiercely and passionately, fought back like your very survival was on the line, only for Cassis to bring you down, calm you down, drag you back to the bed and remind you of who amongst you two was stronger, smarter, infinitely more capable, of to whom your pretty body and mind forever belonged to.

And as Cassis withdraws his hands — though still keeping them wrapped tightly around you — you thought about how you used to take every possible chance to escape. Windows, doors, basement trapdoors, even butter knives that you'd desperately try to fend Cassis off with. Nothing had ever worked. It only made things worse for you.

And as the pale, silken white curtains turn blue and pink and rose gold with the sunrise, and the entire room seems to glow in the silence, you thought about how beautiful Cassis is. He's divine, with pretty eyes of molten gold, and pale, pearly hair, and a smile so heavenly that it almost — almost — doesn't even suit him with what he did to you.

And as Cassis's sleeping form entangled itself with your much smaller, much softer one, you thought about was how much you used to fear Cassis, and yet — if Cassis were to leave you, then…

Well, you're not very sure about what you'd do, but… it might just break you.

tagging ; @mysticmeena, @writerig, @loekas, @loekas, @ykassu, @dion-s-lawyer, @that-one-pretty-bitch, @yourlocalintrovertt, @orlic1a, @hmerus, @cerisearan, @dxmoness, @salvatvre, @d10nsaint, @meow-meow-potato, @parkykwho, @izumi-astra-123, @ithil-lucien, and @palaceofghosts.

#꒰ ☽︎ ꒱ — stars. #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #twtptflob #yandere twtptflob #yandere manhwa #cassis pedelian #yandere cassis pedelian #cassis x reader #— on queue. #i hate this (singsong voice)

[sweetbrier2908]

there are so many things that make satan "the odd one" in the family.

like he's the only one in the family is restraining his sinful nature. yes, he could be wrathful every second every minute every hour every day (like back when he first came to this world, he was the real definition of a tickling bomb) like mammon is greedy for all his life or asmo whose live is completely affected by his lust; but satan chose not to, he chose to restain his nature, he chose to learn how to control his emotion and his anger in order to not hurt his family and everyone else. satan could be angry, it's not like his family will abandon him. but he didn't want it. even satan didn't want his life to be controlled by his nature. and he's the only demon by birth in the family.

to become a worthy one. to stand by side his brothers who have live for a longest time and used to be the pride of a world he didn't know about. to be a part of the family because family protect each other and being family somehow means that you want to do something for people you love and make them proud.

satan is the only one who is trying to be a worthy member of his family, without knowing that the moment he appeared they already considered him "brother". he's the odd one in the family, and it's not like his family will abandon him for that.

#just some thoughts about HIM #the wrathful demons who only gets angry if you cross his boundaries #like throwing pies in his face #or acting disrespectful and rude towards him #or comparing him to Lucifer- RUN! #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #i love him #satan the demon you are #always keeping good composure such a gentleman #like really love him

[askganon]

Great King, I need encouragement. I have not had an easy life. Any form of abuse besides sexual my parents committed against me. Any time anything is left to chance the worst possible outcome is chosen by the gods, even should I do everything right. I have more mental illnesses, mental and physical disabilities than I can count. I cant do many jobs and can hardly hold most of the ones I CAN do down, on account of the disabilities. My family comes from the worst poverty possible and its grip on me is so strong I know I will never be comfortably free from it. Everyone I've ever known has abandoned me and those that came back keep me at a healthy distance as fair weather friends. Simply put, I'm a survivor, and I intend to survive as long as there is sand in my hourglass. When I am knocked down, nails bloodied and gone, nose broken, I spit my teeth and blood out of my mouth, wipe the dirt out of my eyes and get back up only to get punched back down to the ground just to get back up again. I take pride in this fact, should the whole world and even the gods/goddesses and even lady luck herself be my enemy I will. Not. Succumb. But I am tired... I tired of being strong, I tire of pain, of being offered relief or a mercy only to have it snatched away from me at the cruelest moment against all odds, of having every bit of happiness locked behind one paywall I can never hope to meet, of having everyone like me but never cherish me... I tire not of life but never having lived. I tire of only ever surviving. I dont know what to do, where I can find relief, when or how I get to rest even if just for a moment. I know I must continue on and I know that I will but I have no desire or motivation to do so. Any words of advice or encouragement from you would be a gift, I have admired you since I was young for you have lived a similar life.

There is little I can add as endearment, for all that I would say you have already stated in your resolve.

But you have come to Demon King Ganondorf seeking wisdom. So, it is Demon King Ganondorf's wisdom you shall have.

First, I will make a wound and force it to bleed. Then, I will put salt in that wound, and make you feel the sting of truth. It is only with calm and mature reflection can one see the purpose in the words beyond appeared insult.

First, the wound.

Life is not happiness.

Life is struggle, trial, failure and pain. It can be torment and relief, beautiful and ugly, but it is never happy. Any who speak otherwise are either fools or devils.

It has been said that life is the pursuit of happiness. This is a dream for the mad.

In truth, a "good" life, or one lived well, is one not driven by happiness, but by contentment.

To achieve this, a choice must be made. It is only one choice, but it is the same choice one must make eternally. That is to choose between compromise and suffrage.

In short, will you compromise to be content, or will you suffer for it?

To place this into an example, I could have compromised as King, living content with "It could be worse." Or I could have suffered for contentment with "It could be better."

Which do you think I chose?

Now for the salt.

I have listened to the retelling of your life, and have words regarding it.

I hold no sympathy for abusers of any kind. They cannot match the skills and abilities of their peers, so choose instead to face opponents they know they can conquer. There is no honor nor challenge in an assured victory, and I expect all of them to die knowing they were failures in life and will be forgotten in death.

But as to your abandonments, I hold a different opinion. While the abandonment of one might whisper you the victim, the abandonment of all screams the opposite.

Reflect on these relationships and seek out the common root between them. Do this, but do not rest on the easy answer and use your disabilities as a crutch.

It is said that hurt people hurt people. Perhaps the abuse you sustained in your youth evolved into traits within of which you are unaware.

Seek this out within yourself. If it is discovered, then you have a choice to make.

Will you compromise with this, and remain content in your solitude? Or will you suffer to change this aspect, granting you the chance at a healthy relationship and the possibility of happy moments in a content life?

#ganondorf #legend of zelda

[strqyr]

the common bond between the inner circle members is that the moment they learn the truth about salem and her immortality, their flaws take the center stage.

it happened with lionheart. it happened with qrow. and it happened with ironwood.

ozpin told his version of the truth to team strq and afterwards, raven went looking for more because she needed to know what else there was, and with each discovery, the more terrifying the world became.

raven was raised by bandits who send her to beacon to learn how to kill huntsmen. likely due to her upbringing, her survival instinct is strong, and she'll do anything, things others won't, to do so.

let's say the "we" raven talks about re: finding the spring maiden is the inner circle, and use that to paint a picture. say, that all these three things happened around the same time, let's say within a year:

raven learns the truth about salem after looking for information on her own

raven trains the spring maiden ["she... ran. abandoned her training, everyone."] ["and later, one of them chose to abandon her duties in favor of her own self-interest."] ["no matter how much training i put her through, she never learned!"]

yang is born

maybe raven didn't leave immediately after learning the truth. maybe it took a little bit longer, sticking around for one reason or another, be it yang or training the spring maiden or both, but the thought that salem is immortal being with powerful magic won't leave her mind.

and here she is, training the spring maiden who, in her mind, wasn't cut out for this world. who was weak and, as per the bandit tribe that raised her, the weak die, the strong live. those were the rules they lived by.

the world is a terrifying place; salem is terrifying, and at this point raven sees no way following ozpin doesn't end in early trip to the grave. unless... well

salem might be powerful, but the maidens are pretty powerful too. and there, in front of her, is a spring maiden who just won't learn, who's basically useless in terms of using the powers she has.

["you turned yourself into a monster, just for power." "look who's talking."]

raven wants to survive. she'll do anything to survive, and old habits die hard; she was raised by bandits—the weak die, the strong live; and raven can't be weak—, sent to beacon to learn how to kill huntsmen.

and just like with the other members of the inner circle once they learn about salem's immortality, raven's flaws come forth like a wrecking ball, and she backslides into the person she perhaps once when she first arrived at beacon.

and it horrifies her, because she had changed, and now all those years have gone to waste. she has a family, a baby, and now she feels like she can't do that anymore, can't have that life anymore, too afraid of what she might do if she stays... and so, she leaves.

with how raven has been described as complicated and troubled, i seriously doubt her reasons behind leaving were simple, and i think something akin to above fits the bill pretty well.

#rwby #raven branwen #i swear i will figure her out one day #rwby might end prematurely but i will still be here #talking about this disaster birb like my life depends on it

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Walked into my cousin’s house (he’s a firefighter) to find everyone trying to find out what it means when the firemen say, “A Collyer’s Mansion Situation.” No need to look, I knew it referred to the Collyer Brothers of New York City- the code for fire in a hoarder’s house. The picture above is of the police knocking down their door w/an axe. 

It usually means it’s not safe to enter the building. In 1947, it took police 5 hours to plow thru the junk and find the first brother’s body. It took them 3 weeks to find the 2nd brother just 10 feet away, buried under a collapsed junk tunnel.

History’s worst hoarders, the tragic but fascinating tale of the Collyer brothers can speak to anyone with a penchant for collecting or thrifting. How did 2 prominent members of society end up sealing themselves off from the outside world, fiercely reclusive and entombed by over 140 tons of collected items?

Homer and Langley were both educated at Columbia University. Homer had a degree in law and Langley studied engineering and also became an accomplished concert pianist who performed at Carnegie Hall.

They had a normal childhood. They never married or lived on their own, & chose to remain at the family’s Harlem brownstone with their mother. When their parents died, everything was left to them.. 

In 1933, Homer went blind from eye hemorrhages. His younger brother quit his job to care for him full-time, which is when their withdrawal from society began. Langley began keeping years of newspapers so his brother could read them when his sight was restored.

In the midst of the Great Depression, the brothers became increasingly fearful of their own neighborhood, which was shifting from the upper-class area they had known to an area synonymous with poverty and crime.

People became curious, local kids threw rocks at the windows, increasing their paranoia. Langley boarded up the windows, removed the doorbell and wired the doors shut.

Several people attempted to burgle the home, which prompted Langley to construct booby traps and elaborate tunnel systems made of junk all around the house.

Langley ventured out only after midnight for food runs. He would collect countless unwanted and abandoned items on the street that caught his eye along the way.

When Homer became paralyzed due to rheumatism, the brothers refused to seek medical treatment. Even though their father was a Dr., they didn’t trust them. Instead, they decided to use their fathers medical library in the house.

Langley believed his brother’s sight could be restored with a diet high in vitamin C so he fed Homer 100 oranges a week. He adapted a Model T Ford to generate electricity after their power was cut off, along with their water and gas, due to unpaid bills.

When the bank came to evict them, police found Langley in a clearing he had made in the walls of junk. Without a word, he wrote a check for the equivalent of nearly $100,000 today to pay off the mortgage and ordered everyone off the property.

The next time authorities returned, it would be to search for the bodies of the Collyers. To enter the sealed brownstone, an officer broke a window on the second floor and climbed through.

Unable to get past the solid walls of junk, a squad of men began making their way through the debris by throwing out everything blocking their way onto the street. The spectacle drew a crowd of thousands.

After several hours, they found Homer’s body. Medical examiners later determined he had died of starvation and heart disease.

When they couldn’t find Langley, they thought he fled and launched a search. Finally, a workman found his decomposing body. He was buried in one of his 2ft. wide tunnels lined with rusty bed springs and a chest of drawers. He had died of asphyxiation after he accidentally tripped one of the booby traps and was crushed. Police believe that he was bringing food to his brother. 

The house was deemed an unsafe fire hazard and was razed later that month in 1947. Some of their stuff went to museums and the rest was sold at auction.  Since the 1960s, the site of the former Collyer house has been a pocket park, named for them.

messynesschic.com

#collyer brothers #famous hoarders #hoarding #historical hoarders #long post

[hyperactivewhore]

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people claim that it’s Marcel’s fault that Klaus was missing from Hope’s life. First of all, Klaus deserved everything he got after all the suffering and trauma he put Marcel through. Marcel is a saint compared to Klaus, who has done unspeakable things not only to Marcel but to thousands of others as well. If Marcel had kept Klaus locked up in a sewer until the world ended he would be more than justified.

Secondly, absolutely no one stopped Klaus from picking up his phone and calling his daughter. No one stopped him from sending birthday cards or Christmas gifts to his daughter. In fact, many people encouraged him to talk to Hope, including Hayley, Caroline, and Hope herself. He was the one who decided not to call Hope. He was the one who decided to cut off all contact with his daughter. He was the one who thought that the best course of action was to go no contact with Hope. But while he had no problem practically abandoning Hope (who was only a child at the time), he continued to seek out his brother knowing that being in close proximity to Elijah could hurt Hope.

So many people try to say Klaus wasn’t a bad father by blaming Marcel, Hayley, Hope, and everyone else in the entire show. But the reality is, Klaus was a bad father because of his actions alone.

And even to the every end of his life, he continued to be a bad father. He chose to flirt with Caroline when Hayley (Hope’s mother - practically Hope’s only parent) was missing and was in grave danger. He chose to spend his last remaining days showing Caroline around New Orleans as if he didn’t have a heartbroken, devastated daughter back at home who was grieving the loss of her mom and preparing for the loss of her dad. This man, who willingly chose not to contact his daughter for years, decided to spend his last remaining hours with his one night stand instead of Hope - and people have that audacity to say that it’s Marcel’s fault that Klaus was missing from Hope’s life?

Don’t get me wrong, I love Klaus. He’s a very interesting character. But I hate it when people justify his actions - especially because they will occasionally vilify Marcel to do so. Marcel and Hope deserved a better father. Marcel and Hope simply deserved better.

I'll never understand why people are surprised Klaus was a shitty father.

Loving your kids is the bare minimum and treating them right is like the least thing you can do, yet Klaus already failed miserably step two with Marcel. Klaus never respected Marcel as a person and let alone as his son, I don't care what people think. He liteally brought Marcel to that bridge in season three to remind him of his slavery, mocked his whip wounds, laid his hands on him in season one, and didn't even care to have a special goodbye with him when he was gonna die.

He literally told Hope she was meant to be broken by him, constantly jeopardized her safety when she was a baby, practically ghosted her most of her life, probably told Hope that Elijah didn't save Hayley, purposefully leaving out he was whoring around with Caroline, and was ignoring her the day he was gonna die choosing to spend his last hours with that same woman, and literally left Hope all in her own after losing her mother like the week before because he couldn't live without his brother.

Marcel had every single right to take revenge against the Mikaelson, and so does Hope. Their supposed family never gave any damn about them and yet people blame everyone but Klaus simply because they think Joseph Morgan is hot.

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #hope mikaelson #marcel gerard #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #to #hayley marshall #rebekah mikaelson #joseph morgan

[electricmagazine]

Public Shock as Megumi Fushiguro Refuses to do Promotional Video

The Jujutsu Kaisen star says he “doesn’t understand” why he was “suddenly grouped differently” for the interviews

The entertainment world was shaken on Monday when the Jujutsu Kaisen official twitter account announced that they were cancelling their planned promotional interviews due to “lack of participation” on the actors’ parts. While fans were outraged and demanded to know what happened, Megumi Fushiguro took a leap, stepped out, and took the blame.

“Stop sending hate mail to the cast,” he tweeted. “I chose not to be part of the interviews, and my friends stood with me. There were some problems, but we’re working through them.”

The star went on to explain via replies that he felt the groupings for the interviews were problematic, and that there was a simple solution that he’d like the promotions team to employ.

In an interview with Electric Magazine, he said, “I don’t understand why I was suddenly grouped differently. For every other interview I did, specifically those for season one, I was grouped with characters and actors I was connected with – Yuji, Nobara, Satoru, whoever. Season two has brought in a few minor characters, including my character’s biological dad… I just don’t think my character should be grouped with his biological dad over his friends.

“Promotions thought it was a good idea to group our characters together because in the show, we’re related. But it doesn’t work like that. My character hates his dad, why are they putting us in an interview together?”

Fushiguro also specified that he meant no hate towards Toji, the man who plays his character’s father in the show, but he thought it made little sense for their characters to be in the same interview.

Other cast members also stepped in with messages of support for Fushiguro, including co-star Yuji Itadori and adoptive father Satoru Gojo.

“Biological relations mean nothing when someone has been abandoned. This may seem overdramatic to some, but these interview groupings are an insult to adoptive, found, and loving family,” the famous actor wrote.

“No-one should have to bring up their personal life in public to have their voice heard. Everyone who has a brain would know these groupings are completely wrong. Stay strong Megumi, you’re doing the right thing,” Shoko Ieri replied to the emotive post.

“good for you megumi. stand up to those ignorant idiots,” Nobara Kugisaki tweeted, complete with a picture of her and Fushiguro together.

“Megumi’s character already has a dad. Biological does not mean family. Things will never be right until the producers understand this,” wrote Itadori.

“I will not being doing the interview until Megumi can do his,” was Kento Nanami’s bold stance.

Amongst a split and conflicted fanbase, the official twitter simply tweeted, “We did not realise our actors would feel strongly about their interview groups and we had no intention to offend. The groups will be fixed ASAP and hopefully the interviews will go ahead.”

Many viewers felt this was an unfeeling response to Fushiguro’s genuine problem, with one even replying, “This just proves that the industry doesn’t care. It’s not about whether the interviews can go ahead, it’s about why it was deemed appropriate to group Megumi with a minor, unrelated character in the first place.”

Outcry against the producers and promotions teams seemed endless, with #jjkpromo and #staystrongmegumi trending for weeks across all platforms. Most felt that it had been a stupid decision from the start, since Megumi was a main character and should therefore be with the other main characters regardless of who he was related to. Others felt that extra sensitivity was needed due to Fushiguro’s own background, which was clearly the root of his ‘interview strike’.

“Yeah, I’m adopted,” he told Electric Magazine. “And yeah, that’s probably why I care so much. But the point stands. This character is unrelated to mine; this character is a minor, abusive father who my character despises. It’s not okay to normalise healing those relationships or still associating these people together.

“If I was someone who was abandoned by an abusive father – and I’m not, but many people are – how would I feel to know that the media still considers us family? How would I feel knowing that society prioritises that biological relationship over the connections I’d built with my friends?

“I guess this could be seen as overdramatic. It’s just an interview. I know. But it represents so much more; it’s a signal flare from the media and I’m not willing to let it go past me.”

Eventually, even Toji stepped forward, tweeting, “I’ve been quiet because I don’t know what to say, but I see I need to say something. Megumi is right to protest this grouping. I thought it was odd that we were put together as we don’t even share any scenes, but I see know it could have become weaponised. #istandwithmegumi.”

Electric will keep updating as events unfold.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk megumi #jjk toji #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #toji fushiguro #jjk actor au #actor au #jjk gojo #jjk yuuji #jjk nobara #jjk shoko #jjk nanami

[mdhwrites]

I don't know if you've watched Gravity Falls or been deep in the fandom but I just realized how similar Luz and Mabel kinda are. They're both young quirky girls whose selfish actions helped the main villain achieve their goal (supposedly, in Luz's case) and learn the lesson of facing reality instead of being stuck in a fantasy world where they get everything they want (although Luz doesn't really learn this even though it was kinda set-up for her in s1) (they also have a girl rival with shit parents that the fandom ships them with but anyway-)

I'm not saying this to shit on Luz though, I like Luz. But it mind boggles me how Mabel gets shitted on way more than her does despite being younger, actually learning her lesson, and apologizing for it. It might because they're different shows but I know a lot of TOH fans were/are GF fans because of the creators' relationship so the fandoms aren't that different from one another. It MIGHT be because Mabel trusted Blendin so easily despite the situation being shady as hell (while Luz just thought Philip was a normal human in the demon realm) but to be fair, Mabel was cornered in a moment of vulnerability and she literally didn't even know what she was giving him. Abandoning her friends and family for her own fantasy land while an apocalypse going on was really horrible, I won't deny that, but Luz also pretty much did the same when she chose the demon realm (place she doesn't know anything about with STRANGERS) over her own world in the first episode. Sure there wasn't anything horrific going on in the human realm so her ignorance of it wasn't as bad as Mabel's– BUT THEN in TTT she thinks of leaving everyone behind by staying in the human realm while the Collector was doing who knows what???

I don't know, this might be kinda petty, I haven't rewatched GF in ages, but I just think it's unfair Mabel gets more hate than Luz. I feel she's had more character progression compared to the latter and at least she always got called out when she did something wrong and learned from it.

So take all of this with a grain of salt because while I've heard a little of this discourse, I haven't watched a lot of Gravity Falls (recently tried again and found myself not loving the first episode if I'm honest) and have never been a part of its fandom. However, this is a chance to talk about why Luz is so liked and 'relatable' to so many because it is not hard to figure out why people like Luz. Why? Well... A lot of it comes down to framing and how the two shows see the two girls.

Gravity Falls sees Mabel as a tweenage girl.

The Owl House sees Luz as the embodiment of what a teenage nerd wishes they were/could be.

Those are VERY different goals and framing.

One, Mabel, is going to be INCREDIBLY fallible. Neither her or Dipper are anywhere close to perfect people because... Well, they're teenagers. They get way too into certain things. They're awkward when it comes to those obsessions. They're awkward about how to deal with change, consequences, etc. like that because that's just the age they are. They're figuring out the world and are going to run face first into it and that will be awkward, clumsy and often destructive without any sort of excuse besides they didn't think the consequences through. That's kids for you.

The other is... More idealistic. Luz doesn't face real consequences for testing her boundaries and is always bailed out. When she fucks up, she always does it with the best intentions and/or no one actually gets hurt. People coddle her and always make concessions to her desires with minimal push back and always end up on her side unless they're just a REALLY big meanie head. She always makes peoples' lives better, she never gets real criticism or ridicule for her interests and is always accepted by the right people for those interests. Always given more and more for being her quirky self!

A lot of this for Luz is because she's an audience surrogate and TOH wants the audience to feel good about themselves. It knows that a lot of nerds will be the ones watching it and leans in. This is actually contrasted by the fact that, well, Mabel isn't the audience surrogate or the absolute primary character of Gravity Falls. Her role is more complicated versus Dipper who IS the nerdy one who's closer to being the audience surrogate.

Just to really drive this home: People on my Discord have talked about this and one of the biggest 'crimes' as seen by a lot of the fandom is that Mabel causes Dipper to lose out on his dream of researching with Ford and staying in Gravity Falls. I could even see some arguments of things like "He's planning a future!" or "He's making the world better!"

But... Let's shift the framing for a moment from "Mabel caused Dipper to give up on his dream" to "Mabel made sure Dipper chose reality over fantasy." After all, his desire was to throw away his friends, his family, EVERYTHING to just continue hanging out with this one old dude and studying the weird phenomenon of the world, an inherently isolating job. He gets to go on this big adventure and follow his intellectual drive... At the cost of reality and everything he has known.

So why don't people get upset at Dipper for trying to do this? Well, there's a lot of potential reasons that I can't really narrow down without watching the show. It may have just been framed as a positive while Mabel's is framed as negative. It could be that while Mabel's is just a generic, girly fantasy that not much of the core audience actually wants, Dipper's is the cool, smart fantasy that is totally not just a fantasy, but a CAREER. Or it could go back to the root problem: Because Dipper is closer to the audience surrogate, closer to the main character, there is a bias to inherently see his actions as good. We could literally watch two characters do the same thing and we will root for the main character simply because that is who we are trained to root for.

A great example of this from TOH is how Luz is allowed to get mad at people for lying to her but not the other way around. She literally attacks Eda and gets the two captured in Titan, Where Art Thou? because Eda lied to her and she is supposed to feel justified in this anger to make the tragedy angle work. Meanwhile, there is ONE time when anyone gets mad at Luz for lying and honestly, the framing and reactions cause it to end up feeling much more like it was just for a prettier scene change during Reaching Out. After all, Amity still wants to fix Luz's pain before Luz even apologizes for breaking her word by lying. So why doesn't anyone call out the hypocrisy here? Why is NO ONE allowed to get upset with Luz about this?

Because she's the main character. Because we are trained to root for her and, well, Luz also is the one we are told to want to be. She is the every nerd. She is meant to connect to a very wide net of outcasts who feel like they don't belong and wish things were different. Wishes people weren't mean to them or didn't get mad at them when they made mistakes. That just let them be the hero of their own story.

So of course, they don't want Luz to be yelled at, even when that is the actually human and reasonable thing for someone to do. They don't want to question what she does so when the show gives them an excuse, or they have to go to reality if the show itself doesn't give an excuse (This is why people emphasize Luz's age and nuerodivergence to excuse her while bluntly ignoring Mabel's age when it comes to her actions), so that they don't have to recognize that Luz does some REALLY shitty things, especially in the back half of the show. It is simply more convenient for the narrative they want out of the show for Luz to be this way.

And that is okay from a casual standpoint. A lot of fiction is escapist. There's nothing wrong with wanting to jump into a world where you're never actually wrong and never in trouble. Where your angst is always met with hugs and understanding rather than actual human emotion. That's how media works. Most mass appeal products are escapist. It's part of why the Isekai genre is SO prevalent right now because it is one of the purest forms of escapist fiction out there, especially due to modern isekai tropes.

But if you're going to talk critically about something, escapism is very rarely a good jumping off point for it. It will make you ignore a LOT about the work because it's uncomfortable for you to ask questions about it. I'm not talking about "Why does this world have magic" sort of things mind you. I'm talking about, say, "Why does this character get so many power ups, so easily, and with little effort in earning them?" When you want escapism, the pacing won't bother you. If you're actually looking at themes and payoffs, it will bother you a LOT. And yes, this does tie into TOH because if you want to be Luz, getting the glyphs feels great! If you actually interrogate the story, you go "Wait, they hadn't actually done like... ANYTHING with her not having magic in a magical world and she already gets a spell? And two of these spells she does literally nothing for. Arguably three since she is put into timeout as a punishment and gets the glyph I guess for being a bad person." That TOTALLY is good storytelling and makes sense with positive themes and proper explorations of its own ideas.

*sigh*

It's a rough push and pull and it can make it so people, even if they like the show, who disagree with the popular opinion, the one that usually lifts up the audience flattering elements the most, are just in a rough position where they hear the same opinions over and over again. All while knowing that if they speak up, they'll be stomped on.

Just like Mabel was while Dipper was raised into the spotlight. At least by the fandom.

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I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #gravity falls

[geotheraider]

Zutara Week 2023 - Day 2: Solstice

106 AG Winter Solstice

These four years have flown by at an unimaginable pace. I thought the two years I had spent with Aang had gone quickly. How foolish I was in that time. Oh how life was simpler back then…more dangerous, but simpler. Where would we find dinner? Where would we sleep? Would we be ambushed by someone trying to kill us? Would we survive the end of summer? 

Now it's just meetings with foreign dignitaries each morning, and sit-ins with policy advisors in the afternoons. Do I prefer one life over the other? Of course, after all, these meetings are higher stakes. I’ve always wanted to make positive impacts on the world, and I finally can. Me. I’m making changes. The burgeoning Republic City was my idea, but no one needs to know that but me. Let Zuko and Aang have their glory for that one.

After everything, I made my choice. Zuko never had my heart early on, certainly not right at the start. He was bull headed, stubborn as a mooselion, and was actively trying to ruin the world’s only chance of a bright future. But…fate has a funny way of working. He became one of my closest friends after abandoning the future his nation chose and finding his way to us, though not without trying his best to make it up to everyone. I was the last to officially warm up to him, but truth be told, I was too hard on him back then. My heart hurt, and still does for how I treated him. 

Funny how fate works. My husband and I just set up camp at the end of an extended hike through the South Pole tundras. I forced him to wear heavy furs in spite of his insistence that he didn’t need them. He was glad for them in the heavy winds. I made sure he knew that I knew I was right. Inner fires can only keep someone warm in this cold for so long. 

We made it to the sacred spot my family always journeyed to on this night when I was growing up. A mountain of ice, trapped far inland and capped by snow, hid a cave for decades that only my family knew of. I took this man into the caves, and at midnight, as the moon reached its zenith, the lights began to appear. Fairy lights, we called them, reflected off every crystal within the cave. I drew him further into the cavern, to the end of a winding tunnel. 

I introduced him to the pool of sacred water, the shrine upon which it was built, and the gateway to the sky above. Multicolored light rained through the skylight reflecting the dancing aurora from above off the water’s surface. We sat in silence for what felt like hours. The first moments of the solstice passed. The closeness was tremendous. I could feel my ancestors around us, looking upon who I had become, and who I was with. I just knew they were smiling.

We begin our journey back to reality tomorrow. Three days of hiking, then four by airship back home. Luncheons with dignitaries, dinners with advisors, evenings with him. Life could honestly not be much better. The future is bright.

~Master Katara, Fire Lady

If you like my writing, check out my other works over on AO3!

@zutaraweek

#zutara #zutara week 2023 #zutaraweek2023 #zuko #katara #geotheraider writes #atla #zuko x katara #zutaraweek #zkweek2023 #zkweek

[landwriter]

honestly would love to hear more about twinflower if you felt like sharing? :)

I have been drafting this ask response on and off for over a week because I want everyone to love twinflower as much as I do thank you for your patience uh I mean yes! I do feel like sharing! thank you for enabling me! make yourself a cuppa and get comfy. it's Gloam's Natural History Hour, and here is everything you should love about the twinflower

Let us begin with the Latin name: Linnaea borealis. But first, it was Campanula serpyllifolia. Let me explain.

Twinflower is a small and unremarkable evergreen plant that nonetheless captured the heart of one of the world's most influential scientists in the eighteenth century. Species Plantarum is best-known for containing the first consistent use of binomial nomenclature (genus and species), but it was also there that Carl Linnaeus described twinflower for the first time.

It is a creeping subshrub that grows along the ground, with green and glossy shallow-toothed oval leaves about the size of dimes. Blooms come from delicate hairy stems that have unfolded themselves to the comparatively towering height of two or so inches above the ground. They are pinkish-white, nodding, and look like the sort of thing you'd imagine a fairy lives in. As you might suspect from the name, they grow in pairs. Some three centuries after Linnaeus first described it, one Mark C. in the comments of a 2013 blog post described the fragrance as "a delight to the most jaded sniffer".

In portraits, he is often found holding it. (Linnaeus, not Mark C.) He dearly loved it. But he could not name twinflower after himself: at first, it was classified in a different genus, and besides, it was poor taste. What's a guy to do?

Become acquainted with a wealthy Dutch botanist, Gronovius, son not of preachers and peasants but classical scholars, who would name it for him in his honour. Naturally. In gratitude, and advocacy for such acts of commemorative botanical naming, Linnaeus wrote in Critica Botanica:

It is commonly believed that the name of a plant which is derived from that of a botanist shows no connection between the two...[but]...Linnaea was named by the celebrated Gronovius and is a plant of Lapland, lowly, insignificant, disregarded, flowering but for a brief space — after Linnaeus who resembles it.

He would go on, of course, to receive fanmail from Rousseau. Contemporary Goethe would later write: "With the exception of Shakespeare and Spinoza, I know no one among the no longer living who has influenced me more strongly."

Lowly Linnaeus himself chose borealis, for Boreas, the Greek god of the north wind; and indeed it grows where the north wind blows, in a great circumboreal ring around the globe, from semi-shaded woodlands in southern British Columbia (hello), to tundra and taiga in Sweden and Siberia. You can find the same blooms in China and Poland and Minnesota. It's as old as glaciers. In Poland and other European countries it is in fact protected as glacial relict, and you can find it isolated at high elevations far south of its range, where it was left behind in the Pleistocene.

And now it is Linnaea borealis.

When Linnaeus was ennobled twenty years later for his services to botany, zoology, and medicine, he put the twinflower on his coat of arms. Some references use hedging (pun intended) language to describe their relationship: he was 'reported to be fond'. It was 'rumoured to be a favourite.' Bullshit, I say. He was in love. Anyone can see it.

One final etymological point of interest: his surname is itself borrowed from nature. After enrolling in university, his father had to abandon his patronymic last name and create family name. A priest, he created the Latinate Linnæus after linden - the great tree that grew on the family homestead.

And so from Latin and nature sprung the name, and not a generation later, unto Latin and nature it had returned. A name crafted of whole cloth in homage an enormous tree now describes the genus of a plant that tops out at three inches tall and has flowers smaller than your thumbnail.

In spite of this, its uses are myriad. A common name of twinflower in Norwegian, nårislegras, translates to corpse rash grass, for its use in treating skin conditions. It can be made into a tea to take in pregnancy or provide relief of menstrual cramps. Scandinavian folk medicines use it for rheumatism. Humans have made it into teas, tinctures, decoctions, poultices, and even administered its therapeutic properties via smoke inhalation. And then there is its persistent and widespread use in filling our hearts: lending itself century over century and season over season to mankind, to a coat of arms, a poem, a photo, a fond memory—

Ralph Waldo Emerson, in Woodnotes I, says this of twinflower and the man it's named for:

He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, The slight Linnaea hang its twin-born heads, And blessed the monument of the man of flowers, Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers.

Art is subjective, but I will happily admit I prefer this passage, from Robert of Isle Royale, on the website Minnesota Wildflowers:

My wife and I encountered Linnaea borealis in the last week of June 38 years ago on Isle Royale. We now live in Vilas County in northern Wisconsin and were happy to find a large patch of Twinflowers growing under the sugar maples, balsam fir and hemlock on our property there. This is now very special to us and we await their flowering each June around our anniversary.

A final note. Twinflower requires genetically different individuals to set seed and reproduce sexually. This is known as self-incompatibility. Thus the plants in those isolated spots - old glacial hideouts, or places with fragmented plant populations like Scotland - only reproduce clonally. Let us end with imagining a plant that has not reproduced with another for millennia, but instead carries its line on its own back, and survives by creating itself over and over again, in a genetically identical colony that grows with wet summers and shrinks with dry ones; that briefly blooms every June, lifting its flowers high above itself, a hundred tiny beacons that will be answered only by its own voice; and there, too far for pollination, but a distance you or I could travel in minutes, is its nearest partner, doing the same thing, across an impossible void that looks to us as nothing more than a gap between one part of the woods and the next. Yet it is L. borealis, named for a man named for a tree, that is capable of looking out across generations of humankind walking fragmented pine woodlands and the ghostly southern border of the Laurentide ice sheet, and seeing nothing more than the gap between one seed-set and the next.

Let us end with imagining a tiny plant, and ourselves beside it, loving it for hundreds of years, even smaller.

#asks #botany #plants #twinflower #Linnaea borealis #an essay #that i have put my whole heart into #read it? #or don't but go sit in nature for a bit #and marvel at it all til ur chest hurts with love #that's the takeaway i'm going for here anyway #about me #outside the cabin #my writing

[ithebookhoarder]

Reunited (Obi-wan Kenobi x Ex-Jedi Reader)

Summary: What if, like Ahsoka, you were forced to leave the Jedi Order? And Obi-wan comes to find you again after Order 66?

A/N: Thanks to the anon who requested this as I was already working on something similar given the pain the new Kenobi series has caused me. I actually cannot with life, right now. So I apologise in advance for the possible avalanche of Kenobi content coming y’alls way. I am still working on all the other requests I have though! I promise ❤️😅

Masterlist:

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I feel he’d have been conflicted about whether or not to leave with you, after you chose to make your own way in the world without the order. After all, we know how much he cared for Satine, and he didn’t leave the order for her (even if he said he would have, had she asked) but you couldn’t ask him. 

You can’t blame him for choosing to stay, given how much the Jedi order means to him and the promises he made to Qui-Gon, regarding Anakin who is like a brother and son to him. 

He couldn’t abandon him or his duty to defend people with the republic - it’s who he is, and he wouldn’t be the man you’d fallen in love with if he did. 

That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt though, that you wouldn’t have felt pain and rejection to leave, knowing he won’t come with you. 

But you learn to make peace with it. 

You’d start your life over and for a while, no matter where you end up, you’d find a new way of existing without the Jedi order and without Obi-wan

However, no matter where you ended up, there would be no way you didn’t hear what had happened to the Jedi following Order 66. News like that spreads fast, even to the very edges of the outer rim. 

You’d also feel it, the great unbalance in the force - the pain and suffering being inflicted as they are all but erased. 

As soon as you hear the news, you’d have been distraught. You wonder what has happened to your friends, your family… after all, you knew connections and attachments were forbidden but it had been impossible not to form them with the group of people you spent every waking minute beside. It doesn’t make any sense and you feel anger and guilt at not being there to help them or protect them.

You also struggle to understand what had happened and how no one had seen it coming. It would leave you questioning everything you knew or remembered about your time there as you try to make it make sense. 

However, it is only when Obi-wan one days appears on your doorstep that you are able to understand what truly happened. 

You want so badly to be angry at him, to scream and shout and throw things, but the broken man that stands before you wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

There are tears swimming in his eyes that he won’t let fall because he knows once he lets them he won’t be able to stop the flow.

You’re standing there and he’s wanted nothing more than this moment but he can’t move. He’s afraid that if he tries to reach out to you, to touch you, you’ll disappear like everyone else in his life.

“Obi…”

He lifts his head, a sad ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”

You can’t help it. Both of you would break down in each other’s arms, utterly consumed by too many emotions to even try and begin to process them. 

Eventually, you’d compose yourselves long enough to invite him into your home. 

Busying yourself with making tea and tidying up the place you’ve made your own is a good distraction as you try to fully comprehend the fact that the man you thought you’d never see again is sitting across the room from you. In a way, it feels like old times, even down to the fact you have his favourite blend of tea (a fact he doesn’t mention aloud, but you see his eyes brighten in recognition of the smell as he takes his first sip)

It also makes it easier for him to begin trying to tell you the tale of everything that had happened since you’d left the Order; the words flow easier without your eyes on him, even if you are still giving him your undivided attention, listening closely as you continue stirring your tea over and over and over.

As the story nears its tragic conclusion, you can no longer stand there. You find yourself drawing closer until you are sat beside him, hands holding his as the tears pour from his eyes. 

“I… I killed him… I left him there, writhing in agony… and it was all my fault.”

“No. No, Obi. It wasn’t.”

“I should have seen it coming.” 

“How could you? Not even Master Yoda himself could have foreseen it. Chancellor Palpatine… he tricked us all, and he manipulated Anakin - turned him against us.”

“But by using doubts I did nothing to prevent. Nothing to soothe! That was my job - that was the promise I made and I failed.” 

The tea is soon forgotten, replaced by whatever supply of alcohol you have stashed away (yet another sign of how much the world has turned upside down. After all, Obi never liked to drink if he could help it, and even then it was normally as part of a mission or social event that he’d agree to partake… to see him consuming the bottle in his hand like it was water is a peculiar sight) However, given what he has seen and endured, it isn’t hard to understand. 

“So, Luke is on Tatooine?”

Obi nodded slowly. “Yes… with his uncle, where he’ll hopefully be safe and far away from those who wish him harm, or to use him for their own purposes. Leia is with Bail on Alderaan.”

You agree then and there to help watch over the boy. It is the least you can do for him, and his parents… both of whom you’d loved beyond comprehension. The mere thought of Padmé’s pain and grief is enough to finally tip you over the edge and into another bottle of drink. 

Together you’d grieve… for your friends, for Anakin, and for the time you’ve lost… You simply let it all out, emptying yourselves as you fall apart into a thousand pieces. That way, when you wake the next morning, you can both begin the task of putting yourselves back together again… to construct a new world, a new reality for you both - together. At last.  

It would take some time and adjustments, to learn to live with one another but you’d eventually get there. 

You adapt to the fact that you two can now be together, without the need to hide your relationship. 

You start to remember what it is to laugh at things, to feel joy and not feel guilty for it. 

You also begin to find your own identities, your own purposes, without the Order or the Jedi. 

#obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi wan #obi-wan #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi show #star wars #star wars x reader #obi wan x you #Obi Wan Kenboi #masterlist #ithebookhoarder #thesilentmage #ewan mcgregor