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#so i thought the reflective effect appeared in more episodes but it was only episode 1

aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

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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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@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

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songbird-of-eden · 9 months

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A CLUE?! The Missing Death Theory

Good Omens S2 SPOILERS below!!!

Okay, it has been the nocturnal habit of mine over the last 3 days to suddenly dwell on the Good Omens finale and scrutinise every detail in a sleep-deprived thought soup.

And apparently, tonight, my last two remaining braincells fired up their little engines and decided to put something rather interesting together.

One thing that got me when I watched the finale was the book that Muriel was reading. "The Crow Road."

So I decided to give it a quick Google, and realised the opening line of the book is one that Gabriel, or Jim, stumbled across earlier in the season. It goes like this:

"It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach."

Now, you may be thinking, okay, but what does this have to do with anything? And you would be right to be confused, but hear me out.

Death has a major, reoccurring influence in S2.

Yes, we have the obvious coffee shop "give me coffee or give me death" reference (this has a major point that I will get to a little later, but please, bear with me). But that is not the only one.

Throughout each episode, Death has been raised and eluded by numerous characters. In ep2, Jobe's family were saved by our ineffable duo. In ep3, we have the incident with the graverobber and stopping her from calling it a day. In ep4, we have the rise of the nazi zombies. In ep5, our unfortunate fellow from the ball gets thrown to the demons and appears to die, only to make a reappearance later on in ep6, albiet looking a little nibbled on.

And then there's the fact that miracles, as Crowley points out, are measured in "the power required to raise people from the dead."

Still with me? Okay good. Because its gonna get a little more crazy from here. Time to break out the funky tinfoil hats.

So, yes, many of the characters seemingly ellude death, right? Not a big point at first glance, considering the upbeat nature of the show... until you consider this.

Whilst in the coffee shop, the Metatron asks whether anyone ever chooses death instead of coffee. A weird line to be sure - perhaps an awkward statement of an angel unsure of how to interact with mortals. Totally plausible, right? Well, what if it was a test?

Nina claimed to remember everyone by what they order, and replied that no one has ever chosen death. I mean, I would hope so, but what if Death was no longer a thing that happened?

What if our devious Metatron wrote Death out of the Book of Life, considering that Death is a being instead of a simple concept as shown in S1 - and so the Metratron was asking as a test to gauge Nina's response. To figure out if his alteration had taken effect?

Okay, yes. It sounds a little wild, but if that is not the case, it does not mean that something is not going on with Death.

Going back to The Raven Road book, the plot follows a boy in pursuit of uncovering the mystery around his missing uncle. So perhaps, it is not so crazy after all to believe that something, or rather, someone is missing.

Which leads me to another missing creature.

Remember that heartbreaking line from Crowley? "You hear that? No nightingales?"

It was the dagger in many fan's hearts, but potentially held another meaning. Because in the poem: "Ode to a nightingale", the bird is used to represent, to an extent, death. As well as the concept of immortality.

Which means it's disappearance may be signalling a strange shift in the world.

Which brings me to my final point. We are in the home stretch now kiddos!

The second coming. The Metatron's grand plan.

In biblical text, it states that the Second Coming will be a sudden and unmistakable incident, like "a flash of lightning".

Now, where else did we see lightning? Hmmm. What about Crowley's enraged outburst that sealed poor Maggie and Nina in the coffee shop?

Which makes their line an episode or two later even more interesting...

Maggie: "Did it all start with the lightning?"

Crowley: "No, way before that."

Does this mean that events were starting to be influenced and set in motion way earlier as the Metatron began to tinker in the book?

We also have the name of S2 ep1 being called "The Arrival" - a name the Second Coming is sometimes referred to as, along with the text: "For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise."

So, just take a moment to digest that.

An archangel's call. Well, we've had two of those - Gabriel calling on Aziraphale as well as Aziraphale being called to heaven. Then we have the trumpet that plays whenever Micheal and co descend from Heaven, a sound Aziraphale actually asks whether Maggie could hear.

Which leads to the final part: the dead in Christ will rise.

People are not dying as they should, be it from the influence of our ineffable duo, or perhaps, it is the Metatron's plan after all. A way to start the second coming.

Even the opening credits alludes to this with Crowley and Aziraphale seemingly leading a crowd of humans out of hell and through various time periods, but perhaps I really am getting ahead of myself.

So yep. Something is very up with Death.

Anyway. I need to be up in 5 hours for work. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk before the incoherent babbling begins.

#good omens #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #goodomens #missing death theory #the missing death theory #theory #good omens season 2 #good omens season finale #good omens theory

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vivziepopwhatthehell · 3 months

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Ep 4 Review

There are mentions of SA in this document. Reader discretion is advised.

Introduction

There’s so many things that I want to say about Hazbin Hotel but for now, I’m only going to keep my thoughts relevant to episode four. It’s the episode that everyone is talking about, after all. I’d love to hear everyone else’s thoughts too.

The Positives

- I was expecting Blake Roman's voice acting to be subpar, and initially, it fell short of my expectations. The first episode featured what I believe is his weakest voice direction among all the released episodes. However, my initial concerns were proven wrong as the series progressed. In this episode, Blake's performance truly stood out and showcased his considerable talent. He skillfully conveyed emotions that he wasn't given an opportunity to show in the earlier episodes. Despite this improvement, he still faces the challenges with maintaining the Angel Dust accent. Blake Roman would definitely shine if he was given a role that wasn't previously defined by another talented voice actor like Michael Kovach. That being said, I'm really excited to see more from Blake Roman in future episodes.

- Valentino's character is now effectively portrayed with the menacing demeanor befitting his role, a notable departure from his initial appearance in episode two. The shift in his portrayal makes it more evident why Angel Dust fears him. To enhance the impact of Valentino's introduction in this episode, a strategic adjustment in episode two's writing could have been beneficial. Specifically, focusing more on Vox and Alastor, and introducing Valentino through Angel Dust's voicemail instead. This approach would have spared Valentino from the perception of being pathetic and whiny in previous showcases, ensuring a more powerful debut. However, it's worth noting that episode four rectifies this mistake to a significant extent, making the suggestion to rewrite episode two more of a reflection on what could have been done differently rather than a critique of the current narrative.

- The animation is a lot smoother in this episode compared to two and three. The characters are also a lot more expressive and the art is overall pretty to look at. That's my overall opinion on the art direction. The storyboard is great in several areas, too. I loved the visuals when Husk talks about how he signed his contract with Alastor.

- The beginning of the episode actually had a few jokes that made me laugh.

The Negatives

- Hazbin Hotel has huge pacing problems present in all of the episodes. Because the show only has 23 minutes and 10 episodes to tell its story, a bunch of minor inconveniences need to be escalated unrealistically either to change a scene or develop character relationships (this one is mainly in relation to Charlie and Vaggie). In this episode, Charlie's tiny stumble over a plug must hastily snowball into a fire to justify the subsequent escalation of tension with Valentino. But how does that even start a fire? Charlie could instead accidentally knock over a lit candle on the bedside table in the set. Following this mishap, the employees, who are off exploring Charlie's hotel idea after their conversation during the shoot, are absent when the fire starts, causing it to spread. This change is still stupid, but it maintains the same elements while offering a more believable catalyst for the escalating tension. Another area that could have been improved was the ending, because I feel like Angel Dust forgave Charlie way too easily.

- Hazbin Hotel often relies heavily on exposition dumps and tends to tell rather than show. Husker's dialogue in the beginning of the episode serves as a means to spoon-feed the audience information about each character's struggle, which is a really boring way to storytell. Husker also seems to have such an intimate understanding of every character that he should be the one to run the hotel at this point. I am hoping that we get a Husker and Charlie episode, where Husker tells her to listen to her friends more. Maybe then she’d have a better understanding on how to help them out with their problems.

- Valentino's powers are confusing me. In "Addict," the red smoke from Valentino and Angel Dust's cigarettes, initially symbolic, seems to become literal in episode four. For instance, Valentino uses the smoke to create chains around Angel Dust's throat and pulls him upwards to focus on the contract he signed. The smoke should not have been made a physical entity that can control the characters this way, because now it completely devalues its presence in the music video (even if the music video is no longer canon).

- Regrettably, the episode has become difficult for me to view objectively due to some storyboard artists openly sharing their personal bedroom preferences. I'm making a concerted effort to distinguish the artists from their work, but it is hard to not view this as just another fuel for fetish. To illustrate, consider the smoke chain scene preceding "Poison," where Valentino employs a chain around Angel's neck to compel him to review the contract. It's notable that Valentino could have achieved the same effect by grabbing Angel's hair, but the inclusion of the chain appears to be a direct reference to the storyboard artist's leash kink.

- There’s too many songs. When the song title leaks came out for Hazbin Hotel, I thought that most of them were just the names of the instrumentals. They are all actually two-four minute length songs. When these songs do come onto the screen, none of them have build-up. The song just randomly starts, and many times, the song replaces moments that are crucial to have dialogue in. Just because you have Broadway stars doesn’t mean that you need to have three songs per episode. Cap it to one to leave a good impression on your audience, because most of these songs left me REALLY bored not even halfway through them. The lyrics and how they are sung are also offensive at times, specifically in “Loser Baby”.

- Charlie's fixation on the hotel has reached an alarming level of insensitivity in this episode. While the hotel's success remains crucial, her approach comes off as callous and indifferent to the people around her. The episode kicks off with what seems like a thoughtful gesture toward Angel Dust, trying to help him get a day off work. But her motivation is solely to ensure he can continue his daily redeemer exercises at the hotel. Then, when Angel Dust begs her to leave (while sounding completely terrified in the process), Charlie overstays her welcome and actively disrupts the employees during the shoot to advertise her hotel. There’s a time and place, Charlie! In my ideal version of the episode, Charlie remains determined to secure a day off for Angel Dust (just to spend time with him). Charlie doesn’t get to speak to Angel Dust before she proposes the idea to Valentino. Valentino responds nicely to her, but we see a bunch of subtle cues to his anger about Angel Dust trying to “escape” before he glares at Angel Dust and brings him into the other room.

- Keith David is talented, but his voice for Husker just isn’t doing it for me. Sorry, Keith. It isn’t as rough and gravelly as it should be, but you were obviously just miscast. The same applies to Stephanie Beatriz as Vaggie.

- A trigger warning is absent from the episode. The warning wouldn't have benefited the narrative in any way, but it would have definitely aided the members of the audience that it is meant to represent.

Conclusion

In my opinion, the episode is overall “okay”. It still suffers a lot of the same problems as the other episodes. Though, episode four does have its own improvements as well. I am hoping that the show continues to get better from here.

Edit: accidentally deleted one of my points before publishing + added a tag.

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel

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pencil-peach · 6 months

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G Witch Onscreen Text: Episode 12

And so, we have reached part 13 in my attempt to transcribe and discuss the text that appears on monitors and screens in G Witch (and talk about stuff I think is cool)

This is the Episode 12, the season 1 finale: "Keep Marching on Instead of Running Off."

<< Click Here to go back to Episode 11

Oh, but you'll have to change before you can join me under the cut.

You have to wear a normal spacesuit while reading this post...

Like episode 11, this episode is actually very light on text, (for obvious reasons..) so I'll also spend some more time discussing little things in the episode I think are interesting.

The text on the panel for the EV (Elevator) reads C BLOCK No. C - 6 The EV is arriving shortly.

It also has 3 symbols on the bottom, with one crossed out. It's hard to know what they mean, but my best guess is: - Communication (Which is currently unusable due to the attack) - Multi-Directional (As in, isn't a one way elevator, can go back and forth) - Capacity (In this case, multiple people can use it at once.)

Also, in this scene, Miorine talks about "opening the bulkhead from the control center." What she means is she wants to find the control center so she can open the giant wall that separated her and Suletta. The first thing that both girls thought of doing when they were separated was rescuing the other.

Also, also, the fact that C Block still has some semblance of power despite having been fully disconnected from the rest of the plant must mean that every individual block must have some sort of reserve power system in case something like this happens. I wonder how expensive this place was to build....

I really like the scene where we see Sophie activate Permet Score 4, because I think they put so much focus on it in order to put a lot of things we've seen earlier into perspective.

Up until now, we've only seen 3 characters (other than Eri but she doesn't count) activate Permet Score 4: Nadim in the prologue, El4n in episode 6, and now Sophie.

I think the first thing we can see when we compare these instances is how, broadly, Gundam Pilots have generally been made to become more resilient to Permet in the 21 years since Vanadis.

As far as we can tell, Nadim was probably one of the most skilled Gundam Pilots at Vanadis. (Other than Eri but she's like. cheating.)

Even acknowledging that he hadn't piloted a Gundam in some time (He says as much when he first activates Permet 3), he's still incredibly adept at controlling GUND Bits and nearly singlehandedly holds off the attack by Cathedra. (Thought Wendy's efforts must also definitely be acknowledged.)

When Wendy starts suffering from Permet exposure, Nadim tells her that she can't raise her score any higher

We never see or hear exactly which score she's at, but her Gundam is deactivated by the Antidote, which only works up to Score 3. So she's either at 2 - 3, and she's clearly suffering its effects harder than Nadim, who's also at 3 at this point.

But despite Nadim's clear adeptness at Piloting the Lfrith and his much stronger resilience to Permet, when he activates Score 4, he dies nigh instantly. He doesn't survive longer than a minute.

When Gundams had first been developed, Score 3 was considered the absolute limit, both in terms of what a human could bear and what Gundam tech could handle.

We can see this reflected on the Lfrith itself. When first launched, and up to Score 3, Lfrith's body appears completely normal.

But when he activates Score 4, its entire body glows bright red as opposed to just its GUND components. A sign that its bearing a load it can't handle.

And when Nadim finally dies, we can see its body is also horribly scarred with Permet Burns.

Sophie's Permet 4 scene is a showcase of how Gundam Tech has evolved in the 21 years since Vanadis.

When Sophie activates Permet 4, she's pushing up against the human limit. Her heart is pounding so fast and so hard we can hear it over the music. She says she can't breathe and might even throw up, and unlike El4n, she's not an Enhanced Person. She's entirely unaugmented, but unlike Nadim, she lives.

Gundam Pilots have become more resilient since Vanadis, but also of note is that they've also gotten younger. We don't know the ages of Nadim, Wendy, and Elnora, but they're all clearly adults. In fact, we only ever see Adults piloting Gundams in the prologue. When Prospera realizes Eri reached Layer 33, she's horrified, and I wouldn't be surprised in part because a child piloting a Gundam is just something that had never been done before.

But now, Gundams are piloted almost EXCLUSIVELY by young people. Younger people are raised and trained and experimented on at earlier and earlier ages because it seems that, for some reason, they are just better at being able to handle them.

The tech has also improved much since then. Whenever Lfrith Ur reaches score 4, that device on its shoulder unfurls and activates, and retracts when it goes back under. the Ur and Thorn were built off of the pre-production Lfrith models, and in order to get around its Score limitations, they just added an extra Permet Processing unit to its back to bear the extra load.

El4n is a special case, and his reaction to Score 4 in comparison to Nadim and Sophie stands as a testament to the effectiveness of Bel's Artificial Nervous System. At Score 4, El4n acts more like he's under the symptoms an unenhanced person would experience at Score 3.

All that suffering just to reduce the permet load by 1. How sad.

Anyway, the EMERGENCY EXIT Suletta uses is labaled as an EVACUATION PASSAGE.

It also has the same 3 symbols as on the elevator. If we try and apply the same labeling method as I used on the elevator, then.. -Communication (Offline) -Direction - One Way -Capacity - 1 person. The direction and Capacity make sense, but the communication is a little dubious? Maybe that symbol designates if it leads to an exit or something....

Normally, when Miorine refers to her dad, she calls him "Kusoyaji," which is a portmanteau of "Kuso" (a general swear word usually meaning 'damn' or 'shit'), and "oyaji" (which is a word for father) Calling him a terrible dad, but in this scene after he protects her and she sees that he's critically wounded, she shouts "Otou-san!" instead, which is a more common/respectful word to use for your father. This is localized into English as having Miorine usually call him a "Lousy Father," or something similar, but in this scene she just calls him "Dad"

We also learn a little more about Notrette in this scene, as when Delling tells Miorine to choose the best option of survival and leave him, he says it's what Notrette would do, and that they'd both decided at some point that if anything happened, one of them had to survive in order to raise her.

It's not much, but it seems that Notrette was a very logically minded person, who always looked toward the future in her decisions. I wouldn't doubt that Delling tried to save her, but left without her at her own insistence.

Sometimes I feel as though this scene is paralleling that incident in a way we can't know, and Miorine managing to save Delling here implies that if Delling had tried and not ran away, he could have saved Notrette. But that's just speculation on my part.

There's no real way to prove this, (other than the fact that their voices sound similar) but I've always believed that the closeup of this DOF member we see when they enter the plant is the same DOF member that Suletta kills at the end of the episode.

When Vim launches in the Dilanza Sol, he comments that he worked his way up the corporate ladder by "personally claiming his rivals' heads." It's most assuredly a figure of speech, but um, well.

Like father like son.

When Guel launches in the Desultor, he tries to communicate to the Dilanza Sol, but remember, the comms are jammed, so it returns an error.

After the deed has been done, the network begins reactivating, and we see NETWORK ONLINE appear on Guel's monitor.

This is our first sign that the DOF are starting to run out of time.

I think a lot about this scene. Maybe not in the way you're supposed to think about it though. I just can't shake this idea that Prospera intentionally waited for one of the soldiers to be right in front of Suletta before killing them. She and Godoy had been standing there the whole time, on both sides of the hall. Surely there were better times to have attacked them than when they were right in front of Suletta.

Maybe I'm not giving her enough credit but wouldn't it make sense? She needs Suletta to be okay with the idea of killing someone. Wouldn't seeing her mother do it in order to save her life be perfect for that? Prospera barely comforts her afterward either. She immediately explains to her that if she hadn't done it, Suletta might have been killed, and that fighting can save everyone.

And of course, it's obvious, but I just love the symbolism in this shot. It's so good. Suletta stepping out of the darkness and crossing the line, led by her mother's blinding light, onto the bloody path. It's so good. Such a good fucking scene. Grrggrhgrh

The music that plays during this fight between Suletta and Sophie is titled AERIAL REBUILD

youtube

If you haven't already, you should give it a listen. It's genuinely one of my favorite tracks in the entire OST, top 3 at least, and we don't hear much of it in this scene.

During their duel, Sophie calls Aerial REBUILD's face "scary" and says she "liked her better before."

Aerial is no longer pretending to be a machine made for silly school duels, that line has been crossed, and its true purpose is beginning to be revealed.

The truly terrifying thing about REBUILD's GUND Bit Cannon is that we never see it at full capacity. In fact, this one time we see it, it's at its WEAKEST strength. All mobile suits used in Asticassia have a regulation program installed that limits the energy output of their beam weapons. (With this restriction, all energy weapons only produce green colored beams.) Despite being off Asticassia for months now, Aerial NEVER had that program uninstalled, so its Beam Weapons are still at their lowest output. And, Despite That, the beam produced by this cannon is...

This Powerful. It's so powerful, that when Aerial uses it, you can see it have to activate its back thrusters to counteract the recoil.

It's SO powerful, that it completely melts the legs of a Desultor who just happened to GRAZE it ever so slightly.

Not to talk about future episodes here, but I actually cannot stress that it is genuinely a miracle that Miorine forcefully shut Aerial down in this moment in episode 17.

Because, and I mean this with zero exaggeration, Suletta would have ERASED GUEL and SPLIT THE SCHOOL IN HALF if she released the charge on this god damn canon.

Lord In Heaven, Prospera.

TEXT: SUBJECT: Business Correspondence FROM: Peil Technologies To: ELAN CERES HIGHEST PRIORITY

An attack has been made on Plant Quetta by the terrorist orginization 'Dawn of Fold' 2 unidentified MS using GUND FORMAT were confirmed. We will contact you later with further instructions.

This is the email 5lan receives from Peil after the DOF leave. They got that information quick, huh? I wonder how... We also see that he only ever receives Business Correspondence emails from Peil and Course Schedule updates from Asticassia in his inbox. He doesn't have any friends.

And with that, we have completed Ep 12, the entirety of Season 1! Wow...what a ride it has been thus far...

Thank you for coming on this journey with me...!

Whatever happens next, we'll face it together, won't we?

Episode 13. >>

Masterpost.

#g witch #gundam the witch from mercury #Youtube

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faithlesbian · 1 year

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trans angel thesis post

so me and @titsgirlbuffy on our joint watch noticed this line (in my header image!) from btvs s1e7 and immediately thought hehehe well he said he’s not a man, that means He’s Trans. partly due to the existing bank of star trek characters who clearly meant they werent human but just happened to phrase it a certain way -- its great fun to just take these lines out of context and run with them

[ID: angel in a darkly lit scene saying “I can walk like a man, but I’m not one.”]

the thing is tho the further we got the more trans angel material we kept finding. like we weren’t even looking it was just There. so it went from basically a joke to the actual lens through which we’re now watching ats so. here’s the trans angel thesis post i guess!

so obviously this line was intended to mean hes a demon. its from the episode where we first find out hes a vampire, so the writers are clearly using “not a man” to mean “not a human being” as mentioned before. but then there’s the flashbacks in ats s1e15 to when he was alive and definitely human which...

[ID: three screenshots of angel and his father in 1700s dress. his father says “It’s a son I wished for! A man! Instead, God gave me you.” while Angel looks hurt]

i remember another post (which i will try and find and link to) saying that darla was trapped by societal confines of womanhood and she was drawn to angel bc he was being crushed by societal expectations of masculinity -- “being a man” was something he resoundingly failed at in life. crucially also his birth name, Liam, is left off his headstone and no one ever calls him it again. in contrast to spike for example, who still responds to William, Angel seems to consider Liam to effectively be his deadname (which is funny yk given he only used it when he was alive), and both of his chosen names, Angelus and Angel, are much less masculine.

spike regularly refers to himself as a man, he also sometimes acknowledges that he’s not technically a man meaning not human, but for him this is paired with wishing he could be a man (”i know that i’m a monster, but you treat me like a man” btvs s5e22, “to be a kind of man...” s7e22). in every sense masculinity isn’t something that seems to cause him any kind of distress to be associated with, and while he still has a fascinating relationship to gender i think you’d be hard pushed to say he doesn’t identify as male (tho i’d love to hear any takes on that!!).

on the other hand, here we have one of the few times angel willingly refers to himself as a man in btvs s3e10

[ID: two screenshots of angel, crying and facing buffy, saying “It’s not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It’s the man.”]

if there is a part of himself that he sees as a man, its something he associates with guilt, failure and weakness. obviously there’s other layers to this scene but i do think the word choice is interesting!!

and then theres what i consider one of the seminal trans angel episodes, ats s2e6. first of all he admits that he changes his appearance based on how he wants other people to see him, that he’s worried about what they think. the character he’s talking to in these scenes tells him since he doesn’t have an actual reflection, his outward appearance only matters when considering the people around him, and that there’s two versions of him -- “the image you’ve worked so hard to create, and the real you.”

[ID: Angel, looking concerned and saying “Maybe my persona is a little affected”]

his outward - masculine - presentation is something he maintains for the sake of what others think of him, it’s not an authentic expression of who he is (see this post by @buffyology on how he literally seems to get his whole wardrobe directly from mens fashion magazines). also in this episode, he refers to the aspects of himself that he’s repressing as “it” -- dehumanising but also degendering the things he doesn’t want to come to the surface

[ID: four screenshots of dialogue between angel and another character out of frame. he asks angel “it?” to which angel responds “the demon.” the other character then says “ah. But the demon is you.” angel says “no”, the other character responds “yes. That’s the thing you’ve spent so much energy trying to conceal.”]

he explicitly labels the things about himself he’s afraid of other people seeing with a genderless pronoun, lumping in the demonic aspects of himself alongside the other things being hidden by his artificial masculine outward presentation. he hates himself for being a vampire, and for having done awful things in the past, but also for failing to live up to the expectations of masculinity that he’s still hollowly trying to perform now as he was when he was alive.

masculinity is tied to humanity which is tied to morality -- he ascribes the bad parts of himself to “the demon” which is also genderless, he equates his failure to be a good person with his failure to be a man. in ats s1e15 his father tells him he’s neither a son nor a man, and later on in the same episode darla tells a freshly turned angelus that he’ll never be able to get his father’s approval and that his defeat will last lifetimes -- he’s still trying to prove himself a man and he’s never going to succeed. in ats s2e5 we get this exchange as darla burns angel with a cross

[ID: three screenshots of a standoff between angel and darla, in the first two he holds her by the throat while she burns him with a crucifix. she says “See? No matter how good a boy you are... God doesn’t want you.” In the third screenshot she stands apart and says “But I still do.”]

Darla's word choice in this scene also links masculinity to morality and humanity - essentially saying he will never be a good enough person nor perform masculinity convincingly enough to be accepted by anyone but her, because he's a vampire and he can't change this fact of who his is.

but it’s not a moral failing not to want to be a man, and as much as angel tries to hide and repress it it’s still going to come through because it’s just who he is. while trying his best to Look like a man, he’s still finding ways to assert his identity through his choice of name and aversion to gendered language

[ID: two screenshots cropped to just show subtitles - “More than you might think, Mr. Angel.” “Just Angel”]

[ID: two screenshots cropped to just show subtitles - “Yeah, I’m gonna have to go with Dead Boy on this one.” “Could you not call me that?”] And then there’s this scene where he’s talking about the differences between him and Cordelia and like, i get the joke but also. come on. he cannot commit to calling himself a man without chickening out

[ID: two screenshots dodgily cropped and stitched together to just show subtitles - “Human. Vampire. Woman. Man... pire.”] admittedly most of these lines have fairly obvious intended meanings and me and @titsgirlbuffy were likely picking up on the subtext mostly because we were watching both shows through this lens. it could be argued as a niche reading - up until ats s3e6 that is, in which there’s a guy called Billy who can curse men to become fucked up and evil, who tries to curse Angel, only for him to be immune. A curse. That only affects men. to which he is, randomly, immune.

[ID: four screenshots cropped to just show subtitles - “[Cordelia] I don’t get it.” Angel replies “I don’t get it, either.” and Cordelia continues “I mean, you’re a man, so, why didn’t Billy’s touch affect you?”] I cannot stress enough that they genuinely didn’t have a good reason -- whoever wrote this episode hadn’t come up with a decent explanation as to why angel was immune to the Curse That Affects Men. This is not a great episode but I do consider it to be basically canon confirmation that Angel at the very least isn’t cis.So to conclude, Angel is nonbinary/transfemme and has been trying and failing to perform masculinity well enough to hide this since he was alive. He objects to being called masculine terms and almost never refers to himself as a man, he changed his name to something more androgynous and refuses to go by his old name, and he admits to dressing and acting a certain way to seem more normal and masculine in other people’s eyes. He associates the parts of himself that he hates, fears, and represses, with genderlessness. And he is immune to a curse that only affects men. thank you for reading this long fucking post!

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romanceclub-lovers · 3 months

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Romance Club news recap...

🔱 Kali: Flame of Samsara

Today we’ll finish with posts about the development of the KFS avatar with the last two types, with completely opposite vibes, in my opinion🥵

Dravidian

💎 Landmark: but it’s not there :)

As in the situation with Amrit and Set, the third type of Devi had no prototypes. Just a vague image in my head, reflecting a certain character trait of the heroine, so to speak... It seems to me that this version of appearance looks the most daring, even self-confident. I see her dancing and laughing, her eyes shooting predatorily and sexy, but unapproachable. It was she who put the dagger to the lord's throat on the field, and it was she who winked at her favorite when she danced at the reception.

Hidden in her features is all the most hooligan and wayward that is in Devi😌

Kashmirian

💎 Landmark: Dina Denoire

The last type, the fourth (one of my favorite among all MCs), seems to me the complete opposite of the third. Large, gracefully curved and shining eyes, softly defined full lips and arched eyebrows - all this gives her some kind of gentle girlish beauty. The model I was focusing on also has very smooth features; the fox-like curve of her eyes in some photos makes her look childishly mischievous. But Devi’s facial features are more expressive and larger. She seems sensual and passionate to me, and her difficult disposition is carefully hidden behind a polite smile and leisurely, majestic movements...

Next we'll move on to the favorites, Kamal is first on the list😳 but it’s hard to say exactly when the post will come out, an update is coming soon🤓

Author note: I would like to dress Devi more beautifully for these posts, but I haven’t fully completed Kali on my phone to change her clothes and screenshot her, and somehow time didn’t allow me to bother dressing her up in Photoshop and then uploading the file to my phone......😞

It's the trouble, not the author🙂

Source: Aleksandra. R✨ 👇

Jester ("Moonborn, Legend of the Willow, P.S.I" ) answers more questions from subscribers.

❔ My question is related to the recent extension of "psi" to 14 episodes. Is it possible that a few more episodes will be added, or is 14 the final number?

Jester - Final .

❔ How long did it take to decide on the creation of Psi, that is, did you immediately get to work as soon as the idea came or did you think through everything?

Jester - I thought about it, then I started writing.

❔ Please tell me what I can listen to in order to delve deeper into Ivo’s aesthetics?

Jester - As a rule, I listen to compositions with cello.

Alexander about his cat - Lisa)

Jester - She spins, her face is difficult to photograph. She lies quietly until you pick up the phone and start pointing.

❔ Is it easier for you to write relationships where the partners are equal or where someone is higher on the social ladder?

Jester - It has no effect.

❔ Are you nervous about the release of the finale? Are these experiences comparable to those before releasing chapters of new stories?

Jester - Finals are more difficult emotionally than starts.

❔ Alexander, hello again. How do you feel about the talk and hype about MB2? Does the reluctance of some of the audience to accept her possible reappearance hurt? It seems that if you note such messages, then you are being philosophically dispassionate about them.

Jester - With irony.) Doesn't hurt.

❤️ "Now I'm looking for my Kazu, only in real life:)"

Jester - Will he find Mei? )

❔ Do you play your stories? Not in test mode.

Jester - No .

❔ Have you ever thought that by hiding your identity, you attract even more attention to yourself? People stalk you more in order to find out who the Jester is and what he looks like.

Banksy comes to mind. His anonymity further fuels interest in his graffiti.

Jester - If a person avoids showing off his appearance, to one degree or another, and someone tries to spy on him, this is disgusting. The appearance in this case is a clear example. This can be any personal information.

Source: Romance Club Otp

#romance club #romance club game #rc #rc writers #rc kali flame of samsara #rc kfs #rc psi #moonborn #legend of the willow

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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Now that owl house is over ive noticed an uptick of people kind of retconning the show? like pretending Boscha was the one who ruined Willows life and that Amity NEVER bullied her (they have fully just deleted her entire first appearance of spending 3 minutes harrassing Willow for fun),

or generally just ignoring writing flaws like luzs selfish behaviour, alador being made to one eighty, or smaller things like Skara being including in 'misunderstood' by Willow and rewriting them.

I dont really get it, why not just admit Amity could have been written better, or note how when put in context luz seems very selfish and this should have been better thought out or at least considered in her arc? you can point out these issues and still enjoy the show.

I mean... That's happening for the same reason why I can still write Lumity/Lumischa in a loving, sweet relationship instead of having to acknowledge that Luz gives such little of a shit about Amity as to let her go die alone without warning. Fan content doesn't need to even reflect the analytical beliefs or truths of the show. In fact, it doesn't really need to reflect the show AT ALL sometimes. But this is only true for fan CONTENT. If people are talking about analysis with the show, that gets a lot murkier. I'm not going to be an ass and be like "Oh, they're trying to change the facts!" Not at all. Here's the thing: My blogs tend to be as long as they are when it comes to analysis because of the aggregate actions of the show and characters and what that says about them. For most the words matter WAY more. And The Owl House likes to state what it wants the truth to be rather than backing it up with actions. This is why it goes SO HARD on backstory elements that aren't meant to inform us of character motivations but are supposed to imply that the person they are now is who they've always been so you just forget about they used to be. You forget that Eda was honestly not good to King for like half of S1 if not just the majority of S1. You forget that King acts, talks and others act and talk to him like he's a young adult who's just lazy as shit rather than an eight year old who was adopted by Eda. You forget that Amity was a CUNT for much of her life because look at how much she cares about her teammates or how awful her parents were! It's not good storytelling and it rarely recontextualizes motivations as much as it tries to scapegoat them. We were never going to get a character like Zuko with this writing style because part of Zuko is how much he has INTERNALIZED those trauma we see in S1 and so those never go away entirely. They are still a part of his character. There is no version of Zuko that is pure smiles and laughter like there is for Amity or Hunter. BUT it is to some extent effective, especially since a lot more focus is put on big moments rather than the small ones. I hate Reaching Out for all the small things in it. For all the moments where a small change in dialogue or action would have Luz not seem so entirely callous about Amity's safety while death looms on her mind. What do most remember from that episode? Luz spinning Amity around, Amity not being able to handle Luz's dramatic entrance into the ring and the final conversation where Luz spills out her heart and Amity proves just how amazing a girlfriend she is. Any of the small details that paint Luz poorly, they dismiss entirely because "Look how much pain Luz is in! I'm going to focus on her pain rather than how she is acting because of that pain." Without like, you know... The fact that those going through hard times are STILL responsible for their actions.

I'm not even asking for Luz to have been perfect in that episode but a lot of the time, people will say that hard times prove who you are. I don't like the fact that I can tell I still have a lot of anger in me because I can get more aggressive when I'm tired or just sad than I like to be to others. I apologize and try to keep myself in check though. If this is Luz on a bad day... Then Luz at her core doesn't give a fuck about other people. If her core was that she cared too much, her trauma response should be to focus on those she cares about the most but she doesn't give a SINGLE fuck about Amity that ENTIRE EPISODE. Even down to her saying to join the brawl. She admits it's not because she thinks it's the right choice for Amity or for the situation but that she will always choose chaos. That's not taking into account the person. But that takes ignoring the fact that the text of the episode is trying its hardest to make sure that you are on Luz's side entirely. That by the time Lumity get to the Grom tree, you're not looking for Luz to apologize for breaking her promise at the end Falls and Follies or for ANY of her actions, but instead you're wanting Amity to make Luz feel better.

Luz's choice to stay in the human realm is the same way. The text of the show, the words as stated by characters, is that this is a sacrifice. That it is a noble martyrdom of any happiness Luz could ever have but that she's doing it because she is certain that if she goes, she could only fuck things up. As such, Camila going to the Isles isn't her making Luz do the right thing and actually fix her fuck up but instead Camila being the best mom ever because even though this world scares her, she will do everything in her power to make her daughter happy and give her chances at happiness. This is why I don't blame anyone for liking the show. The show understands good concepts. It thinks that it is doing everything right. And so I have to pull in so much else about the show, all it builds up, contradicts, etc. like that in order to point out why I feel the way I do. The way people might who can't figure out the words because something in the back of your mind is going "Wait, Luz hasn't told any of them the truth and Amity is talking about the future but Luz isn't saying anything but the show says that this makes Luz a good person, not a bad one and that feels wrong for some reason but I can't figure out why." And that is a rough place for most fan analysts. Like they don't do this super often. They aren't ready to pull up an episode list and truly interrogate the thesis in their mind. It's going to be motivated as much by emotion as it is logic. And that's not even a bad thing as most of them are going to do it based on an aspect they love or hate but they're not going to let go of other beliefs they have for the show.

This is part of why I do read every comment that comes across my blogs or my asks. To listen to the other side. Someone yesterday in fact tried to defend Luz becoming a witch at the end because the theme of the show isn't reality vs. fantasy, it's purely about finding a place where you belong. And for a second I was like "You know, that is actually a compelling argument. There is something there." Then I remembered that Yesterday's Lie explicitly pointed out that Luz could have been happy in the Human Realm, that her life was good, and that maybe she needed to question what she was doing. Almost like, I don't know, the question of fantasy vs. reality, of the grand adventure you want versus the fact that life is complicated and messy wherever you go, is a major theme of the show and Luz specifically, right down to King's crown turning out to be nothing but a toy.

But I did my due diligence and did interrogate the question properly and won't say that it has zero merit. Amity finds happiness with Luz. Willow finds happiness with plant magic instead of abominations. Hunter finds happiness out of the EC. There is definitely an aspect of it to the show but it doesn't feel like a main thrust of it. Honestly, I think even if it were, it's made weaker by how much these characters have to change themselves for their happiness. Willow and Luz are the only two who survive contact with a space that will make them happier as Lilith, Eda, Amity and Hunter all effectively have their characters replaced at some point away from their core to a new narrative function that usually either turns them into a joke or something incredibly bland and generic rather than unique and personal.

Analysis is COMPLICATED. Good analysis is HARD. I mean, someone tried to refute me on Titan Luz being a deux ex machina probably in part because they like the spectacle it brought them and while I still debated that my original points stood and that their arguments actually made it clearer how it was a deux ex machina... That doesn't make it a bad thing. But to most fandom analysts, the very term means the story is beyond redemption if it uses that. Meanwhile, I'd argue the deux ex machina appears to be the best part of that episode because it allows such a joyous spectacle for the fans to enjoy, including the angst spectacle of Luz dying. ALL of this is also what led to me final statement for my tierlist: TOH is worse than the sum of its parts. In order to articulate why though, you have to be able to examine all of those parts and TOH is such an ambitious show that there are a LOT of parts with a lot of movement to them to examine. That's a lot harder than questioning if one part is worse than you'd like but keeping a firm belief that the rest is just as good as you always believed, or vice versa. I mean, when I did the Found Family blog, I literally had a moment where I went "I genuinely expected Eda and Luz to have spent time enough to justify the finale because I do believe in their relationship as mentor and student but the two spend almost no time together in the second half and WHAT THE HELL!?" I was caught off guard by finding out that a part of S1 I was firm was good and functional was a lot shakier than I'd expected. But I did my diligence in double checking and then exploring the answer I got.

And I could get into the excuses people give for the show like the shortening but... I mean, I still agree with someone on my Discord that if an analyst excuses something as due to the shortening, they better have a DAMN good reason for it. I will actually listen to an argument for Hunter's character arc being worse because of the shortening due to S2A likely still being mostly produced without that knowledge. I won't forgive that it already had signs of being bad and as bad as most arcs in the show though because even with Eclipse Lake he's being treated as a joke and only truly as an enemy by Amity for a little bit and his OWN COVEN. Eda and King treat him as a joke and so does the episode so while his arc could have been better with more time, it's hard to say it would have been good. Because an excuse actually has to correlate with what is presented. And The Collector exists so... Really, there's no way of using the shortening as an excuse. Not when I've literally made a compelling argument for why a full S3 would have at best been good because the show clearly wanted more time than was EVER reasonable without a firm guarantee from Disney and Disney hasn't given a show more than 3 seasons in a WHILE. (I would link the blog but I couldn't find it quickly)

But again: A lot of these people are just wanting to talk about a show they love and you know what: More power to them. I talk about this show so much because I want to talk about a show I used to live and my brain is rigged to overthink EVERYTHING. A decade ago and I would have been way worse at these blogs than I am now, especially since back then my point was to prove I was right and smart while nowadays it's much more about wanting to teach about writing and discuss aspects of it. And there's a lot I can teach with The Owl House but if I half ass my analysis, you're not going to learn and so I try to be a bit more thorough than maybe I even have to be. If this blog doesn't prove that in spades. Edit: Part of me wonders if part of this is a misinterpretation/abuse of Dana saying that whatever she's stated is as valid as anyone else's headcanons and that only what explicitly happened is canon for the show. Which, as always, for many, meant rip Aro/Ace Lilith and Lesbian Amity. -_- ===========

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.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#TOH Critical #The Owl House Criticism

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sonkitty · 5 months

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S2 Crowley Hair Post #8 Redone

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 1, The Arrival, finding out Gabriel is in the bookshop

I like my old post too much to just flat out edit it. Plus, I'm so excited to answer some of my own questions even though I can't be too sure of everything. Here's the old one if you wish to see.

In a way, I am re-visiting it, but I'm also redoing some parts.

All that said, let's dig in.

What do we learn from the sideburns?

They are both long.

It has taken me an absurdly long time to catch on, but generally speaking, the left sideburn will have less hair or fullness to match the often intended "lighter" side of Crowley's hair. The story seems to favor making the color brighter on the left side of his head. Instead of making a sideburn brighter, the sideburn is styled with less hair to look more light.

If I'm reading this scene properly, the left sideburn increases in fullness between after the cut from when Crowley takes off his sunglasses and walks toward a more centered area of the bookshop floor.

The left sideburn is probably still more light in amount of hair than the right, but it is notably thick compared to everything the story has showed up to this point. The right sideburn is thick as well, but we saw a similar thickness earlier when Crowley answered the phone by the Bentley.

Crowley says, "You'll never guess who Shax was asking me about."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, in the direction of where we assume Crowley's presence is, and he says, "Yes, I think perhaps I will."

Here are some thoughts to toy with.

In all of season 2, how many times did we see Crowley and Aziraphale cross the threshold together with no other angel already inside?

Never. They crossed twice with Gabriel already inside, once in episode 1 and once in episode 2. We assume they crossed together at some point after episode 4 ended because they were walking toward the threshold. Even if they did, Crowley's sideburns were staying their length at that point.

How many times were Crowley and Aziraphale on the main bookshop floor with just the two of them?

Twice. Crowley entered from the stairs as Aziraphale was preparing for the ball in episode 5. Aziraphale entered from the threshold to the building in episode 6.

How long were Crowley's sideburns those times?

They were not as short as (usually) around as humans and not as long as when Crowley is around Gabriel.

The story never tells us if Crowley would already be having longer sideburns around Aziraphale that are not as long as they get around Gabriel when only Crowley and Aziraphale are on the bookshop main floor.

Does Crowley need a mirror to know if the sideburn length changed?

We can only guess. His drive after his visit from Hell makes a point to remind us the mirror is there, just in case he does need one. Those "two minutes" from the call Aziraphale made...that might have meant, or included, Crowley needed two minutes for them to shorten "properly" (for lack of a better word).

Is the effect intentional?

Crowley is supposed to be able to change his appearance as he pleases. Since I'm led to believe he is intentionally creating his own space at the park and intentionally using his knowledge about them on how to handle Shax's call and intentionally letting them shorten even on his drive to the coffee shop, it seems they are related to how he manages his own space, at least when it comes to the Bentley and sitting in the park. I never mentioned this on Shax's call, but Crowley can see his reflection in the phone.

At the same time...we don't see this type of management from Aziraphale for Aziraphale's own space. The current space is Aziraphale's, not Crowley's, even if Crowley is welcome in it, and it is like a secondary home base to him.

It seems there is something more that these sideburns do that I can't quite figure out and keep guessing is related to memory.

Whatever that extra something is, memory or not, this sideburn effect is NOT to alert Crowley, "Gabriel is nearby! Gabriel is nearby!"

It alerts us but not him. Aziraphale is way beyond needing an alert by this point.

That look from Aziraphale, that could be a recognition that the sideburns are that long on Crowley because yes, Gabriel is truly inside the bookshop with them, and his anxiety about the situation is further confirmed.

Is the brighter red streak visible?

Oh yes. This scene wants you to know it's there despite the dim lighting of the scene itself. We get close enough views multiple times.

Is the hairstyle different from the present day Crowley scene before it?

Yes, it is quite different actually though we don't see it as much from the top as from the front. The sideburns are longer for a start, but it's also become more collected and tidy. The top front swoops further upward, like it did in earlier scenes, with a little tilt and curve to Crowley's right.

Additional Notes:

If you thought I was having fun toying with questions above, wait until you see this.

There is so much going on with this scene, but I guess I should focus on hair first.

Now, I didn't go over the "Before the Beginning" scene at the start because I'm more interested in the "present day" scenes and not interested enough for the others, well, to make posts about them anyway. However, that scene exists and showed us an angel who eventually becomes Crowley. That character had long sideburns. As I'm comparing while drafting this post, I think that angel's sideburns were not quite as long as the sideburns shown in this scene. So, the sideburns were maybe more like the length when we saw Crowley at his own threshold with the Bentley.

Oh, here's the fun bit, for me!

~Start me responding my own questions of original post~

So, why does Gabriel's presence make Crowley's sideburns long for the audience to see? None of the other characters react to his sporadic hair changes, sideburn length changes or not, and Crowley himself never shows an awareness it's happening either. But we get to see it.

Ah, but you see, my past self, two characters do react. Crowley does have an awareness, as does Aziraphale. They are both just very deliberately subtle about it. They never verbally say it, but they look, and they act with intention to them, I am reasonably sure.

If the Metatron is editing the Book of Life, why is he telling us about Crowley's constant hairstyle changes and care so much given the utter contempt in a single glare at Crowley we see in episode 6? Is he that obsessed?

If this is some tremendously twisted literary battle within a book between Crowley, Aziraphale, and the Metatron, they are taking advantage of the fact that the Metatron is probably going to have no clue about physical human appearance and that sideburns do not behave this way on mortals.

Otherwise, well, this just plain isn't the Metatron editing the Book of Life.

I mean, personally speaking, I think the Book of Life is hidden as that matchbox somehow because that is a very risky yet possibly clever way to hide it from Michael or Heaven in general. Not strong in that thought, just...where I am.

But anyway...

These are GUESSES, which I will say repeatedly. I am nowhere near as sure on these guesses as I am on the "space matters for these sideburns!" thing.

If the Metatron's not editing it to that extent, who/what wrote it initially to that extent?

Current findings suggest...Crowley and Aziraphale. They co-wrote this story...for us and/or each other. That's why we have a mix of Aziraphale's romance fantasy and Crowley's spy fantasy. Crowley even tries to play match-maker for Aziraphale while Aziraphale gets into the spirit of being an investigative reporter (not quite the same as spying, but still, seeking intel, figuring things out, etc). The Metatron might be some kind of invasive editor or opponent due to how it ends.

If the characters are trapped in a time loop that keeps resetting to create the story we're given, why are the sideburns reacting based on character presence and space but with little acknowledgment of chronology?

My current guess...it is not a time loop. It is a very thorough edit or possibly a few more edits. At least one story happened once that involved the box, Gabriel, and the Book of Life. Beelzebub may have been involved too with the end result or intention being to help those two get a happy ending.

Crowley and Aziraphale went back and took some specific things out, replacing them with specific other things in ways only they should be able to understand between each other. It can't be too much different because then it loses too much meaning to the reader(s).

Problems arose with the Metatron breaking into the story. He also made some edits.

If memories are being stitched together to create a new story, why don't those memories care about such an obvious inconsistency?

Current guess: If that is what is happening, they do care. They are supposed to be noticed as part of the messages between Crowley and Aziraphale. The Metatron will hopefully not understand, but he is trying if his mimicry of their behavior is any clue.

Is it a key to direct the memories on what to do? He's not in every scene!

Current guess: More like a key for what they were, at least between those two (if that is their function, they seem vastly more related to space as I study this stuff).

Sure, Crowley can change how he looks whenever he wants for whatever reason he wants, but like...is this subconscious?

Current guess: Somewhat, but he likely initiated it on purpose and took things from there.

Who, in this fictional world, is trying to tell us what they mean?

Crowley and Aziraphale, so we can enjoy their story as they sort it all out.

And you know, what do they mean?

Still working on that, but it's helping Crowley manage his space when he is in or around his car at the very least. There's something more I still can't figure out because they must be doing more than that, especially when it comes to Aziraphale's space.

When I ask seriously in my head "Why Crowley? What's so special about him, besides my own current obsession, but within the context of this story?" the first thing that leaps to mind is the continual hints about his past angel status and most specifically the hint that Crowley was a "first order" archangel. Gabriel is almost always referred to as the "Supreme Archangel," not a "first order" archangel. However, in episode 6, "first order" are the words Gabriel uses when the camera pans to Crowley's face. I don't think "first order" is used any other scene.

So, maybe Crowley was a past first order archangel before his fall and maybe that's going to matter at some point.

Plus, you know, that past angel had long sideburns.

I am still in this same place of thought.

All the "why" rambling aside, I think it also relates to the space Crowley shares with Aziraphale in the given context of this scene. The bookshop is "technically" Aziraphale's bookshop, but Crowley is always welcome in it. However, Gabriel's presence changes the meaning of that space, not for the entirety they are in it throughout the story but enough that the longer sideburns are always on if there is going to be a scene of just Crowley and Gabriel or just Crowley, Aziraphale, and Gabriel. All such scenes take place in the bookshop from start to finish of the season.

I am about as sure I can be that it relates to the space as a type of home base for Crowley. I am not as clear on how length is supposed to mix with character relations. I am leaning toward rank, memory, or both...and/or supernatural existence since "short" is strongly associated with being around humans or a supernatural entity acting human.

Once humans get involved later with the ball, the medium or long sideburns will actually alternate depending on what is happening in the presented story.

I am going to point out as well, the sideburns can and do slightly foreshadow what I've ended up calling qualifying encounters. They are long before Crowley knows Gabriel is there. And they are there, in my assumption, because this is a scene that has Crowley, Gabriel, Aziraphale, and no one else, in the bookshop.

I have stopped thinking of things as qualifying encounters. Sideburn lengths have activation points based on space and character presence. From there, they lengthen or shorten depending on movement or lack thereof (stillness). Muriel threw me off because I didn't grasp how literally the bookshop as a space took their claim to be human.

An extra note: Despite my theories on the story, I don't think it's all Crowley and Aziraphale POV or completely their story. There's too much from everyone else to be quite like that.

~End me responding my own questions of original post~

Non-hair things:

This scene is fascinating. Crowley is terrified instantly. We've seen him terrified before but that included trying to stay composed nonetheless when it came to Hastur and Ligur and not being able to really run when Satan was coming. This context is different, and Crowley is caught completely off-guard, also unusual. Aziraphale had been confused and only took a step back when Gabriel asked to come in. Crowley doesn't have that chance, so he has to just instantly back away.

There is zero doubt in Crowley's head that this being is Gabriel with something having happened to him whereas earlier Aziraphale told Gabriel who knew someone who looked a lot like him. I mean, I'm sure Aziraphale was relatively sure himself, but he gave and acknowledged that inkling of doubt, that there could be something else.

Not Crowley though.

And even though Beelzebub later refers to the fly holding all of Gabriel's memories as "all your you", we know bare minimum there are some things in this being that Crowley, and only Crowley, was able to tap into. That "institutional problem" part sounded like a little bit of Gabriel's actual memory to me, no purple eyes needed for it either.

This scene continues with blocking and blurring for who is on screen. The characters interact but are blurred at times when supposedly on screen together. A lot of times only one of the characters is on screen, the audience left to assume it's because of distance and focus of who's talking or reacting. This entire scene is Aziraphale, Crowley, and Gabriel yet all three are never on screen at the same time. When Gabriel shows up, the blur switches between him and Crowley, ensuring both are not clear when we see them briefly in the same part of the scene together.

Tag: crowley s2 hair project

Crowley S2 Hair Project - Main Point of Reference for Sideburns

Crowley S2 Hair Post #10 (angry lightning walk

#crowley s2 hair project #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #david tennant #crowley

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sergeantsporks · 2 years

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hunter's eyes change color a bit. some of it may be just lights in the scenes, but they do change more than any other character's eyes

at the end of hollow mind in the owl house and in the early asais scene with coven heads they're a lot more red than in any other scene, in hunting palismen in latissa they're the darkest purple of any of hunter's appearances, in eclipse lake they're a bit lighter than in hp but also slightly redder and more muted? dusty?

asais at school n flyer derby his eyes change between like 5 shades with slightly different red and purple undertones, but that one may be just light

hollow mind is tricky bc there's a lot of light effects (the pink eyes when dragged underground are def at least partially if not completely from belos's red magic, but maybe from fear too?) but in other scenes his eyes do change more than luz's with the same changes in light, in the gallery they turn more red when he sees the portrait with belos leading witches out of the burning town, and from the fall into the real mindscape and most of the episode they're really muted n dusty purple, darkened and muted much more than luz's eyes

labyrinth runners doesn't have much big color changes that can't be attributed to lights

so, maybe grimwalker eyes actually do change color, with emotion or thoughts or sth? or are just more reflective than normal witch eyes so change in lights makes them appear to change color stronger than anyone else's?

HI my name is Hunter Grimwa'lker Wittebane, and my eyes change color with my mood afneiworjelwi

It might just be because of the color that they change more than Luz's eyes? Like, my blue eyed siblings' eyes change with the light more than my brown eyes, it might just be more noticable because he has lighter colored eyes and shifts in Luz's eyes are less noticable?

Idk how eyes work, but I hope to god grimwalkers have tapetum lucidum so other coven heads would get up in the middle of the night for a drink of water only to see Hunter like

#toh #the owl house #toh hunter #asks

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cynicalclassicist · 5 months

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Musings on Chibnall Sontarans

I've decided that it might be fun to try writing down some Doctor Who thoughts rather than just musing on them to myself. I freely admit that it's a tad rambling and I might diverge on the topic a bit but this is just me putting some thoughts down.

But the only way I'll ever get any better at writing posts like this is to write them.

Some thoughts on the Sontarans that I mused around.

I think that I prefer Chibnall's take on the Sontarans the most.

A recurring criticism that I saw of the Sontarans during Moffat's era was that they were being played for laughs too much. To be fair, the Sontarans don't really appear in force during much of his era. It's mainly just Strax, who is framed as a comedy Sontaran. It gets bit more complex when you see that when he first appeared there was a bit less of that comic tone, but after he joined Vastra and Jenny he was largely there to be the comic relief in the trio.

And when he briefly reverts back to his normal self in The Name of the Doctor it is effective, before he... gets disintegrated or erased, I'm never quite certain which.

But then you have scenes in The Time of the Doctor where the Sontarans don't seem to realise how an invisibility shield works and are there for a one-off joke.

The Sontarans don't really show up much under Peter Capaldi, Strax turning up in the first episode which is about it.

You may wonder why. Did they not fit Moffat's tone of more reflective and experimental takes with 12?

The boring answer for why the Sontarans didn't turn up much with 12 is... they just didn't. It's not really like the Daleks and to a slightly lesser extent the Cybermen, where it's sort of expected that each Doctor meets them.

The Sontarans were often seen as the third of the villain races in Doctor Who, behind the Daleks and Cybermen. But now they've been sort of eclipsed by the Weeping Angels. You can see that in how in The Time of the Doctor promo it had Daleks, Cybermen, Weeping Angels, Silents... something something joke about not remembering them. And that Hell Bent had in the catacombs a Dalek (that I headcanon was left over from The Apocalypse Element), a Cyberman and a Weeping Angel.

And likely Moffat didn't really feel that there was much more to do with the Paternoster Gang. I didn't object to them not turning up again in 12's era and I don't object now.

The Sontarans in Pond Life were a bit more traditional in that they're menacing, Pond Life being the piece Chris Chibnall wrote... which leads back to the original point.

The Sontarans in Flux are presented in a much less comical light. This is probably the most effective that they've been on-screen since... The Invasion of Time, where they came close to conquering Gallifrey. But in Flux they are shown massacring their way through 19th century British soldiers, having inserted themselves into history and conquered a large portion of the world. In the same ep they've easily conquered modern-day Earth. Then later that series they conquer Earth quickly again, having engineered a plan across decades with another alien to weaken Earth's defences.

I would say that you do see some of the flaws in Doctor Who: Flux from what I've said here, in that there are two invasions of modern-day Earth by the Sontarans this series, apparently un-connected, as it's not clear if the Grand Serpent helped in their War of the Sontarans invasion. I know that Flux was cobbled together in very difficult circumstances, and it does kind of show that the scripts have had to be forced a bit so they all sort of fit together, with the odd ending which seems to forget that most of the Universe was destroyed. I hope that we get something like a Writer's Tale one day or even adaptations of the original plans, like Big Finish has done for some Classic stories. Maybe novelisations? Anyway...

Along with invading Earth, the Sontarans trick the Daleks and the Cybermen, who they often play second fiddle to, into being destroyed by the Flux and come very close to becoming the main power of the Universe.

Though the Sontarans have often been seen as rather comical thugs, with full-on attacks we do see that they can be cunning. Flux does make them worthy of their status as one of the Universe's top warrior races.

Now I don't think that the Sontarans need to be too serious. You can still play them for laughs in their belligerent nature. Their whole Imperialism is always subject to mockery. The Time Warrior starts with Commander Linx annexing the Earth. You get touches of that throughout. Commander Skaak tells the Doctor that they are invading during the Crimea War as they wanted to ride a horse... That image of a Sontaran on a horse is brilliant. And of course, a Sontaran getting addicted to chocolate.

I kind of like some more attention being drawn to the alien biology of Sontarans, with details like them easily getting a sweet tooth and the detail about them having trouble on Earth so needing to refuel every 27 hours. You might argue that this is the sort of weakness that would have been brought up earlier, that it would have worked as a weakness for another alien race, and that the Sontarans already have that probic vent weakness. Yes. But DW being in new stuff after decades is... meh, it happens. Though it's odd that Svild still goes through this sleep when he doesn't have access to the ship. Maybe he has supplies?

A scene which feels symbolic of the move to more brutal Sontarans over the bumbling Strax happens in War of the Sontarans. Svild feels more Strax-like, even while he is imprisoned boasting about defeating human scum. When he goes back to the Sontaran base he is told by his superior that he is a disgrace and killed.

I would hardly say that this is a personal attack on Moffat's way of doing the Sontarans. The mentality of presuming that different writers are attacking each other like they are rival politicians I find to be very reductive and needlessly provocative. It does feel though like a reminder that Strax and the way he acts is not typical of the Sontarans. It's as if Strax is being killed but it's not Strax, as to kill Strax here would be a bit much.

There is also a much nastier feel to the Sontarans. We are used to Strax talking about killing human scum and off-screen he apparently killed numerous horses, but we don't see him doing that. We know that it's his usual boistering. But the Sontarans in Flux do show that it's not just talk.

In their first scene in The Halloween Apocalypse a Sontaran tells another how disgusting they look, a meaner kind of humour. The Sontarans seem to revel in how nasty they are. They mockingly tell human captives to keep their last words to themselves before killing them. They even massacre all the Lupari save for Karvanista (that is done a bit quickly I agree). They trick the Daleks and the Cybermen into a trap.

I have noticed that Chibnall seems to prefer writing nastier villains, which you see with Solomon (it counts as he wrote the episode), Tzim-Sha, the Reconnaissance Dalek, the Spy Master, Ashad, Tecteun, Swarm... this deserves it's own essay. All I'll say here is that the world is showing so many real-life monsters it doesn't seem too implausible to depict characters revelling in their evil.

It is worth noting, as I am fond of doing, that there is a sort of Russian element to the Sontarans. In a way they seem a metaphor for the likes of Putin. After all, they take the place of Russia in a changed timeline. Then resorting to a long-scale infiltration of Earth's defences, including defunding UNIT, obviously alludes to Brexit and the weakening of British defences. Probably why the Master and the other top villains of the Whoniverse assemble around Russia in The Power of the Doctor... but that's another story. That needs its' own essay too.

And their leader rides a horse.

The Sontarans are opportunists here, not planning the Flux but certainly taking advantage of it. What the Flux is... well, it can be interpreted in various ways. It could just be a general worry of complete annihilation. The main villains in this series, the Ravagers, are basically Gods of Nihilism, believing in simply the destruction of everything and seeing it as a duty to bring about inevitability. Kind of like the Anti-Logopolitans... or an Anti-Monitor, if you're going DC comics. And that story had the villains taking advantage of the trouble to try taking control of the remaining Earths...

Unfortunately, some of the dialogue does lean into unfortunate territory. "If the Flux is destroying the universe, if planets and stars are being wiped out, there will be displaced creatures who need a home. Somewhere to take over." It does sound like it is leaning towards the great replacement, the scaremongering that people like Douglas Murray snarl about, of how European culture will be replaced. I don't think that was the intent, aliens whose planet has been destroyed invading Earth is very standard sci-fi, from War of the Worlds to a lot of Doctor Who. It's probably just unfortunate phrasing. Reminds me of Lawrence Miles going at Mark Gatiss over The Unquiet Dead having aliens pretending to be vulnerable then invading in force. Could that be argued as more problematic? I won't debate that here. The other showrunners have done their show of problematic stuff and comments but that doesn't really make it any better and if I go on about this then it looks like I'm excusing it.

Of course, if we're talking about Doctor Who writers going great replacement that's probably more Gareth Roberts, considering he writes in Douglas Murray's shitshow The Spectator now. And Strax was based on a concept he had... but moving on as he's a sore spot for many Doctor Who fans because of how clearly he rejects the mentality of the show.

It did occur to me that if the Sontarans were travelling back in time to invade human history in a big sweeping universe-threatening adventure which involves multiple Doctors, that sort of makes Flux the closest thing to a live-action adaptation of Doctor Who Legacy, a fun little game which ran from 2013-2019, as Tiny Rebel did not want to renew the license with the BBC. I suppose that Chibnall gets the blame for that as seeing the complaints over the lack of Christmas specials has demonstrated to me that lots of people don't seem to entirely understand how much power the showrunner has.

Moving back... maybe even the design of the Sontarans seems to hark back to their earlier nature. As opposed to the sleeker, more realistic look of the Sontarans from The Sontaran Stratagem onwards, these Sontarans are more Classic in design. The blue armour and smooth skin is replaced by the black armour and rocky look of the Classic series. From what I've seen (but that's my circle so not sure how representative it is) a lot of fans actually prefer this design.

To quote a site that I found recently...

"I don't know that I'm a huge fan of the new Sontaran design - Commander Skaak kept reminding me of George C. Scott - but I do like that it was a deliberate nod back to the initial Sontaran mask as designed for 'The Time Warrior,' with the hairs and pock marked skin. Kevin Lindsay, the actor who played Linx in that story and who received a shout out in this episode's script, suffered from heart trouble, and that initial mask caused him a lot of breathing problems. So much so that when they brought the supposed 'clone' of Linx back the following season they'd had to re-make the mask for the sake of his health, and they used that opportunity to clean up the look a lot, removing the hairs and giving the skin a much smoother complexion. That was the general Sontaran aesthetic they used thereafter, and I like the nod to the original concept." (https://www.douxreviews.com/2021/11/doctor-who-flux-chapter-two-war-of.html)

They even have a Sontaran in The Halloween Apocalypse stick his tongue out!

For the sake of completion I may as well show how it changed from Commander Linx to Commander Styre.

I actually asked @dalesramblingsblog about this comedy stuff recently and got a response. Yeh, Sontarans have always had a comic edge. https://dalesramblingsblog.tumblr.com/post/733709232342499328/if-were-going-on-the-making-affectionate-digs-at

Maybe this whole post is a waste of time... Anyway, it's kind of fun writing these. I should do more. I might quibble on some details but it's honestly nicer saying how I liked something in Doctor Who.

#doctor who #sontarans #chris chibnall #war of the sontarans #doctor who flux #you don't have to like it to admit there are things to analyse #fuck putin by the way

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ryndicate · 1 year

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Ok here my final thoughts on the first episode of the new trigun. I’m being super vague in all of this for people who are watching but I’ll still put it under a readmore just in case for those who feel like any detail they learn is a potential spoiler.

My hesitant opinion: watch the original Trigun first if you want to feel the full effect of the intended plot and character development.

The effects are beautiful and the voices are amazing. The art style is a little different than I’m used to but not even in a bad way. I really like it and I love being able to see the mouths moving to the japanese words, it’s actually giving me more insight on the proper pronunciation of some words I thought I knew lol

But as for the story I can’t help but feel concerned. I’m going to hold out hope and keep watching, but if the rest of the series continues like it did this episode, then I’m not sure what to make of the story they’re telling.

In the first episode alone, it *appears* they’ve either removed or replaced one of the main support characters, completely changed the personality of the other main support character (from loud spitfire to ditzy damsel), and finally... revealed three different key factors of the story that weren’t revealed until very late in the full plot.

I’m still hoping for redemption, but based on this episode alone....my hopes feel thin.

Edit: above the cut where I said "original Trigun", read as 1998 anime release of Trigun (since I know if I edit it, any current reblogs wont reflect so I'm putting it here). That iteration of the 1998 release won't be perfect either as it's been pointed out to me that it only contains 4 of the 16 volumes of the manga. I've never read the manga and all my opinion on what I've said above are based purely on the 1998 anime<3

#trigun stampede

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be-netz · 1 year

Photo

— NOW PLAYING: NEXT GEN EPISODE 2

the day of the evaluation… captions overlay the scene of six judges finding their way to their seats in a relatively plain set, a small stage before them obviously prepared for the contestants they’re here to judge today. YOON JIHUN is the first to enter with SEO RAN close behind, idly chatting with YOOJUNG who enters with her as they find their seats at the judges’ table. J-YOON is next to enter, greeting his ceo and the other judges before quietly taking his seat. is he the loner of the group…? the captions assume, though the thought is quickly discarded when YUNA and BOM enter together, arms interlocked as they whisper something between them before taking their seats as well.

“so,” jihun is the first to address the group as a whole, placing his attention in particular on the three judges who also helped train the idol wannabes during the last several days. “what should i be looking most forward to today? any surprises?” he clasps his hands together and leans forward against the table as if in anticipation.

a soft smile crosses yoojung’s face. “there’s a lot of talented dancers in this group. and a lot who are not, but made huge improvements in a very short time. i think some of them will manage to surprise you.”

bom, on the other hand, simply scowls. she says nothing and instead, the editors add in a few clips of a similar glare on her face when working with the contestants during their lessons.

“there wasn’t a big rap part in this song,” j-yoon admits with a shrug. “i think it’s something anyone with a basic understanding of music could pull off. but i’m interested to see what yoojung and bom made of the dancers and vocalists too.”

“shall we see our first contestant, then?” RHEE JIAN appears on stage, ready to introduce the contestants one by one to the judges. “they’re all waiting so nervously backstage. after working so hard these last several days, let’s call them in right away.” though her words are surely part of a script, the judges all nod their heads as if giving approval for judgment day to begin.

“those who ranked low during their auditions have the most potential for growth, so today we’ll go in order from who ranked last to first place. which means the first performance of the day will be… LEE NOEL,”

a short clip of noel entering the stage and bowing to the judges is shown before being replaced by scenes of a practice room and noel rehearsing with other contestants. it’s group dance practice and the editing makes it seem as if noel is making mistake after mistake and the doom and gloom of the editing is punctuated by tense sound effects and music. “i placed last,” noel’s voice cuts over the sounds before the scene of him in the interview room takes over the compilation of his mistakes. “while it doesn’t bother me, i do want to prove that i deserve more than last place.” clips of noel practicing with other participants show then; practicing vocals with hyejin and dohyun, and dance with seojun.

the scene changes again, now back to the stage in front of the judges, and noel performs my turn in front of the group. no comment is made by either the judges or the captions and silence follows the conclusion of his performance, the only sound heard the breathing of the contestant who just performed.

“lee noel,” it’s jihun who picks up his microphone first to give his evaluation of the performance after the tense quiet, “do you really want to be here?” his words are harsh and his expression not much kinder. the camera zooms in on noel’s face for his reaction to the criticism.

“your performance isn’t memorable at all. aren’t you nervous? don’t you want to do well? your attitude doesn’t seem to reflect that. we invited you to participate in this show despite hundreds— no, thousands of auditions. do you even care?”

“he’s angry,” the microphones catch ran whispering to yuna.

yoojung picks up his microphone next, his expression rather serious though softer than the last speaker’s. “noel, you auditioned with dance and you definitely improved with practice over these last several days. it’s good to know that you can learn and make adjustments when we give you critique. but there’s a lot of good dancers in this competition. i don’t know if you can surpass them if you want to rise above your current rank.”

“you should understand that your place on this show is in danger,” bom, as usual, does not mince her words as she speaks directly to the young man.

“as a not very good dancer and far from a good singer, it felt like i had to learn two things at once,” noel’s interview comes back to the screen, sad music playing as if to garner sympathy for the young man. “i guess that was the most difficult thing, everything at once.”

it’s jian’s face that takes up the screen next, smiling to the camera despite the harsh critique from the last performance. “our next contestant is HWANG BADA,” she announces as the camera zooms in on the girl entering the stage, looking a bit nervous as she does so. ran tries to send her an encouraging smile from the judges’ table.

“the cameras are a bit nerve-wracking, don’t you think?” bada’s voice plays over the scene of her very intentionally meeting the eyes of the judges. “before this, i just worked at my family’s store.” the scene shifts to bada in the practice rooms, rehearsing with hyejin, stevie, haein, and in the group lessons. “i’m going to give it my all. my performance may not be the best, but it’s definitely my best.”

unfortunately, no sooner does the music start does bada make a mistake. she misses the first beat and the camera focuses in on yoojung wincing at the error. the mistake is played again, though this time it shows she recovers and pushes through. she’s out of breath, her voice cracks, but she still continues on. the camera focuses on bom, whose expression is hard to read.

“bada,” it’s ran who speaks first this time her voice gentle and words mostly kind, “you know, right? it wasn’t a perfect performance. but what we’re looking for more than perfection is your potential. how much did you improve from the last time we saw you? were you able to take critique, to ask for help when you needed it? this is a program to discover talent we want to sign to our companies and continue to nurture. no one is expecting you to be ready to debut tomorrow.”

“your voice was better in practice,” it’s bom who speaks next, the editing of the scene alluding to tension as if bom will rip the girl’s performance to shreds. “but that’s to be expected. you have a lot to learn still. what i liked about your performance is that despite your mistakes, you did not give up. tenacity is an important trait to have as a trainee and an idol.”

“did you just say something nice to someone?” yuna picks up her microphone to tease bom, who just smiles and laughs a bit in return. “you worked hard bada,” yuna congratulates the girl despite the flaws in her performance. “like the others said, there’s still a lot to learn. but you seem eager to learn it, and that’s all we can ask for. great job.”

warm music plays as bada takes her leave from the stage before showing a short compilation of her last several days of training. most notably, a clip of her in tears contrasts a clip of a smiling, laughing face. keep working hard, bada! the captions cheer her on.

“up next, a mysterious man who tends to keep to himself, GEUN WONJAE,” rian announces. the scene changes to a series clips of wonjae sitting by himself during breaks in practice and rehearsing alone.

“he looks tired,” j-yoon murmurs to no one in particular as wonjae takes the stage.

“was he up all night practicing?” yoojung wonders aloud, the other idols among the judges frowning seemingly in sympathy as they watch the young man ready himself for his performance.

wonjae makes the same mistake bada did, missing the first beat. his whole performance seems slightly off, as if his body is too tired and sluggish to respond the way he wants it to. he’s clearly frustrated by the end of his performance, the cameras catching the way his hands ball into tight fists by his sides.

“before we talk about your performance,” ran’s brow knits together as she speaks, seemingly genuinely concerned for the young man, “did you get any sleep at all last night? we know that everyone is working hard for this show but it’s important to get your rest when you can. when you’re tired, you can make a mistake and injure yourself.”

“i don’t think we can say much about this performance, to be honest,” jihun speaks next. “wonjae, we know that you did not show us your best side today. it’s not really fair to judge you based on this. i don’t think we can give you a very high score for this but i hope that you take better care of yourself going forward. we want to see the performer we recognized from your audition, not this.”

wonjae is dismissed from the stage and bom lets out a large sigh. “i wish we hadn’t started from the bottom ranks, actually. i think i’m wasting my time hoping for a big surprise.”

“next we’d like to welcome to the stage… SEO JUNHO!” jian is shown giving a small round of applause as the next contestant takes the stage. the cameras show him settling into position briefly before changing the scene, now showing his time preparing for this moment. he glares at himself in the mirror while he tries to perfect the routine. shots of the camera crews packing up and leaving while junho continues to practice late into the night are played with the caption he worked so hard for this moment… is displayed on the screen. a shot of his notes and annotations of the lyrics is shared with the audience. it’s clear that seo junho is one contestant who is taking this show very seriously. maybe bom will finally get the surprise that she’s hoping for.

junho’s performance begins without any long preamble. it’s immediately clear that his hard work has paid off; compared to the last contestants, his moves are much sharper, his voice much more stable. it’s not a perfect performance, but the editors show off his best moves multiple times, cut with the subtle impressed eyebrow raise from jihun himself.

“i want to be the first to speak,” j-yoon hardly lets the music fade away before he’s picking up his microphone, “i feel like i need to apologize. i might have been to harsh on your during the last episode. you’ve absolutely made me eat my words since then,” j-yoon looks absolutely delighted to be proven wrong by the contestant, a smile lighting up his features despite his apology.

“i have to agree,” yuna speaks next. “i think your performance is the largest improvement we’ve seen in a contestant so far. it’s amazing, to be honest. you shone brighter here, with one chance to get it right, than you did in your audition tape with however many takes you put into that. great job, junho. we can’t wait to see what you do next.”

“LEE SEOJUN,” it’s not rian who calls his name but rather an unnamed staff member. the cameras are sure to pick up the way he jumps to attention, ready to take the stage in front of the judges. jian’s formal announcement is seen next, and after one more quick moment of seojun looking anticipatory for his turn on stage, finally he’s seen walking out in front of the judges.

“so many people have made this a lot of fun to be a part of,” seojun’s voice plays over clips of him practicing with wonjae, stevie, noel. it shifts to show several scenes with one person in particular, haneul. “my best friend, haneul, helped, since we practiced together as much as possible.” a soft filter and equally soft music plays as one last clip of the best friends practicing together is shown. a clip of seojun smiling softly in the interview room finishes off the segment.

with the week’s recap completed, it’s time to see the young man’s performance. it’s clear that he’s a confident performer on stage, his movements sharp and voice clear despite the choreography. even bom is seen nodding her head as she jots notes down about the performance. “i think we’re finally just getting to the better contestants,” she murmurs to her neighbor.

seojun’s performance comes to a close and a short round of applause is held for him. jihun picks up his microphone first. “to be honest, i think that this is the most complete performance that we’ve seen so far. you’re a strong dancer and while your vocals could use some work, they didn’t suffer terribly despite the dance. you did a good job.”

“i agree,” yuna nods along with jihun before chiming in, “there were a couple little pitch and support issues but nothing that some practice couldn’t fix. i think we judged you too harshly in the auditions. you definitely shine on stage, lee seojun. great job.” more happy music plays as seojun takes his leave from the stage and the judges look pleased with what they’ve been seeing so far.

the show must move along and jian is already announcing the next contestant to the stage: MOON CAMERON. he smiles as he greets the judges again and the camera focuses in on ran, who can’t help but smile back. “you think he’s cute, don’t you?” jihun teases her despite her pushing him away playfully and denying all accusations. “it’s interesting to have siblings on the show, that’s all,” ran insists.

scenes of a practice room where both siblings rehearse is shown before cameron’s performance can start. “i can’t let myself be too shown up by my little sister,” he says as the screen shows him playfully scolding his sister. “why did i find out you auditioned by seeing you on actual television?”

“seeing her throw her all into this has really pushed me to do the same,” a shot of cameron in the interview room is shown next, camera zooming in on that soft, brotherly smile he has on his face whenever he talks about his little sister.

cameron’s performance begins next, displaying excellent command over the stage that clearly comes from a place of experience. most notably, he sends a wink in the direction of the judges. yuna, ran, and yoojung all exclaim out loud at the gesture. “that was cute!” ran gushes and jihun only nudges her again to tease her lightly. the performance wraps up and all of the judges seem to have enjoyed it thoroughly despite it being the fifth time they’ve heard the same song.

“you have much more experience than most of the other contestants in this show,” j-yoon speaks first, struggling to be serious despite the lingering smile from enjoying the performance so much. “to be honest, i think we’re holding you to a higher standard than the others. i’m not sure if that’s fair but we do want to see your max potential. you still have room to grow.”

“i think i speak for everyone when i say that we thoroughly enjoyed your performance,” yuna speaks next. “it’s fun to watch a performer who looks so at home on stage. there’s some issues with your singing that i’m sure bom will want to address,” the camera shows bom nodding briefly before returning to yuna, “but overall, a good show.”

as cameron is dismissed, the judges check their cue cards for who comes next despite jian’s announcements. “YEOM SARANG,” the emcee announces and the judges begin murmuring among themselves.

“i think he’s the best looking of the male contestants,” yuna comments.

“yes, but a pretty face does not an idol make,” bom’s stern manner never takes a break.

that said, it’s clear that sarang is popular among his fellow contestants. clips of him practicing with others rather closely are played and the captions and editing seem to be jokingly implying that even his fellow male participants have a crush on him. they show him winking at matthew, working closely with jinyoung. “i really enjoyed learning not only from the coaches, but from the friends i’ve made here as well,” sarang’s voice carries over the compilation of clips.

more important than friendship is his turn to perform, however. he captivates the judges, even jihun neglecting to write too many notes as he watches and listens to the young man give his all into his performance of my name. “i’m confident in what i showed,” sarang’s voice can he heard again as he holds the finishing pose.

“let me be the first to speak,” yoojung is the first to pipe up once the spell has worn off. “sarang, you clearly have a lot of untapped potential and i think this particular song was a great opportunity for you. it suits you well. however,” the camera zooms in on sarang’s face for a reaction, the sound effects tense as if yoojung is about to drop a bomb on the situation. “you dance style did not suit the choreography at all. if you’re going to debut in a group someday, you need to be able to mold yourself to the concept. i didn’t always feel that i suited all of a.maze’s concepts, but they needed me to, so i did. you need to learn the same,”

“while i agree with yoojung,” yuna adds to the conversation, “i do want to make sure we commend you for your stage presence and performance overall. a great job, truly.”

if sarang was popular, then PARK STEVEN is basically a celebrity among the trainees. jian’s voice can be heard announcing his turn to perform as the camera shows him going around and greeting all of his friends backstage still waiting for their turns. next gen’s social butterfly, reads the captions. various scenes of steven working with other trainees, comforting them, crying with them can be seen.

“i’ll give it everything i got. no regrets from me!” stevie’s voice plays as he takes his place on stage. he begins his performance when prompted, the camera occasionally cutting to yoojung who nods, j-yoon who scribbles something down, and yuna who seems fixated on the performance with rapt attention. he finishes with a large smile and ran can be seen smiling back.

someone who is not smiling, however, is bom. “steven,” she speaks first among the judges, “i said it before and i’ll say it again. you need to take this competition more seriously.” she fixes him with a rather stern look and doesn’t stop there, “this is not daycare. we’re not here for you to have a playdate with your friends. when we scold you, it’s because we know you can do better. you should be doing better than this.”

a clip plays of stevie in the practice room, trying to lift his leg behind his head when he should’ve been rehearsing. suddenly his social butterfly tendencies don’t seem to be as much of an asset as they are a distraction.

“i have to agree with bom. you’re a good dancer. if you want to be a backup dancer and support our idols on stage, that’s fine. but that’s not what this competition is for. i hope to see more improvement from you moving forward,” yuna explains to the young contestant.

after so many male contestants, finally another female contestant is ready for her turn in front of the judges. “up next,” jian announces, “we’ll see RYU EUNKYUNG,” a shot of the girl raising her fist and mouthing a silent cheer is shown as she takes the stage.

“over and over we’ve worked on this and you’re still getting it wrong,” the scene changes to eunkyung getting scolded by one of the coaches. in the next series of clips, it’s shown how many times she’s forgotten the lyrics or made a major mistake. “somehow it all goes out of my brain when i start to dance,” eunkyung’s own voice is heard as she makes yet another mistake on screen. will she be able to pull it off? the captions question her abilities, drawing tension as once again she’s shown on stage in front of the judges.

her performance begins. it seems that the whole world is watching with their breath held as they wait to see if she’ll make a mistake again or not. what she does instead is make little modifications to the choreography. she cups her hands against her face to send a heart instead of the “v” pose and a shot of ran cooing at the modification is shown before returning to eunkyung’s performance. the line she struggled the most with is coming, though. j-yoon leans forward in his seat, eyes narrowed as he waits. not only does she not flub it, she nails it. a sigh of relief seems to fall and j-yoon sits back, nodding his approval.

“you had me worried, eunkyung,” he speaks after her performance is finished, smiling now that it’s all over. “i’m glad you were able to work out your issues with the lyrics. overcoming obstacles is an important part of breaking into this industry. you’re going to have much more difficult challenges than this going forward.”

“to be honest, i think you’re center material,” ran speaks up, “i know, i haven’t said that to anyone else yet. you’re confident and while your skills could use some work, you’re doing an excellent job all things considered. keep up the good work.”

“so many cameras,” the translation of SATO KOU’s statement is shown in subtitles on the screen. the scene changes this time to kou in the interview room, where he once again says the same thing: “this is a lot of cameras.” is he camera shy? the captions question.

“we’re looking forward to kou’s performance,” jian announces. earlier that week… the captions interrupt the performance with a scene of the boy in a practice room, clearly frustrated even before he exclaims “i can’t do it!” clips of kou’s mistakes in dance practice play one after the other, highlighting all of his many errors. “i just wasn’t born with the ability to dance, you see. see? my arms just won’t listen to my head.”

“i’ve been practicing like crazy,” kou’s voice is heard while the camera returns to the scene in front of the judges. “i think i’ve improved a lot. at least i won’t look like an idiot on stage… i hope.”

the boy’s face lights up as he begins his performance and the judgest watch, paying careful attention to him. yoojung in particular seems anxious, having seen the boy in practice not all that long ago. “please don’t mess up,” he murmurs, barely loud enough that the microphones can pick it up. thankfully, kou doesn’t make a mistake and completes the performance without any major catastrophe.

“you had me so worried,” yoojung laughs the tension away as he addresses the contestant. “i’m glad that you were able to pull it off in the end and i hope that this is the end of your dancing woes. it’s a skill that you absolutely need if you want to be an idol. please, keep practicing.”

“i would’ve liked to see more improvement from you, though,” jihun remarks, a slight frown on his face. “you’re a decent singer, kou. but i feel like you just got lucky with your dancing here, based on what yoojung was telling us earlier. i hope that you can prove me wrong and show that it truly was skill.”

a scary contestant is next, the captions, in cold, shivery effect, appear on screen. “if i’m making you cry, you should quit now,” LEE NAYOUNG’s voice can be heard. “have you been practicing outside of lessons at all? do you even have your sheet of the lyrics? what are you doing here?” clips of nayoung confronting various contestants are played on screen. she’s scarier than bom, the captions claim, showing a side-by-side shot of bom’s glare compared to nayoung’s.

“please welcome lee nayoung to the stage,” jian announces the contestant dutifully. unlike the scary clips from earlier, nayoung is all smiles to the judges as she greets everyone politely. it turns out that she has a reason to scold the other trainees, her performance goes off not quite flawlessly but clearly more skilled than many of the contestants before her.

“did you know that people are saying you’re scarier than i am?” bom addresses the girl with the slightest hint of a smile on her face. “i was worried that you would be all bark and no bite. i’m pleased that you have the skill to back your words up. you could practice your stability more. but overall, good job.”

“i would caution you to try to get along better with the other contestants,” ran frowns into her microphone, “we understand this is a competition. but if you’re going to join one of our companies, we need to know that you’ll be a good fit with our current trainees. if you can’t get along with anyone, we’ll have reason to be concerned.”

LEE JINAE’s performance is next. it seems to breeze by with no context at all. “it was entirely unmemorable,” jihun points out to his fellow judges, who seem to agree. no one can even remember what she practiced all week.

completely on the opposite side of the spectrum is MIN HYEJIN. as jian announces her name, clips of her practicing with several different contestants play across the screen. matthew, noel, haein, bada, nayoung, saea, kou, and of course stevie are all seen practicing with the girl at different times. if stevie was the social butterfly of the boys, hyejin takes the title for the girls. “there were so many helpful participants and so many i made sure to lend a helping hand to as well,” her voice is heard over the clips.

her performance starts. there’s hiccups, like every contestant so far, but the cameras seem to focus on them much more than the others. the judges faces don’t look as excited about hyejin’s performance as they had about others.

“hyejin,” yuna sighs before continuing, “i understand that you worked with a lot of different people and spent a lot of time helping them. that’s great, and we love to see that sort of teamwork, but i think your performance suffered for it. you should have spent a little more time on yourself.”

“i want to remind you to mind your expressions too,” j-yoon adds. “you had moments where you were really good. but then you’d lose that and it was such a shame. i agree with yuna, i think you overextended yourself helping others. you should be more mindful of your time in the future.”

the scene cuts away from hyejin, indicating her segment is over, and instead focuses on jian again as she announces the next performance. “our next contestant ready to show you his skills is CHO HANEUL,” the young man is seen taking the stage and giving a polite bow to the judges. jihun smiles and nods approvingly; it seems he cares very much about the manners and attitude of all of the participants.

“if i’m really honest, i almost didn’t audition,” haneul’s voice is heard as he waits for the music to start. “i keep thinking if i should have done this or not,” clips of his practice sessions, including a sweet hug with stevie, play across the screen, highlighting all of the highs and lows of the last several days. “but might as well do my best while i’m here, right?”

the music starts and haneul’s performance begins. he’s an adept performer, singing and dancing solidly until the short rap part of the song comes up. when his pronunciation is slightly off on one word, the cameras zoom in on j-yoon scribbling something down in his notes.

“haneul,” j-yoon is the first to give his critique once the music ends and the contestant relaxes from his ending pose, “first of all, i want to praise you for trying something outside of your comfort zone. it’s clear you know how to sing and dance but rap was something new for you. that said, to be completely honest, i don’t think it’s something you should do anymore.”

ran’s eyebrows raise at the unexpected harsh critique from j-yoon, who ignores the looks he’s getting and continues. “let me be clear. you’re a good singer and dancer. i don’t think you need to rap. i understand it was part of this evaluation but i think going forward it would be better for you to focus on the things you’re already good at.”

“i get what j-yoon means,” jihun nods along as he speaks, “instead of wasting your time and energy trying to perfect something that honestly doesn’t really matter, focus on your other skills instead. i think that will take you farther in this competition. good job, haneul.”

the young man bows politely as he’s dismissed. “i like him,” jihun says aloud.

“don’t go picking favorites this early,” yuna warns playfully, “i might like him too.”

a shot of the waiting room takes over the scene. after a slow pan of the remaining contestants waiting for their turn, the camera zooms in on the next one up: PARK DOHYUN. he seems to be staring off into space. is he awake? the captions question as a sped-up shot of his fellow contestants and staff zipping around the waiting room plays while dohyun himself simply sits still. “learning the lyrics and dance… it was kinda like a bootcamp,” dohyun’s voice speaks over the scene. the editing makes it seem as if he’s a bit dazed and confused, as if the hard work of the past week has completely robbed him of any remaining branpower.

in the next moment, jian is welcoming him to the stage in front of the judges. as the music starts, it seems that he hasn’t fully snapped out of his trance and misses his cue. he’s flushed in the face when he does get back on track. “is he alright?” ran whispers to yuna, who frowns in concern at dohyun’s performance.

when he finally reaches the end of his performance, he’s out of breath. a few silent moments pass before yoojung speaks. “dohyun, you’ve learned a lot in a short time,” he praises the contestant first, smiling encouragingly, “but to be honest, i’m concerned about you. are you feeling alright? are you ill?”

the camera zooms in on dohyun’s face as if looking for any ailment.

“this is a competition but you can’t be reckless with your body. i understand desperation to be signed and to debut. but certain injuries can’t quite be recovered from. you’re just starting to learn dance. don’t make it harder for yourself by getting hurt.”

“yoojung is right,” yuna speaks next. “we see your improvement, dohyun. i can’t say you’re a good dancer yet, to be honest. but if you can stay healthy, i think you can become one.”

with dohyun’s performance complete, the scene goes back to the waiting room. the crowd is getting smaller and smaller as more and more contestants take their turn in front of the judges. finally, it focuses in on the next performer: MOON JINYOUNG. he looks nervous or at the very least restless as he gets to his feet to pace, to practice the song and dance one more time, humming the melody as he runs through the movements.

he’s seen walking on stage as jian announces his name. “i’m fine. it just hit me, you know? this is real.” his voice is heard as he looks at the judges with his chin held high, masking any fear that he might have had going into this. jinyoung tests his voice once, twice, before assuming the starting position and waiting for the music to start. unlike the last performer, he doesn’t miss his start. but the problems start when he sings. the camera cuts to bom who can barely disguise a rather repulsed expression as she scribbles notes down in font of her.

jinyoung is red in the face much like dohyun had been by the time his performance comes to an end.

“i heard that you’re a big fan of yoojung,” it’s ran who speaks first, not yet critiquing jinyoung’s performance but holding a conversation instead. a clip plays of jinyoung and sarang in a practice room together. “i want to be yoojung when i grow up,” jinyoung had said then. the scene returns to ran, who’s smiling at her fellow judge as she speaks to jinyoung. “it’s clear that you’re a talented dancer. maybe the best we’ve seen today. but dancing alone isn’t enough to be like your idol. yoojung is a talented singer too. to be honest, you have a long way to go in that area.”

“i’m disappointed, to be honest,” bom speaks up, barely looking up from her notes at the young man she’s addressing. “you did better in practice. there’s no excuse for what you showed us on stage today. if you want to continue in this competition, you need to be much better.”

the humiliated contestant bows as he says his farewell to the judges, bright red in the face. even he doesn’t look satisfied with his performance.

“up next,” jian is the center of the screen again, smiling as she reads the name off her cue card, “MOON SAEA, our little sister.” the scene changes to saea in the practice room, first bickering with her actual brother cameron, then hanging out with stevie, calling hyejin ‘unnie’, and even pouting in the interview room rather cutely. children’s music plays in the background, painting the girl with a cute, childish image.

however, that childish image changes abruptly when she’s shown standing in front of the judges, seemingly more cool and collected than the playful girl they had already shown in practice. as soon as the music starts, the performer takes over. yoojung can be seen nodding approvingly at her performance and even jihun seems to be impressed, brows raised as he scribbles a note down in front of him.

“first of all, i want to say that you put on an excellent performance,” jihun’s praise has been increasingly rare for the duration of this show, so the other judges are shown with rather surprised expressions as he compliments saea. “i think you already know and bom will likely say more than me on it but your singing still needs work. still, you held your own. learning these things in such a short time is difficult but you proved today it’s far from impossible.”

“you’re doing well at rap,” j-yoon adds as well. “is this your first time practicing and performing it? i think with practice and training, you might have a future in it. i’m excited to see what you’re capable of in the future.”

“we’re getting closer to last week’s number one,” jian takes over again as the show transitions to the next contestant. “next to perform for our judges is MATTHEW LUONG.”

“i’m very grateful for being ranked in the top ten, let alone the top five,” matthew’s voice is played over a scene of him in the waiting room, anxiously anticipating his turn. “i just was worried that i was going to let people down.” a shot of him approaching the stage is cut off by a practice room scene, matthew attempting to sing the song perhaps for the first time. it’s clear that he’s not yet a vocalist, making many mistakes during his attempt. “i don’t know if i want to go for the first place spot,” his voice is heard again, “i’m so nervous that i’m just going to disappoint everyone.”

the scene cuts back to matthew on stage, the judges staring at him expectantly. as the music begins, so does his performance. while his voice doesn’t compare to some of the stronger vocalists in the competition, he’s not all that bad and his top five spot isn’t undeserved. he seems to lose a bit of strength as the performance wraps up, and yoojung’s sharp eye is sure to catch that. the camera focuses on the judge after the music ends.

“how long have you been practicing singing?” yuna is the first to speak up despite the initial focus on yoojung. “was this your first time performing it seriously? you did a good job,” she smiles as she praises the contestant. “it was fun to watch you. it looked like you were genuinely enjoying your time on stage and as an audience member, that makes such a difference. i hope you continue to love performing. that will take you farther in this industry than anything.”

“your voice needs work,” bom can never seem to just give a compliment. “but you improved a lot in a short time. you need to work on your control and pitch. keep this in mind.” her words are short but at least they don’t seem as harsh as she’s been on others.

matthew is dismissed and the next contestant is called to the stage, announced by jian with another glowing smile. ZHOU AREN RENYI is looking rather pale in the face as he stands before the judges. “i know that people expect a lot because i was ranked so high. but truthfully, i don’t know why i’m ranked so high,” ren’s voice is played over a zoomed-in clip of his trembling hands.

“are you nervous, renyi?” jihun speaks before the performance begins. the camera just zooms in on the boy’s nervous face as an answer.

renyi’s performance begins. there’s obvious mistakes, he stops singing at one point entirely, and bom is seen scowling and writing notes down. ran leans forward in her seat, brows creased in concern. the judges all saw potential in this contestant; they just hope that he can live up to it. and in parts, he does. his expressions are good despite the obvious nerves, even biting down on his lip as the camera catches his face just right. but perhaps most surprising is when he stops dancing entirely near the end, instead singing the high note with full strength. bom’s brows raise in a way that’s hard to tell if it’s a good or bad thing. he continues the dance for the last bit and all the judges scribble something in front of them.

“you made an… interesting choice,” ran puts it more nicely than some of the other judges might have as they begin their verbal evaluation of renyi. “i understand that you’re not very experienced as a performer yet. but halting your dance so you could sing… it’s something that we incorporate into choreography for main vocalists at times, though it wasn’t part of this routine.”

“others were able to sing and dance during that part just fine,” bom’s harsh critique doesn’t soften for the clearly nervous boy, though perhaps she’s not as mean as she could be. “if you want to keep up in this competition, you should try to mimic the good parts of your peers and be better than their flaws. i’m not sure we saw a top three performance from you today.”

when renyi bows, he lurches forward, falling to a knee as he loses strength. immediately, all six of the judges spring to their feet. “are you alright?” yuna calls out to the boy as yoojung tries to escape the judges’ table to help the contestant to his feet. however, ren excuses himself and skitters away before anyone can reach him. “can someone go check on him?” yuna asks the staff. someone follows renyi out to make sure that he’s unhurt.

the judges still look somewhat unnerved by the nearly collapsed contestant when jian is announcing the next one up to perform, JUNG JOOMI. “his skillset is similar to renyi’s,” jihun points out, a small frown still on his face. unspoken worry seems to mingle through the group of judges.

it seems that the boys also have similarities in temperament as well and the scene changes to a practice room, captions explaining that this is the first day of practice for the mission. joomi is crying, stevie comforting him as best as he can. “i honestly… i didn’t know i could sing before coming on here,” his voice is played over the shot before it transitions to him in the interview room looking at anything but the eye of the camera. “i’m not confident but i’m glad i made it through.”

joomi’s performance is… well, it’s hard to say it’s anything close to good. his dance is a mess, his voice falters for the energy put into dancing, and overall it’s rather a disappointing performance from the second place winner. there’s a long silence between when the music ends and the judges start to verbalize their evaluation of the contestant.

finally, bom is the first to speak. and despite her harsh reputation, her words seem to be a bit softer. “i feel like we should apologize to you, joomi,” she holds the microphone with both hands as she looks directly at the contestant. “you’re a very talented singer but second place put a lot of pressure on you. i don’t think you were ready for that pressure. and we didn’t see the singer we all fell in love with today. i’m sorry for that, too.”

ran’s lips press tightly together as if she’s struggling to find the words as she raises her microphone as well. “today’s performance wasn’t good. but i’m sure you already know,” she has to be honest with him though it seems that the judges are treating him more gently than they’ve treated others. some contestants require tough love, some require gentle encouragement. “i hope you feel proud of what you’ve learned in the meantime. i think you have a lot to learn and a long way to go but i think you can get there eventually. we’re cheering for you, joomi!” she raises her fist in a silent fighting! and yoojung, j-yoon, yuna, and even jihun do the same to encourage the boy in front of them.

as joomi leaves the stage, jihun sighs. “that was a shame,” he sinks in his seat a bit. “i think you hit the nail on the head, bom. we put too much pressure on him before he was ready. part of developing talent is knowing when and where to apply the right amount of pressure.”

“our final contestant is our number one place,” jian takes over the screen and transforms the dull mood into something more anticipatory, more exciting. “please welcome to the stage our defending first-place, OH HAEIN!”

the girl’s smiling face is seen bright and cheery as she takes her place on the stage. jihun straightens up again and the rest of the judges shake off their dreary moods to watch with rapt attention. this is the defending champion, the most anticipated performance of the episode. next gen’s ace, the captions claim as clips of haein helping other contestants learn and perform their skills play across the screen. she seems adept in everything she does. the editing really hypes up her upcoming performance.

without making the audience wait too much longer, haein is shown again in front of the judges, the music starting. unlike some of the last contestants who didn’t live up to their placement, haein does. she smiles through her performance, she seems to shine on stage. the judges are thoroughly engrossed in the performance, watching closely and even forgetting to write down any notes as they simply enjoy the song and dance despite seeing it over twenty times already.

as the music comes to a close, the six judges give the contestant a small round of applause.

“as expected of our first-place,” yuna smiles into her microphone like a proud mother. “haein, you’re a very talented performer. any critique we have is relatively minor, which is a huge compliment to you and your abilities. i would just say to mind your expressions a little better. you were smiling but i’m not sure you were engaged the entire time. don’t forget the audience in front of you. they’re the ones you’re performing for.”

“we had a lot of talented performers today,” jihun cautions, “i’m not sure if you can maintain your number one position and be our female center but you’ve certainly made it a difficult decision for us. great work today. we’ll be excited to see your next performance.”

with that, the last contestant is dismissed and the judges are tasked with ranking all of the performers from first to last yet again. their discussion starts, clips of them moving photos around and commenting on various performances playing while tense music plays in the background.

finally, all of the contestants are called to the stage to reveal the rankings and centers for the mcountdown performance. “first, we want to congratulate all of you on completing the mission successfully and safely,” jian addresses all of the participants with a smile. “as much as we’d like to award all of you for a job well done, the judges do have to rank you accordingly and pick our centers. please turn your attention to the screen.”

on a large television screen at the back of the stage, the rankings are revealed one by one, starting by counting down from the top fifteen until they get to number five. then, ranks sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty are revealed. six contestants remain, five of them at the top, and the remaining in dead last. one by one, five, four, three, and two are revealed until just first and last place are left. both ranks are revealed at the same time.

“congratulations to SAEA and JUNHO, our official centers!” jian announces the rankings. time is given for the contestants to react to the news and congratulate the winners before the show continues. the contestants are told that the entire group will be performing on mcountdown next thursday, march 9th, and that some of their practice this week will be devoted to running the routine as a group and nailing down the blocking for the various parts. all contestants will record the male or female parts in full and the final song will be released for digital download on the same day as their performance.

“and of course, we have to introduce your next mission as well,” jian smiles at the contestants while the screen on stage changes from their rankings to a title card that reads teamwork evaluation. “you’ve shown us the talents you’re most confident in already but so far, all of our missions have been independent. we want to test how you work together in a team. our judges have split you into six groups based on what they feel your strongest skill is. this evaluation will be our first elimination round with two teams of the same skill going head to head. the winning team will be safe from elimination while the losing team will risk sending some of their members home.”

each team is announced and the songs they’re expected to perform introduced to them. jian explains that they’ll continue to have lessons with the coaches and that bom, j-yoon, and yoojung will be staying on the program as skill coaches for the remainder of the season.

“good luck to all of our contestants! remember, we’re looking at you to be the next generation of kpop. show us that you can shine!” the main theme of the show begins playing again as the episode ends.

#BE:NGS1 #BE:NGS1P2

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bethanyactually · 2 years

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Bethany darling, is Nancy Drew a... Riverdale?

I want to watch it (your fault) but I don't care for either:

A) the possibility of a crossover that means I have to catch up on Riverdale or watch Sabrina (2 spoopy for me)

B) shows about teens I feel watching kiss that suddenly become supernatural

I am possibly interested in the non-riverdale class, C) shows that are gently spooky anyway (like your Buffys or Classssss)

Thank x

I’ve not watched Riverdale, except on my tumblr dash with a mildly horrified fascination. But I don’t think Nancy Drew is a Riverdale. (I also didn’t watch Buffy. I knooow, but honestly it’s not likely to happen at this point—sorry, everyone who’s been yelling at me for years to watch it).

Nancy Drew is NOT a crossover. You don’t need to watch anything else to watch Nancy Drew. (There is a backdoor pilot for another CW show, Tom Swift, in S2, but that show was sadly short-lived.)

The supernatural is real in this version of Nancy Drew—ghosts, magic, witches, curses. This differs from the novels, in which (like Scooby Doo) what appeared to be supernatural almost always had a human villain behind it. I actually watched the pilot episode when it aired, because I'm a lifelong Nancy Drew fan, and while it was good, the supernatural elements made me think maybe it wasn't for me.

That said, the supernatural is used very effectively in this show, and usually it's related to or reflects some kind of trauma. And I'm a huge wimp when it comes to scary stuff, and I can handle Nancy Drew, which is more spooky than truly scary. So it turned out I didn't mind the supernatural aspect at all, largely because the characters are so lovable.

You don't have to be a fan of the novels or the games to enjoy this show, either! Many of the characters are the same, and have similar personalities and relationships as in the original canon, but it's really an AU. In addition to the supernatural elements, Nancy and the other characters are a bit older, and it's set in a totally different location. There are lots of easter eggs and references to canon for fans to enjoy, but it won't detract from anyone's enjoyment in the slightest to not catch those.

It's a thoughtful, well-written, well-acted show that seems to be made by lots of people who care about what they're doing and want to create the best story possible. The story arcs are clearly planned carefully and they don't deviate from their plans just because the audience might be guessing where the story is headed. In fact, the show's production was interrupted toward the end of S1 because of the pandemic, and when they were able to film again, they finished the S1 story and only then did they move on to the story they had planned for S2, which I love.

In conclusion, yes, I definitely recommend watching Nancy Drew! Yw! xx

#stuckonaglacierwithmacgyver #nancy drew cw

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airyairyaucontraire · 2 years

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I've never read much about the costuming for M*A*S*H so my thoughts about it are informed only by observation. I've got a semi-baked concept that sitcom costuming in particular is somewhat akin to cartoon costuming - the characters don't wear exactly the same outfit all the time, but they often have a type of outfit or garment that recurs and keeps their look consistent (eg Eleanor's tops and sweaters with rainbow designs in The Good Place), and I was thinking about that today (I've been rewatching the whole series over the past few weeks, as you may have noticed).

Obviously most of the cast is in some variation of army uniform most of the time, and the most attention-getting part of the wardrobe for years was Klinger's outfits. Even after he mostly gives up on cross-dressing and costumes, he still makes himself visually different a lot of the time by wearing a Toledo Mud Hens jersey and baseball cap (I have however read that it was actually a Texas Rangers cap because they couldn't find a real Mud Hens one and the Rangers cap was at least the right colours with a T on the front). I also like how he never gets rid of some of his feminine clothing - he keeps on wearing a bright pink plush dressing gown, and there was a scene in the episode "Give 'Em Hell, Hawkeye" where he goes to get a bottle out of his footlocker and first takes out what looks like pink lingerie, implying either that he still wears it sometimes or at least that he wants to hold onto it for sentimental value.

You can also see character development reflected in Margaret's wardrobe; as she becomes less of an antagonist/martinet and more of a tough friend, she wears more soft and casual-looking sweaters and cardigans, and the black turtleneck she often wore in early seasons falls out of rotation (which I regret because she looked terrific in it). She also has a range of happi coats/kimono-style jackets that are her casual.party-wear equivalent of the boys' ubiquitous Hawaiian shirts. Margaret's hair and make-up have never reflected the supposed period of the show but it's particularly noticeable when she wears teeshirts that she's either not wearing a bra or just a soft-cupped type that I'm not sure existed in the 50s.

Father Mulcahy's wardrobe never changes appreciably because Mulcahy doesn't need to change; he begins as a good, kind, helpful person and remains a good, kind, helpful person whose convictions aren't altered by his experiences except to make him increasingly broad-minded in his compassion. He sports a black turtleneck and a dirty white Panama hat with his fatigues and silver crucifix throughout, and we sometimes see him in Loyola sweats to reinforce his athleticism (also to make him look soft and cuddly).

Henry Blake (mayherestinpeace) of course was seldom in correct uniform, wearing his fishing vest and hat as much as possible, so you always knew he wanted to be elsewhere doing something recreational, not professional; Colonel Potter is much more regulation in his dress but likes to wear his cavalry hat (and sometimes an odd cowboy hat that appears to be made of cardboard) and occasionally breaks out a glorious item like his brown and white horsie cardigan. His variations from uniform represent what he loves (horsies) but not a lack of commitment to his role. He's kept his earlier uniforms going back to WWI, as he represents continuity, pride in service but a growing weariness and grief at the futile repeating cycle of wars to end wars.

There is really no need to say anything about Frank Burns.

Major Winchester wears his uniform the most formally and neatly of any of the officers, because he's a gentleman who maintains Standards regardless of where he is. I think he expresses his individuality more in his personal effects, like his red velvet pillow and fine china tea-set.

Everyone seems to have a different bathrobe or dressing-gown, some of them very grubby-looking (Colonel Potter's in particular is so cruddy it's hard to see the point of having a shower and then putting it back on). Hawkeye's stands out not only because of its rich red colour (or purple if he's writing his will) but because it's not a civilian dressing-gown, it's a convalescent robe issued to patients, creating an association with being ill or wounded, all the time. He obviously loves his Hawaiian shirts and his straw cowboy hat.

BJ, I think, is actually the person other than Klinger who messes with his uniform the most. He wears a jacket with the sleeves cut off, he wears bright red braces, he wears an assortment of henley tops of which the pink one is only the most alluring, he has an extremely silly straw hat for party time, and of course much of the time he wears high-top Chuck Taylor sneakers instead of army boots. Hawkeye is the person who complains the most verbally about being in the army but BJ seems to be registering his protest visually through the clothes he wears (in addition to his cheesy moustache). I also like his comfy grey sweatshirt with the sleeves hacked off, and he is the most enjoyable member of the male cast to see with his shirt off. I find him pleasingly chaotic and choose to believe this is how he dresses in his time off at home too.

that's all I have about that at the moment

#m*a*s*h

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sonnburn · 2 years

Text

Vice Versa’s body-swap premise could have been done better (from a film-making standpoint specifically)

I will stand by that the first two episodes of Vice Versa did a pretty good job visually representing the premise of Talay (Sea) being trapped in someone else’s body. The technique of cutting between both actors during the same scene was confusing at first, but it was necessary to remind the audience that the character we were watching on-screen, Talay (Sea), looked like a different person to everyone else on-screen, i.e. Tess (Ohm). My main gripe is that the rest of the episodes stop doing that and expect the audience to remember that Talay and Puen don’t look like Sea/Jimmy to everyone else OR to each other! Which I think was more confusing than the initial two-actor scene split.

I have to believe that it was because of how much more filming and editing they would have had to do, and also how much more money it would have cost. Had they filmed both actors for every scene, they essentially would have been paying 4 actors to play 2 characters. So it might not have been in the budget to film twice as many takes for each scene just to keep the visual reminder consistent.

But they didn’t need this exact cutting-effect for every scene in order to remain consistent! If at least once per episode we could have had the real actors for Tess and Tun shoot just one scene together, it would have consistently reminded the audience what these characters actually look like without having to essentially film two whole shows and then splice them together. For example, the episode where Talay looks out the window of his apartment at his reflection, and it’s Tess (Ohm) staring back at him and they both raise their hand and wave— THAT was a great shot! Using reflections to show the different actors was an amazing use of cinematography and I would have loved more creative takes like that to remind the audience about the body-swap.

Now this is just wild speculation, but I recognize that Ohm and Nanon are already a well-known BL couple in the industry and I wouldn’t be surprised if the showrunners thought they would overshadow JimmySea if they appeared to often. I think the only reason they were even cast in this show is because Tess and Tun were only ever going to be small cameo roles. I love the cameo’s in Vice Versa, I think they’re really fun, but if they were so afraid of these two stealing the spotlight from JimmySea, then they didn’t need to cast OhmNanon as these characters. (No offence OhmNanon, you’re great, but if you would have drawn too much focus away from the main couple then I argue that it wasn’t necessary for you specifically to play these characters.)

Whoever was playing the role, I think it would have been better to have TessTun’s actors cameo in every Vice Versa episode to remind the audience of the premise while still having the majority of scenes played by JimmySea. I think it would have really aided the visual storytelling.

#vice versa #vice versa the series #vice versa retrospective #puentalay #thai bl #I don’t normally care about the more technical aspects of show production #I’m mostly about the writing #but I kept coming back to this while watching the show every week

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