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youraverageaemondsimp · 2 months

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A brother's duty. // Husband!Aegon ii Targaryen x Wife!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aegon seemed to have noticed how much his younger brother, Aemond, fancies you, as a self proclaimed caring older brother, he decides to fulfill that role by giving Aemond what he wants, which is you.

WARNINGS: afab!fem!reader, dubious consent, threesome, m/m/f, dacryphilia, rough sex, manhandling, slight humiliation, degrading, double penetration, mentions of infidelity (aegon visiting brothels), slight misogyny, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, oral (f. receiving, m. receiving), pussy drunk aemond, lactation kink, cum eating, anal sex, lmk if I missed any! + not proofread.

WC: 4.7k

A/N: the anal sex in this isn't "realistic" aka no prior preparation so please don't come at me and go ''that isn't how anal sex works 😡😡😡 you have to do blah blah blah'' ik but this is just a work of fiction so pls just enjoy it // divider credits: @cafekitsune

“Aemond, do you perhaps fancy my wife?” Aegon tilts his head to the side, questioning his brother as they sit together in the library, quietly reading, of course, until the short pale haired man decided to break the silence.

“Brother, this is no place for such discussions.” Aemond tries dodging the question, but Aegon simply rolls his eyes grunting loudly in displeasure, “Just answer the question.” Aegon says annoyed and Aemond pursues his lip, lost deep in thought.

“What if I say ‘yes’?” Aemond asks, “Then I'd have your head for that.” Aegon smiles which makes Aemond shift uncomfortably in his seat, “Come on! I was kidding, do you really think I'd kill my own blood-related brother over a woman?” Aegon laughs loudly and Aemond sighs but he furrows his brows, “She is your wife.” Aemond states sternly, but Aegon shrugs, “And you are my brother.” He replies.

Aemond lets out another heavy sigh, hoping that he'd escape this situation he'd somehow gotten into, “So?” Aegon pushes further, poking at Aemond to answer the question and Aemond hums in irritance before being fed up and answering Aegon's question. “Yes, I do fancy your wife.” He admits, slightly ashamed.

Aemond was a man of the faith, believing in the faith of the seven, and according to the scripture, desiring a woman is a carnal sin, diabolical if she's a married woman, abysmal if she's your own brother's wife.

But Aemond couldn't help it, it's as if though the gods were testing him, not only were you pleasant on the eye but you were also very polite and had the same interests as him, and most probably the only woman — besides his sister — who was not disgusted after seeing his injury.

He knew he had to stop developing an interest towards you once he found out that you were being married to Aegon, but for some inexplicable reason; that only made him want you more, perhaps it was the label of you being ‘forbidden’ that enticed him further, making him yearn to get the taste of the forbidden fruit more than ever.

How he had wished that it was him instead, the one getting married to you, he wished it was he who fucked you, he wished it was him who got you pregnant, he wished it was his babe you waddled all around the red keep with, he wished it was his child that you had given birth to.

But those were nothing more than just wishes, wishes that would never come true, unless a miracle happens.

“That wasn't hard now was it?” Aegon's voice snaps Aemond out of his train of thoughts and Aemond simply hums, “Why did you ask such a question?” Aemond inquires curiously and Aegon smirks at him, “I may not be sober most of the time but the way you stare at her doesn't go unnoticed, your desire burns deep for her doesn't it? I've especially taken note of it when she was pregnant with my child, your eye never left her womb.” He answers and Aemond rolls his eye.

The atmosphere is filled with silence once again as Aemond continues to silently read his book.

“I would've let you fuck her if you had asked me to.” that statement which left Aegon's mouth made Aemond choke on his spit as he stared at him wide eyed, shocked at what he had just said, “Pardon?” Aemond gazes at Aegon confusedly, and Aegon gets a thrill out of this, watching his brother be flustered.

“I said what I said, you could've just told me so, you're my brother Aemond, how do you think I will ever turn any of your requests down?” Aegon says it so casually, as if he was giving an item that belonged to him which Aemond had always wanted so badly, except you weren't an item or an object.

Aemond remains silent, unable to talk because of how baffled he was, but Aegon pressed on, “Don't you wanna feel her cunt around your cock?” This makes Aemond slam his book down and get up, and Aegon raises his hands in surrender, “It was merely an offer, I wouldn't mind sharing her with you, we've shared whores before.” Aegon tries justifying his reasoning and Aemond scoffs, “But she is no whore, she is your wife, you should treat her with respect.” he replies agitated.

“Enough with the sterness, reply plainly, do you want to fuck her or no? I won't ever bring it up ever again if you say no, we'll pretend we never had this conversation.” Aegon sighs before raising his eyebrow.

Aemond swallows thickly, should he take this chance? He always yearned for you so badly, it's like the opportunity presented itself; he could seize it, but he was in a dilemma, not wanting you to face such disrespect, your self respect will be obliterated to pieces, you'd be drowning in self shame.

You were a very dignified lady, a woman who carried herself confidently no matter what, this is why you weren't even affected when Aegon still visited the brothels. As long as the word didn't get out, you were fine with it. You simply did your duty as a wife and a mother. He couldn't imagine you allowing him to fuck you and ruin your honour.

“Decide fast brother, I have to leave soon, it's been a while since I laid with my wife, the maesters had told me to give her a break for a minimum of six weeks, yet eight weeks have passed, my cock craves her cunt so desperately.” Aegon speaks explicitly, and Aemond's breath hitches in his throat, imagining what your cunt would be like. “Then why do you visit the brothels if you seem to like her so much?” He questions, trying to change topics, “That's cause she can't satiate my depravities, otherwise I wouldn't even be visiting those wenches anymore.” Aegon talks as though it was a minor inconvenience.

“Either way, decide quickly.” Aegon urges and Aemond swallows.

He opens his mouths to reject it, but for some odd reasons his mind forms a explicit thought of burying his cock inside your cunt which causes his cock to stir slightly, the blood flowing to it at the mere thought of fucking you.

‘No Aemond, she is your sister in law, your brother's wife, you cannot let this desire succumb you.’

‘But didn't you want this for a long time? Imagine how her cunt would weep when you'd shove your cock into it hm? Her breasts bouncing up and down while you thrust into her.’

He swallows thickly, those internal arguments happening in the span of seconds before he has had enough and made up his mind.

“Yes, I want to fuck her.”

The babe in your arms cooed as you rocked him gently — caressing his chubby cheeks with your thumb as he slowly fell asleep due to your movements, “He's cute isn't he?” You ask the servant that was in charge of him and she nodded, smiling at you.

“Yes princess, the more he grows, the more he resembles his father, Prince Aegon.” She gives her commentary and you give her a small smile and slightly nod your head. The babe finally closes its eyes, going into slumber and you chuckle at his cuteness, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, just then, the door the nursery opens which reveals ser criston cole.

You were confused as to why the kingsguard was here himself, “Prince Aegon has sent me in search for you, he is calling you to his chambers.” Those words were enough to clarify the situation. He wanted to lay with you, “I'll be there in a minute.” you reply and he nods, you give the babe to the servant before smoothening your dress, and leaving the nursery.

You reach your martial chambers quickly, you turn around to thank Cole and dismiss him, you then open the door to the chambers and shut them just as quickly, taking a deep breath before turning around and venturing deeper into the room.

You spot Aegon sitting in his chair, but what was odd was that he was accompanied by Aemond, who you've meet occasionally and had nothing but a positive opinion on about, you were confused on what he was doing here.

Maybe Aegon did not want to lay with you? Maybe Aegon was trying to get closer to his brother for having a bond of a family? You knew how strongly bonded these brothers are, especially since after whatever happened at driftmark, so it wouldn't be weird to assume that Aegon is trying to get you and Aemond to become good friends.

“Ah, wife.” Aegon gets up from his chair, coming over to hug you, and you return it awkwardly, knowing that Aemond is in the same room, Aegon chuckles at your awkwardness. He quickly gets behind you, pushing you forward until you're right in front of Aemond who stares at you from below, all the while Aegon nuzzles his face into your neck.

You're confused not knowing what's happening, “Brother, undo her front laces.” Aegon commands and you furrow your brows immediately, baffled at how Aegon was behaving, perhaps he had drunk too much? You felt bad for Aemond, probably stuck in this unwanted situation, you try to give him an escape route but you are surprised when his warm knuckles graze against your collarbones as his fingers hook underneath your laces, beginning to pull them apart.

You were perplexed by his actions, not knowing what to do, you grip his arm from further undoing the laces but Aegon forcefully pulls your hands back, holding both of them behind you as Aemond pulls off the corset.

You were wearing a dress with no sleeves, but that did not mean you went completely shoulderless, your shift and chemise beneath you acted as the sleeve’s replacement, so when Aemond undoes the laces that were holding your long gown up, it immediately plummets to the floor, leaving you in your chemise.

Aegon nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck from behind, taking in your scent while placing small kisses on your shoulder, still not letting go of your hands, “Darling, I hope you don't mind Aemond joining us today, he had admitted to me that he fancies you, and as his older brother, it is in my responsibility that i take care of my brothers needs.” Aegon coos into your ear and you bite your lip, you are about to respond but you are interrupted by your own gasp when you feel Aemond caress your breasts, squeezing the flesh and playing with them.

“I'm afraid— I don't understand?.” You reply confusedly, staring at Aemond play with the mounds of your breasts, and Aegon chuckles into your ear pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear, “I'm simply allowing him to wet his dick inside your cunt.” Aegon puts it plainly, making you bite your lip in shame; all the while Aemond's hand slowly travels up your thigh, underneath your chemise, before it disappears inside; reaching your core.

You squeal when you feel him pinch your clit before he stroked small circles onto it.

“W-why?” You question, trying to free your hands from Aegon's grip but he doesn't budge, but instead watches with amusement as his brother's hand brings out such reactions from you, you whimper as Aemond's finger travels down your slit and to your opening.

“It's my duty as his older brother.” Aegon replies nonchalantly, Aegon loosens his grip momentarily, changing his grip so he can hold both of your hands in one of his. His free hand lifts your chemise up, as he peeks from over your shoulder to see what his brother's hand was doing to your cunt, he chuckles mockingly when he sees your juices dripping from in between your legs.

“Look at her leaking yeah? Her cunt is literally weeping.” Aegon comments and you clench your eyes shut because of the humiliation you are feeling, your husband is parading you out like a whore for his younger brother, and Aemond— whom you've thought of so highly— is letting this happen while participating in the act.

You gasp when you feel one of Aemond's finger enter you, your walls tightly clamping around his finger which makes him grunt, “Fuck you're squeezing my fingers.” He breathlessly says. Aemond suckles on your neck, biting your sensitive spot which makes you whimper. Aegon finally lets go of your hands and then holds you by your waist before rubbing his cock against your ass.

Aemond's finger trail over the spongy spot inside of you, that makes you let out a moan and he takes note of this and presses against that area that causes you to tremble in pleasure, your hands fly up to his shoulders to balance yourself, though you knew you wouldn't fall, Aegon was holding from behind after all.

You were trapped between these two men, both of them peppering kisses on the opposite sides of your neck making you feel dizzy so you rest your head on Aegon’s shoulder, revealing more of your neck for the men to claim.

Aemond adds another finger inside you, stretching you out whilst providing you pleasure, his fingers skillfully grazing your spongy spot, constantly hitting it with precision.

You didn't even feel your peak approaching; it was ripped out of you so suddenly, you let out a loud moan of Aemond's name, clenching onto his shoulders extremely tightly, tears streaming down your cheeks at the intensity of your peak. Aegon's warm tongue glides over your face, collecting your tears on his tongue and licking at them.

You feel Aemond pull his fingers out of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as he puts them in his mouth, licking your essence up before he hums in delight, before pressing a kiss to your lips, making you taste yourself.

You are surprised when you are pulled away from him by Aegon, he lifts you up hurriedly and carries you over to the bed before harshly throwing you on it, he is quick to undress, taking off his breeches and undergarments, getting completely naked and harshly grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

His hands rip apart your chemise in a hurry, before he forcefully spreads apart your legs and positions himself in between, he gives you no warning before roughly shoving himself inside you, that make you slightly shriek in pain but eventually the pain fades, he moves in and out of you fast paced, ramming into your hole with such an intensity that it has you seeing stars.

“Are you jealous?” Aemond taunts Aegon and Aegon rolls his eyes, “No, I just couldn't hold back anymore, I've missed her cunt so much.” He replies to the taunt and Aemond chuckles, undoing his own breeches, freeing his cock from its confines. “Can I use her mouth?” He asks Aegon and Aegon grunts, “Do whatever the fuck you want with her.” he thrusts brutally into you.

You feel the space next to your head sink and you look over slightly only to be face to face with Aemond's cock, it forms a shadow over your face under the candle lights, you gasp when you see it physically throb. You've never seen that before.

He uses that slight opening as a chance, hooking his thumb in your mouth and spreading your mouth open before pushing his cock inside your mouth, you are taken aback by this and try to pull away but Aemond holds your head in place before shoving himself inside your mouth further, his tip caresses the back of your throat, which makes you gag on his cock, but that only further provides additional pleasure as he groans.

“Seven hells—” Aemond grumbles, his hand hold your hand as he thrusts into your mouth, thumb caressing the outline of his cock that forms in your throat when he pushes as the way, your eyes well up with tears and soon you're panting for air that makes you involuntarily suck on his cock, Aegon's thrusts from downwards make your body jolt upwards, taking more of Aemond's cock.

Aemond suddenly pulls out which makes you suck a sharp breath automatically, “Easy there sweetheart.” Aemond coos and you pant heavily staring at him with doe eyes, “I'll shove it once again alright? Breathe— through your nose— fuckkk.” Aemond instructs as he shoves his dick inside your mouth again, but this time you're prepared so you follow his instructions.

You hollow your cheeks which makes him grunt in satisfaction, “Good girl.” Aemond compliments you, which causes your cunt to clench around Aegon's cock, to which he responds by a chuckle, “Guess she liked that brother, she's squeezing the fuck out of me.” Aegon talks to his brother and Aemond hums in response, Aegon's thrusts speed up, that constantly hit your sweet spot, he bends forwards and takes one of your breast in your mouth, suckling on the nipple and soon– beads of white droplets begin to come out, directly into his mouth that makes him suck more harshly, enjoying the taste of your sweet milk.

“She's lactating? Fuck I wanna have a taste.” Aemond moans, noticing how the milk started to drip from the sides of Aegon's mouth.

Aegon's tip constantly caresses your spongy part, which causes something to tighten in your stomach before it eventually snaps, causing you to cry out in ecstasy and choke on Aemond's dick.

The sensation of your throat tightening around his cock makes Aemond finish as well, he shoots his load down your throat which you have no option but to swallow, and soon— Aegon is finishing inside, painting your inner walls white.

He pulls out immediately after, falling forward onto you and positioning you in such a way that he is able to suckle more, Aemond joins him soon after; shuffling and turning down to take your free breast into his mouth.

You couldn't help but whine as the two brothers suckled on each of your breasts, your recent high made you even more susceptible to sensitivity, yet you couldn't help but caress their heads gently, Aemond clamped his teeth down on to your nipple hardly which made you wince; but he later soothed the area with the wetness of his tongue. Aegon on the other hand was more careful to not graze his teeth against your sensitive buds, only using his tongue and swirling it around your swollen bud.

Aemond let's go with a wet pop, cleaning up the milk and sat up straight before tugging you, this displeased Aegon who wasn't done yet, but he had to let go, Aegon watches as Aemond settles in between your legs before he crawls down, by then Aegon had already caught on to what he was doing, and assisted him by holding you against his chest, your back pressed against him tightly, meanwhile you on the other hand; had no idea what Aemond was about to do.

“Aemond what are you— huh? Ahhh!—” You ended up squealing in surprise when you felt him place his wet tongue on your clit— you tried to shut your legs from the embarrassment but Aegon held them open— so you could only watch helplessly as Aemond gave kitten licks to your clit, which undoubtedly made you feel pleasure.

He licked a long stripe from your hole to your clit before fully engulfing it in his mouth, sucking on the flesh as if he's starving, Aegon's cock is already beginning to harden again as he witnessed such a depraved act.

Aemond groaned when he felt Aegon's seed in his mouth — which he sucked out of you — but he didn't let it stop from devouring you, his tongue licked through your folds before he sucked on your clit and let go of it with a pop before repeating the motion all over again, you unknowingly pushed his face further into your cunt, which made him moan knowing how desperate you were for him, the moan caused additional vibrations which sent pleasure through your body in waves.

You rested your head on Aegon's shoulder as you watched Aemond continue his ministrations, Aegon turned your head slightly before he connected his lips with yours and you moaned into the kiss.

The familiar feeling of the tightness began to form in your stomach again and you break the kiss with Aegon and start to hump Aemond's face involuntarily; trying to just desperately reach your high.

“You're such a fucking whore do you know that? You look so desperate humping your face against his face.” Aegon coos meanly into your ear and you whine, staring at him with teary eyes and he smirks meanly, pulling your hair harshly, “Whore.” He degrades you and your bottom lips tremble as you are about to start crying, but you aren't able to when your peak hits you at the same moment, making you moan in pleasure instead.

Aegon mockingly smiles at you, “Here I thought that you were a prim and proper lady, hell— you don't even let me do these things to you, but maybe my judgement was wrong, maybe you're a whore from the silk street disguised as a lady.” He accuses you meanly, you shake your head no at his accusation while trying to calm down from your high.

Aemond doesn't say anything to that, but simply sits up, and shifts positions once again, pulling you off Aegon and onto his lap instead, you cry onto his shoulders and he simply coos at you, he caresses your hair to calm you down, “Goodness brother, you've made her cry.” Aemond sneers at Aegon who just shrugs his shoulders. “I've only stated what I've observed.” He replies and you whimper.

“All of that aside— do you think she can take us both? In one hole.” Aegon speaks before Aemond could come up with a response and you furrow your brows, and Aemond is lost deep in thought, “We'll have to test it out.” Aemond responds and you push back, immediately staring at him wide eyes but Aemond just pecks your lips.

He lays down, taking you along with him, one hand holding you against him while the other is grabbing your hips and sinking you down on his boner, you bite your lip at the delicious stretch, you're in a position where Aegon can clearly see your pussy stretching around Aemond's cock. Aegon straddles Aemond's knees and lines his cock against your entrance and you turn your head back to see what he was doing, his cock bumped with Aemond's before he found a slight opening to shove his cock into the same hole. “Ah—!” You let out a squeal from pain as you feel his tip intruding and stretching you far than you're capable of taking.

Aegon grows frustrated, not being able to enter his cock fully inside you as your walls clamp down, resisting furthermore intrudence, however that only makes Aemond's pleasure elevate as your walls squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck this, I'm taking her from the rear.” Aegon gives up pushing his cock inside you, you gasp when you feel his thumb poking and pushing inside your puckered hole on your behind. You cover your face with your hands ashamed but Aemond pulls them away before crunching upwards to kiss you on the lips.

Aegon collects your wetness that's dripping from your cunt and smears it on your slightly stretched out hole before doing the same with his cock and lining the tip with the entrance and slowly pushing it inside.

“Ahh— Aegon— wait– I don't think— hgh!” You squeal once his fully settles inside you, and you couldn't help but tremble from the burn of the stretch as he slowly started to move, tears streamed down your face when you felt Aemond move too.

You were feeling highly humiliated, how your dignity has now been sullied, though this encounter wouldn't get out; you knew you wouldn't be able to see Aemond in the same light again, you'd always think about this day whenever you'd encounter him, a dirty little secret you'll have to keep hidden from the realm.

You are pulled from your thoughts with a sharp thrust from both of them penetrating you, you couldn't stop it but moans slipped from your mouth like prayers, you gasped and choked while calling out their names, the position; the act; the pleasure and humiliation you were feeling all combined made you feel hot, and to your horror, the pain began to subside leading you to enjoy this act.

You clinged onto Aemond as the brothers both rammed into you at such a fast pace that made you see stars, you clenched your eyes shut at the new sensations they were making you feel, and soon you're moving in rhythm along with them.

“Fuck fuck fuck I'm gonna cum.” Aegon grunts, his thrusts eventually becoming sloppy, “Me too.” You tell him and Aemond takes that as a cue to thrust faster into you, his hips ramming against you, the sound of flesh slapping rapidly fills the room.

Once again, you're blinded by the pleasure that was ripped from you, you came with a loud moan just as simultaneously as Aegon did, he pulled out and came on your back, he couldn't help but watch in awe as his seed dripped down onto your ass cheeks.

Aemond's pace became slow and messy, indicating that he was near too, “I'm gonna cum inside you, get you pregnant alright? This time you'll carry my child, not Aegon's. I'll make sure of it.” He grunts out mindlessly, pressing you down tightly to his chest, and Aegon just snickers. “Only time will tell, Brother.” Aegon replies snarky.

And with that, Aemond finishes inside you, shooting his seed far up into your walls, and you just nod silently, processing his words, his grip loosens after he finishes you fall off him and onto the bed, and soon Aegon collapses tiredly as well.

You hoped silently, that this would be the last of it, and that you'll not have to do this again, though it was enjoyable— it was humiliating, you were not that kind of lady that indulges in such depravity, maybe you'll be able to forget this and move on as if it never happened.

You prayed to the gods desperately.

But the gods are cruel.

Such encounters became frequent, Aegon and Aemond were enjoying it too much to stop, and soon you eventually got used to the routine, yet you couldn't help but feel guilty when you'd go to the sept with Alicent, when she prays that Aemond can find a good match, when she talks about the proposals that came for Aemond to you, unbeknownst to the fact that her son was constantly fucking you and was way too obsessed with you to let go of you and marry another woman.

He'd began fuck you without Aegon being involved and when you told Aegon about it, he simply shrugged furthermore simply allowing him to do so, telling you that it was his duty as a brother to let Aemond have the things he wants, the very same excuse he used during the first time.

“So, what do you think about Floris Baratheon? Do you think she's a good match for you?” Alicents voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you stare at her, who is addressing Aemond, who seemed to be as disinterested as ever.

“She's decent.” He replies shortly before he turns his gaze to you, and you immediately avoid it, staring at Alicent instead who sighs in annoyance, soon; the feeling of stickiness between your legs—which you've tried to ignore— becomes more imminent the longer he stares at you.

And guilt overwhelms you, you didn't know why you were even joining this meeting with Alicent, you –infact– hated it, knowing that moments prior to this, you were fucking Aemond in the secret hallways of the keep.

And that his seed was currently dripping out of you.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

2K notes · View notes

lilbunnis · 7 months

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❛ ♡. gif credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ big brother!aemond is used to your sweet moans and whimpers, though he is reaching his breaking point--- he must have you, no matter the consequences.

author’s note᛬ hii! first time posting on here--- this is obvi a new acc (personal reasons) but i also just wanna strictly post my writing on this blog. first time writing incest, too! oh, & im in my witchy era. anyways, if u’re a minor then do not fuckin interact, thx.

warnings᛬ mdni! smut, angst, dubious consent, dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, afab reader, innocence kink, corruption kink, manipulation, pussy whipped!aemond, incestuous relationships, breeding kink, cunnilingus, fingering, obsessive & possessive behavior, pet names. any grammatical errors are my own--- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count᛬ 1.5k

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘.

oh, how sweet her lips were, so soft and plump, like the ripest of peaches during the middle of summer, ready to be kissed. gods, her eyes… so dark and tempting, yet warm and doe-like, a gift from their mother, the queen. her skin was pure and soft and untainted, almost whispering to him to touch, touch, touch--- touch her!

she was his--- since she was torn from their mother’s womb, bloody and screaming, a dragon come forth, his darling little sister.

he loved, he loved, he loved her.

the very epitome of a true born targaryen, made for him.

he knew since the day that she came into this cruel world that she would belong to him, that she would be his.

his, his, his.

“b-brother! no, n-no, i- nghh.. ‘m gonna—“ she babbled cutely, her voice like sweet music to his ears, a siren’s call, begging him to take her maidenhead.

the voices in his head were insistent and loud, screaming venomously at him, luring him to kiss, to touch, to take--- she was rightfully his by birthright, why shouldn’t he indulge?

yes, they hissed, encouraging him with their sweet, persuasive voices inside of his head--- had he finally gone mad? were the rumors of the targaryen madness true?

even so, he did not give a fuck.

his sweet baby sister was his, she always would be, and the way she clawed at his wrist, begging him to fuck her with his deft fingers faster, faster, faster!

or, perhaps… trying to push his hand away--- no, no. she loves him, and he loves her!

it was destiny, their destiny, to be together as husband and wife and bring forth a whole new bloodline of true born targaryens!

yes, his sweet little sister would give him so many babes, he’d fill her up and watch her as she’d grow round and fat with his many sons and daughters.

fire and blood, fire and blood, fire and blood---

then, a scream--- oh, so feminine and sweet; how he just adored his sweet little sister, his little darling.

aemond heard her cry out, the sweetest wail, fat tears falling down her flushed cheeks as he continued burying his long, nimble fingers inside of her sweet, drooling cunny, preparing her for his cock.

meanwhile, he kept pressing against that little patch of nerves inside of her that she could never reach by herself, stroking relentlessly--- meanly.

poor, sweet little lamb.

aemond was panting heavily, watching as her sweet little cunt sucked in his fingers greedily, making his lips twitch in amusement--- he could barely withdraw his fingers due to how fucking tight she was.

uncaringly, yet so lovingly, he would cruelly plunge them back inside of her, wet noises and her sweet, breathy little moans and whimpers filling his chambers.

“that’s it,” he cooed softly, his voice a raspy baritone, so convincing, “—doing so fucking well for your big brother, issa jorrāelagon.”

quietly, he continued into the night, moonlight spilling in through the glass windows of his chambers, his amethyst colored eye was fully blown wide and focused solely on her squelching cunt, watching as her little clit twitched and practically begged him for attention.

and who was he to deny his little sister such sweet, sinful pleasure?

not a second later, aemond moved to settle between his sister’s thighs, lowering his head until his breath ghosted over her wet, puffy folds, allowing him to inhale her feminine scent--- causing him to release a low, satisfied groan.

then, the prince nuzzled his sharp, prominent nose against her little, fleshy bundle of nerves, breathing her in further as two of his long fingers continued to wildly fuck her little virgin fuck-hole.

“b-bro-brotherrr! please, please! need.. n-need to--- please!” came her sweet, girlish voice which was higher in pitch than usual, making him let out a soft, amused hum.

“as you wish, sweetling,” he murmured against her clit, the vibrations from his deep voice causing her to squirm impatiently, before finally, she felt his plush, naturally curved lips wrap around her aching, throbbing clit, causing her to wail brokenly and clutch the silk sheets with tiny fists.

aemond, the kinslayer, could never deny her, could never say no to her--- perhaps, he should be furious at how weak she made him feel, but he could never find it in his cold, blackened heart to ever feel any sort of anger towards her.

his sweet beloved.

it was maddening how helpless he was against her, how deep his devotion to her was--- possibly, others would call it obsession, sinful, an abomination, but aemond knew the truth; dragons did not concern themselves with the likes of sheep.

oh, how he loved her, how he wished to possess her, to be the only person she would ever love, to be her one and only like she was his.

passionately and glowing, burningly real, her nude skin glistened in the moonlight, the few candles that were slowly dying out around his chambers and the burning fire in his fireplace teased shadows from the corner of his eye, the ghosts that still haunted the red keep were always watching and judging them viciously for their sins.

and oh, how their intertwined souls would burn in the brightest of flames, always together, even in the deepest pits of the seven hells, for all of time; for eternity.

still, he ignores the demons--- too drunk by the sweet taste of his little sister’s cunt.

“mine,” he purrs against her cute, twitching clit, suckling the nub into his watering mouth, which made his cock leak even more pre into his small-clothes, causing him to groan and harshly grind his loins down against his bed.

“say it, sweetling--- tell me that you’re mine,” he murmured, wrapping one of his massive hands around his sister’s smooth, left thigh, digging the tips of his calloused fingertips into the meaty skin possessively, holding her in place.

“ah, ah, ah— aemond, nghh..! oh-hmm, ‘m yours,” she babbled sweetly, her words slurring slightly as she began reaching her sixth peak of the night, causing more tears to spill down the sides of her face as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her blurry vision as she felt her big brother scissoring her weeping cunt open.

wailing in despair, she felt her brother’s skilled tongue flicking and rolling her clit into his eager mouth again, suckling at it and nipping at the little nub mercilessly.

gently, with such cruel, bloodstained hands, aemond squeezed his sister’s thigh harshly, causing her to squeal and thrash her head around on his feathered pillow, her back arching like a bowstring as she finally reached her sixth peak, crying out and babbling her big brother’s name over and over and over--- pleadingly.

“oh, oh, ohhh..! f-feels so--- so good,” she sobbed brokenly, her thighs shaking and clenching around his head, making him continue to dig his neatly trimmed fingernails into the pillowy skin of her left thigh that he was still clutching, while moving his head quickly back and forth, stimulating her little nub until his little sister saw stars.

aemond knew it was sinful, having his sister gush and leak and drool all over his fingers and tongue as he continued suckling at her now overstimulated clit, her skin glistening with sweat, making her skin shine so beautifully against his silk bedsheets--- she was ethereal, an angel, his.

“sweet girl, you’ve done so good for me this evening--- so fucking perfect, little darling,” he praised tenderly, removing his mouth from her clit, while still gently nuzzling the twitching bud with the tip of the cleft of his nose, his fingers still moving almost lazily inside of her cunt, curling his fingers inside of her.

…as if he wished to stay inside of her; forever.

a soft hum escaped him in content, while he continued to gently fuck her with his fingers, more slowly as he heard her soft, girlish pleas--- more like sweet little mewls of his name.

“i think you’re ready for my cock now, don’t you?” he questioned darkly lovingly, pressing soft kisses against her engorged clit, allowing his slightly swollen lips to trail open-mouthed kisses all across the soft curls covering her mound, then across her inner thighs which were covered in her slick, watching as they continued trembling in his strong, possessive grasp.

silently, he gazed up at her longingly, a low purr rumbling deeply inside of his bare chest, the thought of plunging his furiously hard, weeping cock into his sister’s tight little cunny was almost too much to bear for the kinslayer.

oh, and how all of my devotion turns violent, aemond thought wickedly to himself, but no--- not with his sweet, beloved little sister…he would take her as his lady wife, to love and cherish and breed her nightly with loads of his seed until she was pregnant with many of his babes.

even then, aemond would never stop, how could he? she was his everything, and whether or not she was too fucked out by him feasting on her cunny for hours was no matter, because he already knew.

she loved him just the same, even if she truly did not know it just yet, his innocent little sister.

hm, what a sick little head he had, how his love turned into obsession, into possession--- but nonetheless, it was still love.

pure, undying love.

fin.

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chiisana666 · 21 days

Text

a sweet treat

synopsis: luffy's heightened senses can evidently pinpoint more than just the smells of delicious food

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, implied virgin! luffy x fem! reader, pussy drunk! luffy, menstruation, cunnilingus, me making things up, dubious consent, pussy sniffing, nasty, inappropriate use of gum-gum powers, out of character for luffy (idk it's subjective), hair pulling

wc: 2141

notes: image sourced from pinterest, credits for dividers here. not beta-read. this the first fanfic i've written in 8 or 9 years, i hope y'all like it. i'm excited to start writing more :)

Up until today, you had been handling your first period at sea fairly well. Perhaps it was the change in latitude, or your change in attitude, but the seas had a mysterious ability to ward off Mother Nature for many months. Nami and Robin had been quick to reassure you that the extension of your menstrual cycle was not unexpected; they, too, had experienced this bizarre phenomenon when they had each first set sail, respectively. But after several months of peace, your luck had appeared to run out, and Mother Nature had reclaimed her stake in your body once more. The salty ocean air did little to soothe your cramps, but Nami and Robin had been more than happy to help lighten your chore load, allowing you to focus more on taking care of yourself. All in all, the first few days were a breeze.

Then the third day came. You could feel the squelching between your thighs as you stirred awake and groggily stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up. It was going to be a heavy flow day, but that would not be your main problem. No, the issues began when you made your way onto the deck of the Thousand Sunny.

Luffy sat, relaxed against the mast on the lower deck, hat tilted to shield his face from the glaring sun when a scent wafted by his nose. He immediately perked up and deeply inhaled; it was saccharine, rich with undertones of iron, and oh-so delectable. Luffy had to find whatever delicious treat was emulating such an intoxicating smell. Rising to his feet, he inhaled again and let his nose lead the way.

Luffy had stalked across the lower deck and climbed the staircases to the uppermost deck at the stern of the ship, pausing every few steps to take a sniff and ensure he was still on the right track. The scent, he found, led straight to you, who was leaning over the rail, gaze fixed on the waves ebbing and flowing alongside the Sunny. You were entranced when suddenly startled from the serene view by a figure at your back and a nose prodding at your neck.

“What the hell!” you shrieked as you whipped around to confront whichever man had decided to perve on you this time. Expecting to find Sanji, you were shocked to be faced with the wide-eyed, raven-haired captain.

“What’s that smell?” he asked after a brief, awkward stare-down between the pair of you, a dribble of drool breaching the corner of his mouth.

“Smell! What-“ you careened your head to the side in an attempt to sniff yourself, “What smell, Luffy?”

Luffy dropped to kneel before you, hands grasping at your hips and pulling your pelvis to his face. He pushed his nose into your lower abdomen and inhaled again, letting out a stifled groan as he peered up to meet your eyes.

Your jaw slightly hung open, hands gripping the rail behind you, “Luffy, what are you-“

You were cut off by Luffy wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging your body into him, a small squeak escaping your throat as your thighs hit his chest.

“Smells s’good…” he sighed, “Lemme have a taste.”

You eyed him for a moment, taken aback at how suddenly forthcoming your captain was acting. Of all the perverts on the ship, Luffy was the last one you would have expected to be on his knees, practically begging to eat your pussy. And in such a public setting no less. Not that you necessarily minded; Luffy had many attractive qualities that had left lingering thoughts in your mind on more than one occasion. But even so, this type of behavior was very unbecoming of him and somewhat concerning.

“Luffy… are you alright?” You inquired, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead beneath the brim of his hat. He nuzzled up into your hand and pawed at your hips, which remained entrapped between his forearms and torso.

“Wanna taste,” he repeated, “please…”

And who were you to deny him? Especially when he asked so politely. You reached down and gingerly caressed his cheek, brushing your thumb across the faint scar beneath his left eye. He mewled like a bitch in heat – a tad ironic considering it was you who was menstruating. Without saying another word, you wriggled free from his grasp and sauntered towards his private quarters. Luffy was quick to beeline behind you, tethered to an invisible leash that you held in your grasp.

Upon entering his quarters, you perched yourself on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, right leg crossed over your left. Luffy stood near the door, suddenly finding himself unsure of how to proceed. He hadn’t expected his investigation to conclude that the sweet smell was emulating from your cunt, and the reality of the situation began to sober his drunken mind. He had never even seen a pussy before, let alone touched or tasted one. Luffy rarely even thought about sex; not that he was a completely hopeless virgin, no, he wasn’t stupid when it came to sex. But before now, there had been more important things that garnered his attention. So, for the first time in a very long while, he felt lost.

You were quick to notice his sudden apprehension and your gaze softened as you called to him, “C’mere Lu.”

He approached the bed and took ahold of your outstretched hand. Your thumb soothingly grazed his knuckles, “We don’t have to do this-“

“No!” And he was back, the scent that kissed his nostrils reminding him why he was here. He had to have a taste.

You smirked at him, tugging off your shorts and underwear. He caught a glimpse of the pad tucked into your panties as you discarded them on the floor but paid little mind. He didn’t care if his meat was a little bloody, why would pussy be any different? Besides, laundry day was on the horizon anyway.

You crawled towards the headboard, resting your upper torso against it, and spreading your legs, giving Luffy a full view of your crimson-tinted flower. Almost too eagerly, he pounced on the bed and fixed himself between your thighs. The smell that first caught his attention was stronger than ever. He inquisitively raised an index and ring finger to spread your lips, running his middle up along your slit, before bringing them to his lips. Luffy’s eyes rolled back, and he moaned at the taste, a mixture of your essence and blood danced on his taste buds, and he savored every drop. It was heavenly.

“Oh Lu…” You sigh, one hand entangled in his inky locks, keeping his face and tongue anchored to your pussy.

Luffy’s straw hat and red vest lay on the floor beside his bed, having been carelessly tossed aside long ago. He’s relentless, ravaging your pussy like a starved man. And in a way, he is starved. He cursed every day you had spent on his ship thus far not in his bed. Perhaps it was idolatrous of him, but Luffy vowed to worship you for every waking moment that you remained a part of his crew. Perhaps he had finally found the One Piece.

Luffy has one arm wrapped around your right thigh, and the other stretched up to fondle your breasts and tweak your nipples through the cotton of your tight top, all while lapping at your hole and suckling your clit. You had long since slipped down the headboard, head now thrown back against one of his pillows. Breathy moans slip through your agape lips with ease. As hard as he tries to keep his gaze transfixed on your angelic face, wanting to burn the image into his mind, he finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open, drowning in his pleasure. Between your hand in his hair and your cunt gyrating against his face, Luffy cannot help but grind his hips into the mattress.

A particularly harsh nip to your clit has you yanking his head up by his hair, eliciting a guttural moan from the captain.

“Gentle!” You chastise, taking a moment to relish in his appearance: his chin and lips are painted in a carmine glaze, and his blown-out pupils beg for your forgiveness. “Behave yourself,” you add before shoving his face back into your dripping hole. And Luffy wastes no time getting back to work.

Using the power of the devil fruit, Luffy extends his tongue to fuck deeper into your hole, curling and flicking the wet muscle along your gummy walls. Feeling a familiar pressure building within your core, you maneuver your unoccupied hand down your body, employing two fingers to rub feverous circles on your aching clit. Your captain, generous as he is, is quick to toss your hand aside and replace it with his that had been previously occupied with your boobs. His palm took purchase laying atop your mound, and his thumb strokes your clit in the manner he had just observed you doing.

“Mmm ya learn fast… so g-good f’me,” you heave between moans and spurts of pants, slightly lifting your head to gaze down at him. Luffy, feeling your stare, forces his eyes open to meet yours, subconsciously fucking his hips harder into the mattress beneath him. It was becoming too much for him: between your sweet juices, the praises escaping your lips, and the friction of his denim shorts rubbing his bare cock, he knew he would be cumming soon.

You can feel the vibrations of his moans against your sopping cunt becoming more frequent, increasing in tandem with the shaking of the bed, a result of the violent thrusts of his pelvis.

“F-fuck Lu, gonna c-cum,” you mewled, burying his face impossibly further into your pussy and bucking your hips to match the rhythm of his tongue fucking you and his thumb playing with your clit. You were teetering on the edge of pure euphoria, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you drew near. Luffy was barely holding himself together, so close as well but in desperate need of one thing to send him over.

His tongue brushes along a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of your cunt, and you are pushed over. Your entire body convulses as waves of pleasure electrify you, toes curling and thighs crushing Luffy between them.

The essence of release mixed with the metallic tang of your menses is all Luffy needed, his hips faltering their thrusts as thick ropes of milky cum soil the interior of his shorts. His eyes roll back, and a throaty moan emulates from his stained lips, muffling against your cunt that was still cemented against his face.

Luffy lulls slightly on his side, resting his head atop your left thigh which had since ceased to sandwich his head between your right, eyes still clenched shut and body twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Never before had he felt such intense, unadulterated gratification. He was overwhelmingly high, mind fuzzy from the ecstasy that held him prisoner. Globs of saliva trickle down his tinted chin and pool on your thigh, as tears and beads of sweat stream down his face.

When your consciousness ventured back to reality, you observed his state: Luffy had fucked himself completely stupid, all thanks to your exquisite cunt. The sight is almost as rewarding as your orgasm was. Retaining a quip, you instead tenderly stroke his cheek with the hand that was once knotted in his tendrils.

“Hey, look at me…” you call softly. His bleary eyes inch open, unable to clearly make out your face, “Breathe Lu… did so good honey.”

He takes your command into account, focusing his pants until they calm into deep, controlled breaths. Once Luffy had somewhat composed himself, you used what little strength remained to tug him up towards you. He hovers above you, caging your head in with his forearms. One of your arms snakes around his neck, pulling him down to capture his swollen lips with your own. The kisses are sweet and gentle; moist pops lingering in the air as your lips caress Luffy’s. Your fingers massage at the base of his crown as you two share languid pecks, reveling in intimate bliss.

Disconnecting for a brief moment, you nudged him to the side, and he rolled onto his back next to you. You sat up and tore off your sweat-soaked top before hooking a leg across Luffy, your now naked body sticking to his bare chest. Again, your lips met his, this time more deeply, and sensually than before.

“I think,” you drawled between kisses, still enraptured in the make-out session, fingertips dancing across his scarred chest as they journeyed to the button of his shorts, “I need to taste you now, Captain.”

#luffy x reader #luffy smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut #luffy x you

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

|| Honeymoon ||

-THE 60’s- A Sky High Lovin fic

Authors Note: Here at last is the long promised second installment of my Elvis Mile High Club fics, :) As this series is an anthology and not chronological, there are multiple references to the persona and style of 60’s Elvis where the other was of Big Daddy

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings: 18+ (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🥂 I’m a sucker for Elvis acting like an animal while talking like a true southern gentleman, so here we all are. Proceed at your own discretion

Copious thanks and credit for numerous lines and suggestions to my incredible coauthor @eliseinmemphis

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

#sky high loving #elvis fanfiction #mine #honeymoon #elvis presley #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis smut

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deafchild2000 · 2 months

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Okay, a few years ago, my mind played with some crazy and unique ways to explore or rewrite H2O characters (at most: Lyla being Dr. Denman's adoptive daughter and healthily researching mermaid magic.)

But I've cooled down over the years and settled on a few that make sense (Charlotte being a mermaid again under dubious circumstances - being one of them and Kim actually being smart and figuring out the Secret using photocopies of Cleo's diary before it was destroyed).

Or maybe I'm not above writing stories with second chances, but not without taking liberties such as avoiding dumbing someone down or giving credit where it's due.

So, I had this idea for a story I attempted but didn't quite publish. The context: What if Charlotte, Miriam, and Sophie were mermaids?

Considering I go back and forth between Reddit and Tumblr, I was surprised (and not) by the Antis and the ones willing to indulge in the characters - I ended up joining in too. But this idea was me really pushing the envelope, so to speak, and thinking outside the box. And another thing, I'm kind of not afraid to go into mature themes that exist in real life.

So why these three? Because everyone hates them, and the exact challenge of making them worth reading about is what I strive for. And since I do believe being in the Moon Pool alone is why Charlotte got three powers, then making her part of a group & dividing said powers avoids some problems.

Charlotte is the easiest of the three, she deserved better in character development and writing (and I'm not above laying blame on the girls for creating her antagonism, to begin with). If H2O had started off with the story of a girl finding out her grandma was a mermaid, it would have felt fitting as it would involve her meeting Louise and doing the supposed job of tying both generations of mermaids together. Essentially doing what S2 chose not to due when introducing a former mermaid having left a legacy behind. On that note, Charlotte is Cleo's foil, so she does get Hydrokinesis.

Miriam is...so fascinating! Between her and Sophie, it's so easy to imagine Miriam disliking having a tail to begin with. At best, she's unilaterally Emma and Rikki's foil (everything Emma's not and Rikki hates). With the Mean Girl/Ice Queen persona she had going on, I'm not too against the trope of her using being a mermaid for popularity but I imagine having Charlotte involved means the worst gets curbed. However, I do imagine the "One Drop" policy getting old pretty fast, and sick of it as well. It was actually pretty difficult (and felt generic), but in the end - I settled for Miriam getting Hydro-cryokinesis.

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie...Not gonna lie, getting the one who destroyed the moon pool for financial gain (and more of a villain than the other two) was when I knew I had my hands full! Not to mention, she's an ADULT! Not an elderly or a parent - an adult with bills to pay and a brother to take care of. And that's where I feel her arc should be (adulting and a caregiver who now has to deal with a tail). But because I don't mind taking liberties, I traced her actress back to her previous role (Rachel Samuels of Blue Water High) and that's where things came together! Overall, she does have hints of Emma but could be more dangerous than Rikki. So hydro-thermokinesis for her.

There's so much to this dynamic of the 2000s mermaids not being like anyone expected and the potential. Charlotte is the first to embrace being a mermaid while Miriam fights it every second she can (Sophie being between the two). Given what happened in Red Herring, I'm particularly fond of the idea both Miriam and Sophie have dyes in their hair and the transformation reveals their natural brunette and blonde tones. As an anti of Will Benjamin and his behavior with Bella in canon, perhaps exposure and learning how NOT to treat a mermaid from the source could go a long way. I'm definitely LIVING for Louise adoring Charlotte yet meeting Miriam and Sophie and having difficulty adjusting to someone like them being mermaids & far removed from what she, Gracie, and Julia were. How Zane fits into this as without Rikki, Miriam's all that ties him to her. Sophie's past and why teenage drama dictates Miriam be such a bitch (as well as whether Tiffany has a place in her life). Or better yet, Lewis was the researcher, so is he obsolete from this AU or can he be brought in? Does Miriam have an Elsa episode where she freezes everything?

I can't promise Linda Denman or other likes in canon, but like lightning - some things don't happen twice without reason.

But main question: Why would these three meet? Charlotte and Miriam make sense, Charlotte moving a year early isn't hard to do as well as placing Miriam with Zane & Nate and having her steal the spark plug. Given the lack of background on their folks, Sophie and Will moving to Queensland is easy to arrange with the right backstory. So in the end, it all goes straight to the beginning - the Pilot.

(And where are the original girls? Given the effect this AU would cause, a lot gets undone. Cleo and Emma were already friends, just not likely to meet Rikki - whose actions triggered the events of canon to begin with! So at best, side characters who interact but don't influence the narrative as much...possibly.)

#h2o just add water #charlotte watsford #miriam kent #sophie benjamin #cleo sertori #emma gilbert #Rikki chadwick #lewis mccartney #zane bennett #H2o just add water tiffany

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coraniaid · 8 months

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The online Buffy fandom seems to really like talking about the "original plans" for the show, but also to hate the concept of citing sources or providing evidence. So there are all sorts of ideas from the "original plan" floating out there in the aether that you seem to have to choose whether or not you believe based largely on vibes.

Generally I'm inclined to be pretty skeptical of the concept of an "original plan" for the show, whether that's the idea that Dawn was "originally" going to have telekinetic powers or that Faith was "originally" going to kill herself in the middle of Season 3 or that Buffy's parents were "originally" never going to be appear on screen. It is very hard for me to square ideas like these with the general tone or theme of their respective seasons. (If they're true, I think my main takeaway would be that we're fantastically lucky that the show turned out as well as it did.)

Similarly, but somewhat distinctly, I'm very dubious of readings which suggest that, for example, Amy's actions in Season 2's Bewitched, Bothered & Bewlidered are a sign that Amy's characterisation in the first half of Season 6 was actually planned out well in advance. I don't think that interpretations like this are really supported by the text of the show at all, and frankly I don't think they give the writers enough credit for the very real skill involved in making things up as they went along.

For the most part, and barring evidence to the contrary, I'm inclined to put most of the "original plans" people like to talk about down to misunderstandings or miscommunications. Maybe an idea got idly tossed around for a few minutes while a season of the show was first being brainstormed, or maybe an actor initially only signed up to appear in five episodes, and from those tiny true fragments an "original plan" for the character was retroactively inferred which was never intended by the show's creators.

But there are a small handful of exceptions to this general rule -- the idea that it was "originally" Xander who was going to come out as gay, not Willow; the idea that "originally" Angelus was going to kill Oz rather than Jenny Calendar; the idea that "originally" Kendra was going to survive Season 2 and go on to have Faith's Season 3 arc -- that I think are different. I haven't been able to find hard sources for these claims either, but they've all been repeated for so long, and for so often, with so little variation, that I think it's more likely than not that the writers have at some point described these as the original plans for the show. These, I'm reasonably sure, aren't misunderstandings on fandom's part.

Let's call them what they are instead: lies.

The show's writers may well have claimed these, but if they did I don't think there's any reason to believe they were telling the truth.

Yes, it's very easy to read Xander as a (deeply, deeply repressed) gay or bisexual man. It's the most sympathetic way to make sense of his awkwardness around Larry Blaisdel, and of his frequently expressed opinion that Angel and Riley and Spike and Oz (and all the other men his two best friends date) are attractive and of his jokes about wanting to date them. And if you believe that Buffy herself is bi -- as I do, but (perhaps crucially) the writers explicitly don't -- then it makes a certain amount of sense that her metaphorical Heart should be as well.

But nothing about the way the show actually treated gay men over its seven seasons suggests to me that the writers would ever have seriously considered having one of the leading male chararacters come out as attracted to men. The actual show gives us Larry (who boasts to Xander about how out he is without ever actually showing romantic or sexual attraction to another man on screen, then is quietly killed off and seemingly never mourned), and Andrew Wells (whose obvious but unacknowledged attraction to both Warren and then later Xander is always played as a 'hilarious' joke) and Jane Espenson tried to smuggle Giles/Ethan past the other writers for an episode or two but ... that's really it, isn't it? (Not counting things unique to Angel the series, anyway.) We didn't even get the (supposedly) originally scripted kiss between two men in Smashed, allegedly because the writing team that brought us Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered were worried about there being "unfortunate implications" to having sexual attraction be something that magic could influence.

Equally, yes, it really sucks that Jenny Calendar died and it's nice to imagine that the writers at least considered keeping her alive and trying to do something interesting with the character. But I'm pretty sure that the writing was on the wall for her as soon as the show retconned her as being linked to Angel's curse (if not well before).

Why would Angel kill Oz, specifically? What links these two characters? Why not go after somebody Buffy has actually had a conversation with first? Or somebody that Angel ever had a conversation with? When you know the show's full history -- when you know what happens to not just Jenny herself but also Gwendolyn Post and Maggie Walsh and Joyce Summers, to Cordelia and Tara and Anya, to every adult woman with any impact on the plot and to any woman who dares to break up with one of the Core Four -- how plausible does it really sound that the writers ever considered sparing Jenny at the expense of Oz?

And yes, it also stinks that Kendra only got to appear in three (or, let's be honest, something more like one and a half) episodes before she was killed off. And that her name is only spoken once after Becoming, and only as a bit of exposition to set up the new, more plot significant, more interestingly written vampire slayer. It's infuriating to realize that of the six Slayers we see called before Chosen it's exactly and only the two white Slayers who get to live and have full character arcs. It would have been great if Kendra could somehow have stuck around, or if the writers had found a pretense to bring her back somehow.

But the fragments we see of Kendra's personality -- painfully shy around boys, a stickler for following the rules, raised from a young age to respect the authority of her Watcher -- suggests she's utterly unlike Faith. How could she have had Faith's Season 3 arc, without her character being totally rewritten from the ground up? How could she have this arc and still be Kendra?

Yes, Kendra should be important. She's the second Slayer we ever meet, somebody who's very existence upends everything we know about the show's mythology. The first -- and for a while, only -- person we meet who can really understand Buffy and appreciate exactly what she's going through as a Slayer. Kendra should be one of the major characters on the show, and her untimely death should have long term ripples and ramifications for years to come. But equally it seems very obvious that the writers didn't care about her at all, and that they never did and were never going to.

So she isn't a major character, and her death doesn't matter.

I think it's doing the show more credit than it deserves -- and willfully downplaying its very real and persistent homophobia and misogyny and racism -- to pretend that any of these things could have been different. Even if it does turn out that the writers ever claimed otherwise.

#btvs

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

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For the Outer Worlds, could you please do a romantic/platonic Ellie concept? I’m normally fine with not getting to romance the characters, but that woman is a glaring exception.

- 📸 anon

She's actually the one companion I missed, so I researched what I could! I hope I wrote this in character. This is a very subtle concept... I couldn't think of many ideas, sorry :(

Yandere! Ellie Fenhill Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Denial, Subtle manipulation, Fear of attachment, Slight stalking, Threats, Invasion of privacy, Subtle Protective/Possessive behavior, Dubious companionship.

Ellie is another Yandere who would feel denial towards her feelings.

She doesn't feel she needs anyone due to being a pirate and a mercenary.

As a result she isn't one to form close connections.

When her obsession starts with you... she tries to ignore it.

You work with her on The Unreliable, probably another part of The Captain's crew.

She serves as the medic on the crew and just wants to keep her relationship with you professional.

Which means her obsessive attitude towards being closer to you makes her feel problematic.

She hates admitting that she may need to rely on others.

I feel Ellie may try to be a bit apathetic and cold towards you, all in an attempt to maintain distance.

But over time she realizes that this little fixation of hers isn't going to go away.

Against her better judgement she ends up forming a connection with you anyways.

It doesn't help that The Captain often drags you both along on missions.

Ellie tells herself befriending you is for the sake of... teamwork.

It's all professional, she isn't trying to be attached to you.

But eventually she can't hide the soft gaze she gives you.

You really do mean a lot to her... part of her is scared of that.

But you always just give her a smile and are such a good member of the crew.

Ellie would eventually cave into her obsession towards you, deciding to give into her want for friendship with you.

Ellie's obsession is slow and subtle.

She wants to protect you, but she hides it as her just needing bigger numbers to make missions successful.

She will admit she feels a bit... odd when others are close to you.

Yet it's none of her business... she says as she keeps a close eye on who you talk to.

She really does just like to hide her true feelings from you.

She's okay with just having you as her close friend... but part of her may want to experience something stronger.

Ellie tried her best to ignore her desires.

Every action involving her obsession is subtle and it's like she's holding back.

She views her obsession as problematic... but that doesn't seem to stop her from being a bit weird about it.

For example, she finds herself asking about you often.

She often finds herself asking personal questions towards you or looking through your room.

She tries her best to be rational about it... but soon her feelings get too intense.

Ellie fears that she'll do something she'll regret towards you.

She shouldn't worry about personal connections anyways... but you feel too special towards her.

Ellie is very adapted to survival.

She looks out for you whenever she can.

But how long until she snaps?

How long until she makes you her exception... how long until she decides she can't be without you?

Ellie's aware of this... part of her fears it...

But if she wants to protect you... if she wants to rely on you...

Maybe there's no harm in it if you're so useful together... perhaps it's no longer for the credits anymore...

All she can think of is you by this point... so she hopes you'll forgive her if she snaps and doesn't anything rash...

Perhaps this is why she shouldn't be too close to anyone?

#yandere the outer worlds #yandere outer worlds #yandere ellie fenhill #yandere outer worlds ellie

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joesalw · 5 months

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have been a taylor fan for like almost all of my teenager-dom but at the grand age of 16 the brazil tragedy has finally made me solidify the thought that she's actually not a great,or even perhaps a good person. (it started with the joe breakup btw)

like the nazi shirt stuff, the david o russell film, the constant hate campaigns she encourages on social media, really dubious dating habits and infidelity, all that sonical inspiration (copying. it's basically copying), performative activism, credit mongering etc...i was really thinking the past few days like there must!! to be a reason why i'm always on edge and trying to give her the benefit of the doubt for mistakes when it's not like that for any other artist i follow!

like you'll probably see this and be like well no shit girl! but it is so sad to me as a former fan to realize that the old taylor IS dead (in terms of lyricism and any semblance of morality and genuine care of her fans) and it's time to move on. ahhhhh!

anyways, your page is lovely to browse through and thank you for like another digital splash of cold water to the face! i've just listed all my old cds on a second hand marketplace (so over it all) and if you have any music recommendations then please do drop them. thanks!

I can understand your feelings anon because I have been a dedicated stan too for six-seven years of my life. It’s hard to digest that the person you loved so much for so long isn’t actually how she potrayed herself to be. it was just a brand that she created to gain personal and professional profit

#anti taylor swift #swifties dni

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rolling-restart · 8 months

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I'm a princess (I'm divisive) - pt. 1

Relationship(s): Kimi Räikkönen/Nico Rosberg, Implied Nico Rosberg/Jenson Button, Past Micheal Schumacher/Nico Rosberg

Rating: E

Tags: Girl!Nico, Girl!Kimi, Flashbacks, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, 2008 season, but vague timing, canon flexible

PRETENTIOUS NONCHALANCE

It wasn’t Nico’s fault, after all. She tried everything before ending up at this point. She described what he wanted in detail to Jenson and credit to him, he tried. When his technique felt a bit off, she gave him homework that included several videos Nico personally loved to watch. At some point, Nico started to feel bad about perhaps setting unreasonable expectations for Jenson and setting him up for failure. Nevertheless, that little selfish voice in Nico’s head telling her that she deserved mind-blowing sex and after all providing her with that might be a skill issue.

It wasn’t a big deal, Nico thought. They weren’t in a relationship even though they fell into the comfort of convenience that bordered some sort of nonchalant monogamy. Whatever the little pang of guilt he was feeling for looking for a fix for her situation, the rush of selfishness weighed heavier. She deserved to chase what she thought would be good for her and she wasn’t going to be apologetic about it. If Jenson couldn’t be the facilitator, Nico thought she knew someone who could.

Her well-rehearsed assertiveness faltered once she raised her hand to knock on the nondescript hotel door. She looked left and right in the corridor for the millionth time to make sure that there was no one to witness her little enterprise. Not that she would be particularly embarrassed if anyone found out but the last thing she wanted to deal with was someone’s nose in her business.

Her knock was unanswered for a few moments. She looked around once more and knocked again. When she finally heard shuffling behind the door, she was already biting her nails. Appearing behind the door, Kimi looked the same way she always looked but Nico felt like she was taller. Her white-blonde hair was in a bun and she was wearing a washed-out oversized t-shirt and sports shorts. At 11 p.m., it was an expected attire, in contrast to Nico’s carefully curated ‘comfortable’ fit. She didn’t want to appear as making too much effort but she also felt like she had to put some work into looking effortlessly ethereal. She was also in sports shorts to put up with the sticky weather of Singapore but she decided to throw a linen shirt over his sports bra to look like she was fresh out of a gym session. She indeed had a gym session but then she scrubbed herself raw in the shower to make her skin glow in a natural way and threw a fresh set on. She didn’t think Kimi would care, though. To be fair, Kimi didn’t seem to care about anything.

That was, reasonably, her biggest concern about her decision. Nico was used to get what she wanted, or at least what she thought she wanted. She never experienced anything that suggested otherwise with any of the grid boys. This wasn’t something she took for granted, but something she learned to weaponise. However, the decision to appear at Kimi’s door in the middle of the night was choosing a gift for someone who seemed to have everything. All answers were wrong until she tried.

“What are you doing here?”

Nico realised she needed to change her expression which was most likely just wide-eyed terror. Their interactions were easy on track: fight fairly, subtly look out for each other and not more. Their circles only coincided when it was a grid-wide event. Her unannounced visit probably couldn’t be justified by wanting to hang out with her suddenly.

“I… uhm… I was wondering if we could hang out?”

Nico, as always, would be caught dead asking for something explicitly.

“At this hour? Not a good time, no?”

Nico was sure if Jenson saw her face now, he would call her a petulant child. That face took her so far to get what she needed so another try wouldn’t hurt.

“Do you have someone over?”

She got on her tiptoes to pretend to look inside the hotel room and Kimi sighed.

“No.”

She wasn’t a woman of too many words, after all.

“C’mon. I don’t wanna be on my own. Can I come in?”

Kimi looked at her intently for a moment and went back into her room, holding the door open for Nico. The room was relatively small and Kimi’s stuff was crowding everywhere. Standing where he stood a moment ago, Nico smelt her deodorant, spicy and clean.

Kimi went back to her previous position, Nico assumed, propped up to the bedframe while skipping channels. She didn’t do anything to make Nico feel at ease. There was no invitation to come sit on her bed, no drink offer. Nico took her linen shirt off and rolled her shoulders with a sigh, always checking whether Kimi was watching. She wasn’t going to pick up on any subtle invitation so Nico decided to be a bit more precise with her intentions.

Nico threw her shirt at Kimi’s face which was probably a not very calculated move. Kimi jolted and moved it to the side, looking at Nico with wide eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Nico couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She knew it was arrogant of her to think that she didn’t have to voice any need or request to get railed but it nevertheless bummed her to realise that this was going to be a more difficult job than just throwing herself into Mark’s arms. She ignored Kimi’s protest and dropped herself on the bed next to her.

“I thought we could have some fun?”

Nico tried to pair her suggestive words with her best doe-eyed stare. Kimi was still looking at her like a cat threw up on her bed.

“What fun? Aren’t you tired already?”

Nico huffed at her for not getting her intention immediately but she had to give it to her. Kimi had no context of what Nico was trying to achieve.

“No, I’m not. I’m quite tense, though.”

Honestly, she had no idea whether her generic repertoire of suggestiveness would work. She propped an elbow to get to eye level with Kimi. She almost missed the amused gleam in her eyes and the slightest twitch of her mouth. Nico was in.

“And you thought I could help?”

Nico smirked. Kimi’s face might have been neutral but she seemed to be on the same page, at least on a similar page with Nico.

“Yes. I heard about the things you did with that media pen girl.”

Kimi raised her eyebrows. She lazily turned her gaze towards the TV to Nico’s frustration.

“And what makes you think that I’d be willing to do that with you?”

That was enough to make Nico’s smirk freeze on her face. She honestly didn’t expect Kimi to throw herself at her but this reaction indicated sloppy calculation on Nico’s side. She was so absorbed by the daydreams of how Kimi could make her feel good. Her very self-conscious self-centric brain was to blame, perhaps. She was used to getting what she wanted and learned to pretend not to be interested in the things that she reasonably couldn’t. She ran her hand through her now short hair, reminiscing of the times when it was long. If she really tried, she could feel how Micheal wrapped it around his hand to pull her head backwards in a crampy storage room.

“You know…”

His German always got that raspy, unidentifiable accent when his breathing was laboured by the effort he was putting into fucking her.

“You have… have to drop this attitude if you want to survive.”

She could only let out a choked moan, swiftly muffled by his hand. Micheal's cologne would start to give her a headache while her sweat-soaked undershirt clung to her torso.

“Not… Not everyone will be at your feet to grant your wishes all the time.”

His thrusts would get out of sync when his orgasm neared while Nico tried to manage the brutal intrusion.

“Your name… Your name can only… only get you so far.”

Her mind would blank until she felt the sudden wet emptiness and heard the zipper of Micheal’s fireproofs.

“Whenever you find it hard to believe, remember these times.”

Nico used to hate those encounters and the flash of red on her white kit, like an irresponsible, almost unreasonable bloodthirst by Micheal. She would wipe herself with the sleeve of her undershirt, fighting the tears of frustration. When Micheal fucked off to retirement, she did everything in her power to never feel so passive and humiliated as she did under Micheal’s gaze.

Most of the time, it translated into being apathetic and stoic against everything thrown at her: rumours, accusations, insults but also praises and celebrations. The rest manifested itself in an excessive tendency to be dismissive of others. Micheal’s ‘advice’ was going to be shredded into pieces in Nico’s mind by living by the exact attitude that he warned her against. Being loud in her demands and sticky in her punishments were enough to keep the rest of the paddock in line and she never had to try to receive anything except professional success.

She got up to hide her reddened face. Not being able to take rejection was a thing for weaker people. Her arrogant expectations didn’t do harm if they weren’t discovered by others. She could just walk away, her tail between her legs but her head up.

Nico reached for her shirt without looking at Kimi’s face, only to meet resistance. She threw a frustrated look at Kimi who was holding the other end.

“What are you doing?”

Nico huffed in frustration. She was completely out of the mood she came in the room with and couldn’t wait to leave.

“I think I’m tired now. See you next week.”

She pulled the fabric too hard and heard it rip between their hands. She looked at Kimi furiously and watched her slowly letting go of the ruined fabric. Kimi’s confusion and concern superficially satisfied Nico but it wasn’t sufficient to stop her.

“Wait-”

She was in the hallway, door slammed behind her back before Kimi finished her protest. She first walked fast to reach a corner then started running to her room after being convinced that no one was around to see. Hot tears of humiliation fogged her vision but she didn’t stop until she was safely behind her own door. She threw the torn shirt away and balled herself under the cover.

“Remember these times, when you reach for too much but end up with too little,”

Nico screamed into her pillow.

“Remember, maybe it’s in your nature to be the victim of your arrogance.”

#f1 fanfic #nico rosberg/kimi raikkonen #nico rosberg/jenson button #nsfw.#my fic #girl!nico AU

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titleknown · 6 months

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HELLOWEEN #21 KYMEREST

-KYMERIST is a High Alchemist of Hell, with 9 varieties of Elixir Vitae and 13 varieties of Philosophers' Stone to her name. She may teach all alchemical arts, grant rare and exotic ingredients, evoke imitations of divine miracles and prepare potions and compounds for the summoner, though these will always be adulterated .

She appears as a woman with one eye garbed in a horned helmet, with her left arm and leg blazing akin to phosphorus mirabilis."

...You may notice that I missed Entry #21. Well, she is why. The fact of the matter is, alchemists of Hell are very good at preparation of alcohol, and very eager to serve it to you. I remember it as enjoyable, though I also remember the immense pain in my spine thereafter upon awakening.

My notes are... incoherent; unfortunately, though in my self-searching I found she did leave notes within me. Which I would normally consider very rude, but here, it is at least of help. I am unsure whether this is scientific courtesy or her general... unruly proclivities. Acabus had some rather unkind things to say about her from what I recall.

She left notes of alchemical recipes upon my pages, about the transmuting of souls. Apparently this was something that "combined work and pleasure" according to her addenda, and the casualty at which she describes their suffering amidst their partial transmigration into raw materials is... disturbingly chipper.

Though, what is also of interest is that she mentions rejecting and releasing souls for being "too pure, too undeserving," though the fact that she also mentions using "previously tested elixirs" upon them upon release makes me unsure whether or not this is compassion or an attempt at studying their behavior in a somehow altered state upon the plains of Hell. Perhaps a bit of both.

There are also several sigils written seemingly not in her own hand, with the phrase "For a Good Time Call..." above. I vaguely recall being taken to a... "gentlemen's club" at one point after the transmutation experiments. I commend her for what I presume is the attempted courtesy, but I am not one for the lusts of the flesh, and I probably would have still gone out of politeness while sober.

She also describes schematics for a "field test" she calls PROJECT: RELEASE THE BEAST. She also noted below it "You woulda loved this if you were sober," and while I find her evaluation... dubious, the qualities of this creature do intrigue me, relating to vague memories that also seem to be located at the "gentlemen;s club.."

I will have to ask her if I meet her again, perhaps a better way of breaking the ice than confronting her about... this. I am not good with overt conflict.

------------------------

So, I only just realized I forgot entry 21, and I figured I might as well do something fun with it, especially for a design I feel is perhaps one of the weaker ones of this project (though I do think I did her expression quite well.

The fact that the number's the US drinking age is a coincidence, but a happy one!

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

#my art #my writing #helloween #character design #creature design #demon #demons #alchemist #alcohol #silly

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outofangband · 10 months

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Some very late night musings/Headcanons on post Nírnaeth Aerin, definitely something I want to reformat later into something more formal

Some gratuitous angst and Hadorian world building

Feel free to skip over, this is mostly just drafting, somewhat related

Canon warnings (discussion of abuse and forced marriage) nothing graphic but definitely heavy

She remembers when she was first brought before Brodda. When the men came, her people were dragged from their homes and separated, sometimes in distinct groups, sometimes with no apparent reason. She stood with her three cousins, an aunt and four near strangers, watching and waiting.

Had she known, she often wonders, what was to come. Even if she could not have truly understood the extent of it, from that moment she was set to the side and taken alone from the others (they had been made to stand and wait for hours, she had seen two collapse already in the unusually dry heat), she must have known the dread from the dread she had felt hearing others describe wars of the past and what befell those caught up in them.

It troubled her that she could never have said why she was chosen for this. She was young and beautiful, she had no illusions about this, (not then). But there were others who were younger, more beautiful than her.

She has already been chosen before she had seen Brodda. She could not have said when first he saw her, in the chaos of those early days when you went willingly from your house or you were dragged, alive or dead, to be lined up and divided. Like livestock except that Aerin would have never allowed the animals she or her family owned (had owned) to be treated such

There were times the question bothered her enough that she genuinely considered asking. She thinks he might even answer.

She remembers how it had taken until nightfall for her to understand just what he wanted.

She remembers how she had tried not to show fear, first for her own sake, and later because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

She remembers how it had only been the summer previous when she had started to wonder about marriage, what it might be like. She weeps sometimes that this is the answer she has been given.

She remembers the dress she had worn, how she had glimpsed herself only briefly before she had been led into the new halls. She had looked upon herself as a stranger. Her kin forced to assemble would not meet her eyes.

The ceremony had been short. She could not meet the eyes of any of those she had known in friendship and kin now forced to serve in this mockery. They do not look to her either. She does not remember the words they made her speak.

(Note: it was Rhea, an older slave in the house, not of Hador’s people, who dressed and prepared Aerin for the “wedding”)

She would credit Brodda in one way and one way only; he never pretended to be anything other than what he was, at least not to her.

She has seen his performance of righteous anger, including over Morwen, though she is not called that here. It rarely lasted.

To her he is at the best times dismissive and at the worst violent and cruel.

She thinks, or tells herself, that the humiliation of being the “wife” of one of the enemy and the hurt she suffers, might be bearable if she could spare others from suffering it. But Brodda still hurts the others and her distress and early attempts to intervene or plead seem only to worsen it.

My notes: My HC for why Aerin was chosen is not particularly interesting, she’s the closest unmarried female relative to the lord of Dor-lómin, so mostly just bad luck. Aerin is perhaps “a wife and not a slave” (though Brodda’s distinction between the two especially in context is…dubious. Aerin refers to him as Master Brodda in the Narn) but she’s also first and foremost a trophy and a means to an end.Brodda more or less does what he wants and hurts whoever he wants so choosing his “wife” was more about what would make the strongest statement rather than who he had personal interest in. And she feels guilty for thinking it because she doesn’t want anyone else to suffer it either

I talked more about this here!

Her named duties are minimal in the beginning. They do not trust her with most tasks that might put her in frequent contact with the kin they wish to separate her from. Indeed much of the freedom and responsibility she later holds comes more from her skill in being overlooked by the right people rather than any real privilege. She is granted some leave to oversee various tasks, to aid in certain difficulties, if only when her captors have no choice.

She remembers the dress she had worn, how she had glimpsed herself only briefly before she had been led into the new halls. The pale fabric of a material she had never worn before, her hair tied back so tightly she felt sick when she moved her head.

Rhea dressed her, brushed out her hair and tilted a looking glass to one side, silent as she did so. She was an older woman who appeared to have had her loyalty to Brodda cemented before Aerin herself had been born. She had not treated Aerin with cruelty, not yet, but Aerin had no doubt that any expression of defiance or even hesitance could never be kept secret by her.

In the present, she tends the fires in the great halls and watches two of her cousins setting out flagons and plates for a feast they will not be allowed to attend and that she will be forced to suffer through.

She remembers when she used to watch her uncle crafting each plate from the clay of Nen Lalaith. He would let her press her small fingers into the edges of a few and wink at her before they were set to be fired. Her uncle followed Húrin to battle and did not return.

The plates are cracked now, from misuse and mishandling. Her prints are stained and breaking.

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #Aerin #musing and meta #cw abuse #short writings #occupation of hithlum

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cantsayidont · 4 months

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Another year, another round of dubious television:

THE CASTAWAYS (2023): Disappointing five-part mystery-thriller, based on a Lucy Clarke novel, starring Céline Buckens as Erin Holme, a young woman whose older sister Lori (Sheridan Smith) is lost and presumed dead after the disappearance of a small commercial airliner bound for Fiji — a flight Erin was supposed to be on. Although the authorities have given up the search, Erin stubbornly refuses to let it go, particularly after she learns that someone has recently used her sister's credit card in Fiji. The miniseries starts off on a promising note, but as the mystery unfolds, the plot, like boys who go to Jupiter, gets more stupider: Too many plot developments strain credulity, and too much hinges on characters behaving in ways that don't make any sense. The show's treatment of its characters of color is also appalling, and while the story hinges on the relationship between Erin and Lori, it's ultimately hard to care about either sister even before the ending, which is a real eye-roller.

THE COUPLE NEXT DOOR (2023): The wages of sin are melodrama in this uneven, annoyingly reactionary miniseries about a young interracial couple, schoolteacher Evie (Eleanor Tomlinson) and newspaper reporter Pete (Alfred Enoch), whose flirtation with their sexy swinger neighbors — hot bisexual yoga instructor Becka (Jessica De Gouw) and her very rectangular motorcycle cop husband Danny (Sam Heughan) — sets them on the road to ruin. There are occasional flashes of what could have been a decent modern relationship drama, but it's burdened by too many extraneous plot elements (with what feels like 10 episodes worth of plot crammed awkwardly into six), a really distasteful subplot about a creepy older man (Hugh Dennis) stalking Becka, and the story's reluctance to engage with the uncomfortable racist implications of Evie's attraction to Danny and growing disdain for her Black husband. Surprisingly, Becka ends up being the most sympathetic character, perhaps because she's the only one with no ulterior motives (she's just horny and frustrated), and the only one who behaves like a grownup when things go sideways. That makes it that much more disheartening that the narrative spends a lot of time punishing Becka for her reluctance to accept a life of staid suburban monogamy — and that the story eventually throws all credibility to the wind with a misguided action-thriller finale.

#teevee #hateration holleration #the couple next door #the castaways #jessica de gouw #céline buckens #sheridan smith #eleanor tomlinson #alfred enoch #sam heughan #the couple next door does grudgingly acknowledge #that some people are nonmonogamous without it being a big deal #but it's also like those posts that want to reassure people that monogamists are also hashtag valid #when it's not indulging in preposterous melodrama

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skippyv20 · 1 year

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archive.today webpage capture Saved from https://www.telegraph.co.uk/columnists/2023/01/31/must-not-let-harry-meghan-turn-coronation-tawdry-family-drama/ history←priornext→ 1 Feb 2023 02:51:47 UTC Redirected from https://www.telegraph.co.uk/columnists/2023/01/31/must-not-let-harry-meghan-turn-coronation-tawdry-family-drama News I’ll be one of thousands booing Harry and Meghan if they attend the Coronation After insulting our country and the institution King Charles now embodies, the Sussexes will turn a solemn occasion into a family drama ALLISON PEARSON 31 January 2023 • 5:50pm Allison Pearson What if the Sussexes are persuaded by the Archbishop of Canterbury to park their commercialised contempt for the Royal family for a day? What if the Sussexes are persuaded by the Archbishop of Canterbury to park their commercialised contempt for the Royal family for a day? CREDIT: Matt Dunham/PA The Coronation of King Charles III on Saturday, May 6 is bound to be very different in character from his mother’s in June 1953. Elizabeth II was young (just 27) and blessed with a shy, fawn-like beauty allied to a high moral seriousness that enchanted the British people. She was an emblem of the post-war hope for a better future. By contrast, our new King is the oldest person to accede to the throne. Although hale and fit, Charles will be 74 when the crown is placed on his head. He commands affection and respect for his long service to the nation and his patently good heart. But this is not a figure who readily makes monarchical magic or connects with a new generation. That role will fall to his heir and his wife: the Prince and Princess of Wales. A great deal is riding on William, Catherine and their three adorable children; more, perhaps, than the Palace would care to acknowledge. They will be hugely important to the success of the big day. Whether Prince Louis will be allowed into Westminster Abbey to provide his unique take on events remains to be seen. (The four-year-old Charles did attend his mother’s Coronation, but he was a notably more solemn child than his ebullient grandson and was never, as far as we know, seen thumbing his nose as little Louis did during the Platinum Jubilee parade.) So, just imagine how the Waleses must be feeling. William inspired by his grandmother’s steadfast example. Kate providing emotional intelligence and high glamour – witness her firecracker appearance in a red trouser suit on Monday night. Both are clearly doing their level best to help steer the Windsor ship through uncharted, post-Elizabethan waters. Yet, now, they face the already daunting prospect of the Coronation being turned into a nerve-wracking and embarrassing ordeal by the presence of Prince Harry and his wife. The King has reportedly asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to broker some kind of peace deal that would enable the Duke and Duchess of Sussex to be present at the ceremony. This initiative arises from the dubious belief that the Sussexes’ absence would cause a greater distraction than their presence. (The Duke of Windsor – formerly the King – wasn’t invited to his niece’s Coronation and it passed off extremely well.) We are told Justin Welby may be authorised to offer sweeteners – a prominent position in the Abbey (at the Queen’s funeral, Meghan and Harry were relegated to the cheap seats in the second row; some of us wouldn’t have let them in at all), an informal assurance that Harry can keep his titles as an inducement to attend. And what then? What if the petulant pair from Montecito are persuaded by the Archbishop to park their commercialised contempt for the Royal family for a day? What if they do deign to turn up to witness that most solemn religious ceremony whereby our sovereign is publicly anointed under a transparent canopy? Or “new Netflix content” as it will shortly be known, once Meghan has called her agent. It is a deeply uncomfortable prospect. Relations between the royal brothers are currently so bad they make Cain and Abel look like Groucho and Harpo. Charles has reportedly asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to broker some kind of peace deal that would enable the Sussexes to be present at the ceremony Charles has reportedly asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to broker some kind of peace deal that would enable the Sussexes to be present at the ceremony CREDIT: Owen Humphreys/PA In his memoir Spare, “Harold” hurled insults at his elder brother, disclosing details of sibling spats which should have remained private. If Harry sits in a pew at the Abbey, just a few places along from William, how many minds will stray to the account of “Willy” grabbing his brother by the collar and knocking him to the floor? Why should the Prince of Wales, who has every right to be furious, be forced to put on a good front for the sake of a fondly weak father and a disloyal, obnoxious sibling? And what of the insults in the book to “unfriendly” Kate and Camilla, who “sacrificed me on her personal PR altar”, according to Harry. The Queen Consort is too much of a brick to throw a spanner in the works, but she would be well within her rights to tell Charles, “OK, darling, you go ahead and invite Harry to your Coronation, but I’ll be washing my hair.” Look, any parent can appreciate the King’s desire to have his younger son present on the most important day of his life. But the Coronation is a state occasion, not a family outing. Charles should be more worried about the feelings of the British people than he appears to be. Most of us think that the Sussexes have behaved appallingly. The damage they have dealt to the UK’s reputation in the US with their now oddly-muted accusations of “racism” is incalculable. Selling your own grandmother is supposed to be an example of unthinkable ruthlessness, not a business proposition, but Harry did it anyway. On no account do we want to see him and Madam made welcome on a landmark date in our country’s history. The idea is repellent. I’d certainly be among the thousands booing them if they had the nerve to show up. (Members of Team Meghan would beg to differ, but here’s the catch; they are the least likely to be monarchists.) For a sense of the excruciating awkwardness that awaits if the Sussexes do attend the Coronation, cast your minds back to Harry and Meghan’s final appearance as working Royals at a Commonwealth Day service in March 2020. It wasn’t quite Murder in the Cathedral, but the extended clan was looking daggers at them. The then Cambridges could hardly bring themselves to acknowledge the Sussexes. Sophie Wessex pretended to be incredibly interested in the Order of Service, bless her. Meghan did her “I’m so glowing and compassionate, me” routine with a receiving line of enraptured clergymen when she noticed Prince William come in and hastily scuttled along. No love lost there. And that was before she told Oprah that Kate made her cry. Things are a hundred times more acrimonious now. Is that really what our King wants at his Coronation? I bet it’s not what a smarting Prince and Princess of Wales want. (William is said, with justification, to be concerned his brother will pull some “stunt”.) It’s certainly not what the British people want. In fact, there is a real worry that we will think a lot less of our new monarch should he be seen to capitulate to an ungrateful couple who have insulted both our country and the institution Charles now embodies. By all means invite Harry and Meghan to a private celebration, but don’t allow them to turn a solemn occasion into a tawdry family drama. Sacred anointing with holy oil or a bar of daytime soap? The King must choose, and house wisely

Thank you❤️

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turtlethon · 1 year

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“Atlantis Awakes”

Season 7, Episode 23 First US Airdate: December 4, 1993

Bebop is declared the King of Atlantis and the Turtles must help a half-man, half-fish to claim his rightful throne.

We’re into the final five episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles season seven. “Atlantis Awakes” is credited to David Wise and first aired in a double bill with "Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter".

It’s rare to see the Turtles using a vehicle other than their van these days, with even the blimp popping up only occasionally. Today’s show is an exception, with one of the sewer tubes and a new dinghy carrying our heroes around underground. Michaelangelo is on a surfboard and breaks off from the team to travel down a winding tunnel, but winds up losing his footing. He narrowly avoids going over a steep drop when a mysterious figure emerges from the water to save him.

Michaelangelo’s rescuer is a half-man, half-fish called Alim Coelacanth. Providing him with a snappier (and more marketable) name, an astonished Mikey dubs him “Merdude” before reuniting with the other Turtles. The rest of the team find this talk of a fish-man dubious, but Alim emerges from the water to greet them, explaining that he’s from the city of Atlantis. Regular Turtlethon readers will know that the green teens encountered the sunken city first-hand during a visit to Greece in “The Lost Queen of Atlantis”, an episode that aired in the US mere weeks prior to the broadcast of this one. The Turtles seemingly have no memory of such an adventure now, with Raphael dismissing Atlantis as “just a myth”. Apparently either David Wise was unaware of the existence of that episode, or considered its events to be non-canon, which itself is perhaps the best possible indicator that the entire “Vacation in Europe” side-season exists outside of the proper TMNT timeline.

Alim explains to the Turtles that the other Atlanteans are human, with him being the exception; he left the city over 200 years ago in search of others of his own species. This quest has proved unsuccessful, and so he seeks to return to Atlantis, but has lost track of it. The Turtles agree to help Alim return home, and the group swim off together in search of the city.

The Technodrome is rolling around at the bottom of the sea, and Krang has discovered interesting energy readings from a location nearby. Rather than driving the fortress there, Shredder leaves on a scouting mission with Rocksteady and Bebop in an amphibious transport module. The villains are stunned to discover the lost city of Atlantis under a giant dome, and demand to be granted entry. Once inside, the citizens begin bowing upon seeing Bebop, declaring that their “king has come”.

As Alim summons a group of sea creatures for the Turtles to ride so they can keep up with him, the people of Atlantis explain that they’ve waited for generations for the prophecy of a beast man to emerge who will be declared their ruler, and so Bebop is now made their king. Rocksteady is upset at this, wondering why his friend was selected for the role over him. Giving orders doesn’t come easily to Bebop, and so he leans on Shredder for advice as a dissenter called Hepax Lagamina declares this to be a farce; at the suggestion of Shreds, the new king has her dragged away to be clapped in irons.

The Turtles and Alim take an underground passage into the city, emerging in the throne room as Bebop is made king in an official ceremony. A group of spear-wielding men encircle the group as the first act ends.

Act two opens with our heroes attempting to point out that Bebop is no king, before ultimately being forced to retreat into the water; with no breathing equipment, the Atlanteans are unable to pursue them. Later, Rocksteady complains about being passed over for the role of king to a disinterested Shredder as the two discover a room containing a giant jewel. Shredder informs Krang of this discovery, and he suggests it could be used to supercharge the Technodrome’s main cannon. Though the jewel is too heavy for Shredder and Rocksteady to carry on their own, Bebop’s influence will allow them to have the Atlanteans move it instead.

Power is beginning to go to Bebop’s head by the time Shredder returns to address him, and it doesn’t take long before the new king turns his troops against his old boss. Meanwhile Alim explains to the Turtles that the advanced equipment kept in the palace is used to power the Hammer of Atlantis. Before he can expand on its purpose, the group are distracted by cries from a voice nearby. The group find Hepax Lagamina trapped in a jail cell. Upon seeing Alim, she declares that he must be the true beast man the prophecy spoke of, and that he must challenge Bebop for the title in the Atlantean Arena. Before they can break her out, a group of guards approach, and so the Turtles and Alim are forced to escape into the water once more. This time the guards have breathing equipment, and pursue the intruders underwater.

King Bebop has Shredder get down on his knees in deference to him, alongside a now-weeping Rocksteady, who seems to be developing an inferiority complex as he watches his old buddy throw his weight around. Shreds eventually decides he’s had enough. Calling Krang via com-link, he orders that the contents of the former henchman’s room be burned. Bebop is aghast at the thought of his action figures, bubblegum cards and comic books being destroyed. He agrees to carry out Shredder’s mission, and has his troops begin the process of transporting the oversized jewel.

The Turtles battle the royal guards in the waters outside of the city, but find the odds against them. Alim uses his special powers to turn things around, calling on a group of nearby sea creatures to restrain the men. With their path now clear, our heroes head back inside.

Emerging inside the palace, Donnie and Raph split off to confront Shredder, while Leo and Mikey are tasked with freeing Hepax. Alim heads to the throne room, where he confronts Bebop; The King’s advisor Malathor informs him that he must accept this challenge, or he will have to forfeit his crown.

As Leonardo and Michaelangelo battle Rocksteady for control of the keys to Hepax’s cell, Alim and Bebop begin doing battle in the arena. Shredder is confronted by Raphael and Donatello, but uses a laser blaster to bring the roof down upon the Turtles, leaving them in a pile of rubble as act two ends.

It turns out that Raph and Donnie just happened to be standing near a canal outlet while being fired upon, and were able to dip into it to avoid the impact. Though the two are unharmed, they emerge to find Shredder has escaped with the crystal. Elsewhere, Leonardo and Michaelangelo outsmart Rocksteady, trapping him in a neighbouring cell as they free Hepax. The trio head to the arena and offer words of encouragement to Alim: Hepax instructs him to grab the Trident of Power, a weapon mounted nearby, which will only be of use to the true King of Atlantis. He uses the Trident to force Bebop to admit his rule is illegitimate, leading to cheers from the city dwellers. Before Alim can celebrate, Raphael and Donatello arrive to inform him of Shredder’s theft of the jewel, which Hepax explains is the “Star of Atlantis”.

Bebop finds Rocksteady and frees him from his jail cell before tracking down Shredder and asking for his old job back. Shreds has his former henchman get down on his knees and grovel, but soon has bigger issues to deal with, as the Turtles arrive to confront him, accompanied by Alim and Hepax. As a going-away gift, he punctures the protective dome of the city with a blast from his laser weapon before escaping in his module. Alim again uses his psychic powers, this time summoning a giant squid that covers the hole and prevents any further water from getting in.

The Turtles ride a pair of whales as they follow Alim out of the city, preparing for their next move. Meanwhile Shredder’s module arrives at the Technodrome and a group of Foot Soldiers unload the Star of Atlantis. As our heroes approach Krang’s fortress, it dawns upon them that he’s about to use the crystal’s power to open fire upon Atlantis. The group push the eyeball atop the Technodrome out of alignment, leading the blast to miss its target; after retrieving the jewel, our heroes and a group of sea creatures summoned by Alim safely transport it back to the city.

Back in Atlantis, Alim is officially declared king, and announces that Hepax will be his royal councillor. The Turtles are unconvinced by his subsequent speech about this being the start of a new, peaceful era for the Atlanteans, given that Shredder and Krang remain nearby, and their fears turn out to be well-founded: as they speak, the Technodrome is approaching the domed city and about to launch an attack. Alim is unconcerned, as the power of the Hammer of Atlantis is revealed, the large crystal being the energy source for an array of hidden weapons surrounding the city which emerge to open fire on the Technodrome. Shredder and Krang watch as their systems overload, and are forced to make a humiliating retreat.

With the day saved, Alim makes special arrangements to take our heroes home, introducing them to a quartet of giant sea turtles. Upon arriving back in the Lair, Leonardo remarks that the team has had a lot of adventures, “but this one tops ‘em all”. Michaelangelo emerges with a pizza made in Alim’s honour, the “Merdude Special”, covered in seaweed and other maritime items that leave the other Turtles queasy. The “disgusting pizza” ending, once such a fixture in the series that it was getting tiresome, has largely been taken out of rotation at this point; It’s almost nostalgic to see it dusted off for one more go-around.

I mentioned at the outset of this entry that we seldom see the Turtles use a vehicle other than their van these days; new characters popping up to coincide with their introductions to the toy line is also something that doesn’t happen as much as it did in seasons one through five. Alim / Merdude is an exception, having had a toy released a year prior to the broadcast of this adventure. My hunch is that Playmates largely didn’t care about the specifics of what went on in the cartoon by now as its drawing power had long since diminished. Moving forward, the toy line will move away from introducing new characters anyway, instead focusing on different versions of the Turtles (and occasionally Bebop and Rocksteady) with a never-ending array of bizarre gimmicks. This leaves Alim as one of the last members of an old tradition, the Mutant Guest Star of the Week: another of the many half-human, half-animal buddies that the Turtles cosy up to for twenty-two minutes, talk about maybe seeing again one day at the conclusion of the story, and then never speak of again.

Following on from “The Legend of Koji” a few weeks back, this is only the second episode ever to not feature April in any capacity. That story at least allowed Renae Jacobs to take on a different role as one of Shredder’s hired maidens, but here she’s not present at all. April’s absence is understandable as structurally it’d be tough to work her in. There’s very little wiggle room in this adventure, which kicks things off with the introduction of Alim staggeringly quickly; the fact that this is one of only a few of the Saturday morning TMNT episodes to use the shorter thirty second opening title sequence rather than the standard one-minute version is another tell-tale sign of the production team struggling to fit everything into the allocated broadcast time.

We can’t leave this adventure without returning to the thorny issue of this being the second Atlantis TMNT episode to air (for US viewers) in the space of seven weeks. But which is better? It’s no contest really: “The Lost Queen of Atlantis” had some fun stuff going on with the Turtles taking on the Atlantean cult, but it was hampered by the same ropey production values and general mediocrity that the entire Vacation in Europe side-season suffered from. It irks me to no end every time the Turtles speak as if they have no memory of prior adventures, but when it comes down to it an episode with adequate time and money spent on it like this one, from the main writer of the show, will always take precedence over what was effectively a single filler story from an entire side-season that accomplished nothing.

Next time, we’ll see the Punk Frogs and Mondo Gecko return for their final appearances in “Dirk Savage: Mutant Hunter”. PLUS: The belated TV debuts of Tokka and Rahzar!

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #TMNT 1987 #1993 #Atlantis Awakes #Alim Coelacanth #Merdude #Hepax Lagamina #Ninja Turtles #Turtlethon

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