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tropes-and-tales · 7 months

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Good Girl

Day 2: Dry humping (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; praise kink; smut (dry humping; outercourse; whatever the youths call it now - clothed grinding and such); 18+ only.

Word Count: 2996

AN: This is loosely related to the very loosely-formed Seresin cousin mini-series, found here. It was requested for Kinktober by @justreblogginfics!)

You and Bob continue your little dance for months.

You know the man likes you. Every time you fly into town to visit your cousin Jake, Bob is always nearby, staring at you on the sly like a lovesick puppy. He’s always just at the edge of the group gatherings—nights at the Hard Deck, parties at Nat’s house, afternoons at the beach—and you always feel those big blue eyes tracking your movements.

Everyone else notices it. Harvard and Yale corner you at the Hard Deck, ask if you’ve noticed that you have an admirer. Nat pulls you aside at her barbeque and obliquely gives you a rundown of Bob’s numerous good traits. Only Jake holds his tongue, but you catch him narrowing his eyes at the WSO enough that you realize even your cousin—your cousin with his penchant for being self-centered, the handsome narcissist with the blinding smile—has noticed Bob’s crush too.

Bob never makes a move.

Nights at the Hard Deck when you blatantly lament being single. The party at Bob’s house where you stayed behind to help him clean up. The little touches you chance: brushing your hand against his, a light hand on his shoulder, friendly hugs…they are an invitation, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

It’s Rooster who clues you in. The man takes your hand one night at the bar and tugs you outside where the ocean crashes along the shore in the darkness. In the dim light, you can just make out the man as he peers down at you.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says. “But you’re going about it all wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You catch the white of his eyes as he rolls them. “C’mon. It’s obvious you like Bob, but you gotta make the move if you’re interested. You gotta be blatant with him. He won’t get it otherwise.”

“Why not?” Your stomach twists unpleasantly; you wonder if perhaps you’ve misread the situation. Maybe Bob has a crush, but maybe it’s just a crush, and maybe there’s someone else he loves and this is just a passing bit of madness—

“Guy’s a brilliant wizzo, but he’s clueless with women.”

Now you roll your eyes at Rooster, and he chuckles at the gesture.

“I’m serious!” he continues, and he holds his hands up, helpless. “I think he misread a situation once with a girl when he was younger, and I think it scared him off of making the first move.”

“That’s a terrible excuse. I got food poisoning from bad tacos once but I still eat tacos.”

Rooster chuckles again. “Yeah, but you women can be devastating when you reject us. I think poor Baby on Board was crushed before and now he’s just a pining little asshole, staring at you from across the bar.”

You shrug helplessly and glance back into the Hard Deck: you can see Bob in profile, and you get the impression that he’s just turned away, that he didn’t want to get caught watching you. Watching you and Rooster together, chatting outside, laughing outside. You feel a wave of sympathy for what Bob must be thinking—that you’re flirting with Rooster, that maybe Bob has missed his chance.

You turn back to the pilot. You square your shoulders. “Okay, I hear you. I’ll be the brave one.” A beat as anxiety blooms in your chest, makes your ribcage feel a fraction tighter, makes it just a bit harder to draw a full breath. “And you’re sure he likes me? You aren’t misreading this somehow? I don’t want to look like an idiot, Bradshaw.”

He laughs outright, and he hooks an arm around your neck to pull you into a friendly hug.

“Ah, kid, he loves you. You make the first move, he’ll probably go ring shopping next weekend,” he says, and he lays a smacking kiss on the side of your head before releasing you, shoving you gently back towards the bar.

-----

You may be confident, but that confidence doesn’t always extend into your romantic life. Still, you decide to be brave.

You make the first move.

When you go back into the Hard Deck, you notice that Bob seems quieter than usual, and you guess that he saw the hug, the friendly kiss between you and Rooster. You guess that he is drawing incorrect conclusions about what he thinks he saw, and you hate to think of him suffering needlessly.

You sidle up to him, and you feel another wave of tenderness towards the man when he turns to look at you—still with that soft smile on his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes despite what he must be thinking.

“It’s too noisy in here,” you say close to his ear. “I was going to take a walk on the beach. Do you want to join me?”

The hope in his eyes turns blatant. “Really?”

“Yeah. You wanna go? C’mon.” You don’t give him a chance to stammer his way out of it; you thread your arm through his and tug him towards the door, and he follows you without any resistance.

You catch Rooster’s eye, then Nat’s as you leave. The former tips you a knowing wink. The latter gives you a nod, and she lifts her glass in a salute.

You don’t release him until you’re at the water’s edge, and you bend down to untie your sneakers and peel out of your socks. He hesitates a beat then joins you, and he rolls up the pants to his uniform so that his shins are bare.

The two of you walk along the shore in silence for a bit. It’s one of the things you like best about Bob—how he lacks the braggadocio to always talk, to always fill up every bit of silence with the sound of his own voice. You know he’s perhaps more shy than the average person, but he doesn’t seem undone by it. He seems comfortable just to be himself: quieter than most, willing to sit back and watch.

Case in point: you hold your shoes and socks in one hand, and you take his hand with your free one. Maybe he’s nervous, but his palm is warm and dry, not sweaty or twitchy. If he’s nervous, it’s not obvious.

And he breaks the silence, after a while.

“Growing up in the Midwest, I never even saw the ocean until I enlisted,” he says.

“Same,” you reply. “I mean, growing up in Texas, we went to Galveston a few times, but that was technically the Gulf, not the ocean.”

“You like it?”

You feel the water lapping around your ankles, the give of the sand underneath your soles. “I do,” you admit. “There’s something really peaceful about it, and I love poking around at low tide and looking for sea glass.”

He glances at you, and you can hear the teasing in his voice when he replies, “I’m gonna tell Hangman that his cousin only visits him because he’s stationed along the coast.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them. “Maybe I only visit Jake because I like one of his coworkers.”

The light-hearted feeling of the moment deflates; Bob goes silent. He takes a beat to reply, and when he does, his voice sounds strained.

“Bradley.” It comes out curt, two quick syllables. A statement, not a question.

You shake your head, let out a grumble of disagreement. Up ahead, you can see the outline of a lifeguard station, painted white and rising ghostly out of the night. You want to sit with him and finally talk with him, so you tug his hand and lead him there. The two of you sit on the steps, side by side, hips touching and facing the ocean.

“Not Bradley,” you tell him as you pick up the thread of the conversation.

“I saw you tonight—”

You shake your head again, cut him off. “He wanted to talk to me,” you tell Bob. “About you.”

You feel him go rigid beside you, and he huffs out a frustrated breath. If there was more light, you’d see the furious blush that breaks out across his face, but it’s dark enough that you can only guess at his embarrassment.

And now that you’ve opened the Pandora’s box, you can hardly take it back, so you plunge forward. Usually confident, you’re glad for the darkness too—you hope it hides your shaky hands, your inability to turn and meet his eyeline.

“I think you’re great, Bobby. Honestly. I thought you were handsome the moment I met you, but then I got to know you, and you’re quiet but you’re funny and sweet, and I was giving all these signs that I was into you, but nothing…I mean, I like you a lot and it’s just…” You trail off, lose your words like an idiot. You hadn’t enough time to rehearse this in your head; you just grabbed him at the Hard Deck and dragged him out here, and now you’re fumbling it completely. You drop your head and swipe your sweaty palms along the sides of your shorts, and you take a deep breath—

You hear his soft “hey,” and then a split second later you feel his warm hand on your face, tilting your head up and turning you to face him, but nothing on earth could prepare you for the way Bob Floyd kisses: gentle but firm, only a bit hesitant. His lips are soft, and he breathes out a quiet groan when you reach up and lay your own hand along the side of his neck.

Your thoughts go fuzzy. Your concentration—all the words you were fumbling to say—is shot, but when you try to break the kiss to finish what you were saying, Bob shakes his head faintly and mumbles against you lips.

“I know,” he says, and you can hear his accent breaking through. “I know, honey. Me too.”

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, and a moment later, when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you open yourself to him, allow him to taste you. You taste him too, and Bob Floyd tastes like the grenadine-laced Coke he nurses each night at the Hard Deck, never much of a drinker even on the rowdiest night.

If nothing could prepare you for the way he kisses, then certainly nothing could prepare you for how sweetly dominant he is, how perfectly he walks the line between gentlemanly and not. Your clumsy confession must have given him the wherewithal to take charge, and you’re surprised when he puts a hand on your waist and gently urges you to turn towards him…then how he just as gently urges you to climb onto his lap.

It doesn’t take much urging, you find. You’ve been ravenous for months for this exact moment, and you had thought it’d never come. You break away long enough to study his face—this close, and with the faint light of the half-moon in the sky above you, you can see his wide blue eyes, his parted lips as he gazes back at you. You don’t see any hesitancy in his expression at all, but then he breathes out, “please, honey” and he squeezes your waist, so you clamber onto him with no grace whatsoever, but neither of you care because the moment you’re settled on him, you bend your head to kiss him again.

As it turns out, maybe Bob was just as ravenous for this moment too. He puts his other hand on your waist too, draws you closer to him, and you can feel the nudge and brush of his growing erection against your inner thigh. He makes a strangled, pained sort of groan in the back of his throat the first time you touch him there, and his hands spasm on your waist, grip you tighter before he schools himself and apologizes.

You break the kiss, slow the moment down. You cup his face between your palms and hold him steady, tilt his face up towards yours.

“Bobby, why didn’t you ever say anything?” you whisper.

He shakes his head against your hold and offers you a rueful grin. “Didn’t think you were interested.”

You snort and press a light kiss to his forehead, then another few to his cheeks, the tip of his nose. You can feel how flushed he is under your lips.

“You think I just randomly hang back at parties to help the host clean up?” you tease. You shift your head, whisper the words in his ear, and you note how he squirms under you. He’s growing harder, even at your playful kisses.

“Just thought…ah, just thought y-you were bein’ nice.” His accent comes out stronger, and his hands squeeze you tighter again before he loosens his grip. “You’re always so…so nice to everyone.”

“I’m nicest to you,” you point out. You kiss a trail along the line of his neck, and he tilts his head to grant you the space. At his pulse point, you can feel his heartbeat thundering away there, so you bare your teeth and nip him—not enough to hurt or even sting, but he groans out “shit, honey” and wraps a strong arm around your waist, hauls you right up against where he’s straining against his uniform for you. His other hand finds the back of your neck, and he draws you to him, kisses you breathless as he guides you against him, sets a steady, rocking motion against him.

It's too much: the way his clothed erection hits you just right, how he pushes you back and forth, over and over, until you are so wet that you’re certain you’ve soaked through your panties and your shorts. Everything feels sensitive, swollen, but he keeps guiding you, lifts his own hips in time to the rhythm he sets. It’s too much but it’s not nearly enough, and you wish you’d known how this entire evening was going to unravel because you would have just taken him home instead—

“This good?” he asks. His face is tucked against your neck; you’re a fraction higher than him, perched in his lap, and he works his mouth almost lazily against your neck, your throat, the underside of your jaw. He has one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him, but his other hand settles against your ass, kneads you there, digs his fingertips into the fat of your ass like he wants to own you.

You start to make a joke about being surprised to find he’s an ass man, but then he dips his head, works an open-mouthed kiss right where the swell of your breasts begin. You whine at the sensation and thread your fingers through his hair. You hold him there, and the desire coursing through you—the sharp ache between your thighs, the prickly-hot flush across your skin—makes you feel fuzzy, light-headed. You remember he asked you a question, so you answer him, nod hard and mumble yes, he’s making you feel good, he’s making you feel amazing, but what about him?

“Don’t worry about me.” He nips at your collarbone, runs his tongue along the line of it, dips his tongue into the divot at the base of your throat. “Wanna make you come, honey.”

Hearing those words come from his mouth makes your desire rachet up higher, hotter. You grip his hair harder, whine out his name, but then he adds, “you gonna be my good girl and come for me?”

There’s no way he could have known of your praise kink, so it’s just a lucky guess, but the unexpected phrase—my good girl…fuck if it doesn’t make you cock-drunk and stupid. No other guy really ever cracked the code of that kink for you. A few had made half-hearted attempts when you mentioned it, but Bob Floyd stumbles over it immediately, and your mind goes blissfully blank: yes, you want to be his good girl. Yes, you want to come for him. Whatever he wants. Anything he wants. Everything he wants.

You let go of your hold on his hair, and you cup his face again, tilt his head up so you can kiss him. “Yes,” you whisper just before you slot your mouth over his, push your tongue against his, kiss him so deeply that you’re sharing the same breath, mapping the inside of his mouth with your tongue, memorizing every bit of him you can. Yes, yes. Yes to all of it.

Mind blank, your pleasure overtakes you: you feel the heat and friction from where he sets you grinding against him, you feel the bulge of his cock hitting you perfectly, and every bit of him—his subtle cologne, the soft feel of his hair, the quiet little groans he makes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you—pushes you close to the edge. You teeter there, you ride him faster, the seam of your shorts pressing deliciously against your swollen clit, but it’s his words that push you over. His quietly domineering orders.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and it’s a harsh, punched-out sound that makes your stomach swoop when you hear it. “My good, sweet girl. Come for me.”

Your orgasm breaks around you like a wave, and Bob releases his hold on your ass to draw you closer to him, let you ride it out as you shudder against him. Both arms wrapped around your waist as pleasure sparks outward from your core, travels up your spine and courses through your limbs until your head is swimming and he’s tucking you against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers into your hair. “Good girl. So fucking good for me.”

And all you can respond with is yes, yes. Only for you, Bobby.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #tropes and tales #kinktober 2023

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moonlightsapphic · 1 year

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Look, I just need you guys to understand how important queer coming-of-age forbidden romances on internationally accessible platforms like Netflix is, especially to youth in countries where homosexuality still hasn't been legally decriminalised or socially accepted.

That was a mouthful, so let me explain. You, a white American adult with a liberal family, may not relate to a fictional anxious teen Swedish prince grappling with strict familial and societal expectations versus his first love. You may not find anything special in a bunch of queer British teens discovering themselves and figuring out complex relationships that are honestly rather simplistic, in retrospect. It might be a little too trite for you. Like, just a little vanilla without any extra drama. Perhaps corny—cringe, even. Too wholesome.

But you know what that is to me, a desi queer young adult? It's representation, in an unlikely place. My country certainly isn't making movies or shows where I see my secret relationship between me and my girlfriend portrayed. I don't see that happening in the next couple of decades, either, sadly. But you know who’s telling our stories? Alice Oseman. Lisa Ambjörn, Lars Beckung and Camilla Holter. Through fictional storylines that might seem kind of boring to you, I am finally able watch my lived experiences play out on screen.

American media has done such a disservice to queer coming-of-age stories. I want to scream this from the rooftops. Y’all, I’m glad to see more out quirky queer side-characters—I can’t get enough of them—but why is it so rarely their story, in sharp focus, about how they found themselves? I want to know how they overcame internalised homophobia. When was the moment they knew? What is the cost they have to pay for being out? For not being out?

And no, I don’t want it to be dramatic. I don’t need to see violence or betrayals or victorious kisses in public, really. I’m happiest with the teenagers behaving like real teenagers. Innocent, vulnerable, nervous. I want it to be heartfelt, and excruciatingly slow, and authentic. I want to see the small wins and the subtle losses. The quiet mental toll of how much you have to give to a queer relationship—especially your first queer relationship—and how hard that can be to separate from your Identity itself.

Give me that "am I gay?" quiz and genuinely crying at 3:00 AM because you're in a rabbit hole about LGBTQ+ rights in a country where you actually don’t want to be gay and you don’t even know if you “count” anyway. Show me that moment where you're going back and forth from forbidding yourself from seeing the one person that sees and understands you and it's to protect your mental and physical well-being but it's driving you insane. Give me ALL THE YOUNG ADULT BI+ AWAKENINGS where one person strolls into your life and changes everything. No, it’s really not the same as most cis-heterosexual insta-love movies out there, even if it looks that way to you. It doesn’t even cut it close.

The happy ending, the acceptance is only what I can dream of, not what I can expect. The wholesomeness is actually radical to me.

No, we’re not past the need for basic star-crossed queer romances. For most countries in the world (including for many white American teenagers!), we need them as much as ever.

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candeathbereal · 10 months

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Some Astrology Observations

Now of course I have heard about the cancer placements having a moon shaped face because they rule the moon it makes sense. Now I wanna talk about some things physically I have noticed for some placements.

-Fire placements seem to have a relatively athletic body and that is not to say skinny or small. Because honestly an athletic body in my opinion is more about the appearance of strength if that makes any sense. Now that brings me to my next point.

-Air placement seem to look whimsical. Like Gemini placements especially embody the look of a fairy or elf.

-Water placements have a youthful look but look like a grandma at the same time. I swear most people with like a water rising or prominent water placements seem to give off the vibe of grandpa/grandma. For instance my boyfriend has a Scorpio sun, mercury, and rising, and this man seems like a grumpy old man, but I wonder if that has to do with his Taurus moon and/or Capricorn mars as well idk tho.

-Earth placements there is the obvious stuff like Capricorns having sharp features and aging kinda backwards. Or even Taurus placements having a prominent neck (sometimes no neck at all). Honestly I always wonder about myself with things but I have noticed that earth placements have a rbf no matter what bruh. Like me and my sister have it and like I’m a Leo rising but she is a Gemini rising. What do we both have in common? Earth placements…also we are related so at first I doubted myself with this observation. Until I started looking at other people’s charts and I think the only way to not have a intense rbf is if you have Libra or cancer placements but even that is shoddy. It’s a working theory for now.

Oh another thing about the cancer placement moon face thingy, Leo placements remind me of the sun most times. Hot, outshines anyone even if they hate being the center of attention (lowkey me but it’s less of a hate but more of a im so used to minimizing my presence due to how people react to me that I have grown to hate people paying attention to me) I think it has something to do with my Pluto trine ascendant or my Lilith in Aquarius opposite my Leo rising. Idk tho

-Having Saturn dominance is so weird bruh like the only sibling I have that doesn’t have Saturn as a dominant planet is like my brother (who has had the worst luck like what he has gone through would make anyone burst into tears from how fucked his childhood was). But I think Saturn dominance is more than just you having a rough life. It’s more about your perspective and how you act upon that in my opinion.

Now take anything I say as generally opinion based because I am not by any means an astrologer. I am just passionate. Either way I would love to know you guy’s opinions. :)

#astrology #astrology observations #saturn #placements #water signs #saturn dominance #astro observations #astro posts #astro

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orange-catsidy · 3 months

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i'm glad the youth are shedding the fear of being called cringe and posting self insert art as their heart desires even if i dont personally relate but i am just slightly worried about some of their romantic interests. i simply don't think the milkshake from aqua teen hunger force would be a good boyfriend cuz he's a real asshole in the show maybe the french fry guy would be better

#my posts #the meatball seems the nicest but i think he might be an actual child #< guy who has only seen aqua teen hunger force through random clips

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dendrophalaen · 5 months

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my thoughts on godzilla minus one

tl;dr i had a religious experience (positive) and it may be my new favorite godzilla movie

i'm going to try to organize my thoughts lmao i have never done a film analysis or review

story

i went in knowing next to nothing, so i was very afraid this was going to be heavy on the imperialist propaganda and reminiscing on the "good old days" of the japanese military

however i was pleasantly surprised to see that it was quite anti-government :]

loved the delivery of the themes of "all lives being precious" and "living on for yourself as well as for the sake of others" – not hammy or blunt!

FORESHADOWING OF THE EJECTION SEAT? chef's KISS we love picking up what the movie is putting down and getting to see the payoff

speaking of foreshadowing:

dr. noda: [takes noriko's picture]

me: oh no she's going to die

i spent like the last quarter of the movie with a headache because i was clenching my teeth and holding in tears after noriko's death ("death") AND koichi planning to blow himself up and orphan akiko

and all the ex-navy guys rallying together to defeat godzilla

i am not immune to classic story beats

semi-related i thought noriko would be covered in radiation burns, but then i realized a depiction of that would probably be insensitive

also the guys measuring radiation in plastic costs? come on now i know we weren't fully educated in the risks of radiation but there must've been some sort of better ppe

characters

i enjoyed like every character which is rare for me in a godzilla film

koichi just can't catch a break. this man gained so much trauma in a short amount of time, like he doesn't have ptsd because the trauma is ONGOING. i think he's my favorite and it's very easy to root for him

his introduction is of him as a shaky baby-faced pilot and then you find out he was supposed to be a kamikaze pilot like goddamn

i liked noriko's assertiveness ("hey i'm staying in your house now :)") and her ability to see kindness in koichi and sumiko

her struggle of wanting to become independent is very relatable. you could see the bittersweetness in her eyes showing that she felt guilty yet grateful for koichi's support........

i was surprised how quickly sumiko agreed to taking care of akiko? but it makes sense since she was (is) a mother and could not bear to see another child suffer, and akiko gave her life a new purpose

i would've liked more focus on the female characters and i don't think it's fair to just blame it on the era :playdead:

i really liked the chemistry between dr. noda, captain akitsu, and mizushima

dr. noda in particular felt like a nice foil/parallel to serizawa from the 1954 movie; he's also a scientist but he's much more personable(?)/"human"

dr. serizawa was my favorite in 1954 but he was very anguished and set on making reparations by killing godzilla (and koichi could be a parallel to him in that regard)

noda focused on protecting the living, not avenging the dead

ough mizushima. being a Youth who feels useless sure hits home

i'd say tachibana is my least favorite just by comparison to everyone else, but he's honestly so valid for his whole deal

visuals and sound

very elegant color grading, costuming, and set design!

i don't know film girl help

GOOD SOUNDTRACK the music set the scenes so well

i joked about getting my eardrums blasted by godzilla but he really was that loud. as he should be

godzilla (design, abilities, etc)

SWEET JESUS THIS IS THE SCARIEST GODZILLA BY FAR

godzilla: [shows up in the first 10 minutes with blair witch shaky cam]

me: the filmmakers are not messing around they mean BUSINESS

the rampage on odo island was rightfully terrifying

i love his texture and face. the scrunkliness of heisei with the horrifying pain of shin

i think his head is a bit small for his body, like if it was 5% bigger it would be perfect

loved the visuals of his scales flaking off after getting bombed

the nuclear fallout when he used his atomic breath in tokyo was awe-inducing

great use of godzilla as a war allegory

i saw the movie in d-box so the shotgun-blast of heat ray was intense

also coolest godzilla death. sick decapitation

the plan to imprison him in bubbles and give him the bends felt a bit silly in the moment but highlighted how desperate everyone was for ANYTHING to work

really liked how godzilla was more like an animal or unstoppable force of nature without a clear motive

i mean the only emotion you could ascribe is probably RAGE

sidenote i did think it was a lil funny whenever an object was flung through the air from offscreen. there goes godzilla having another tantrum

#maybe the high will wear off and i will have more critical thoughts later lmao #dellabeatalks #godzilla #godzilla minus one #godzilla minus one spoilers #godzilla spoilers

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guardian5tiger3 · 11 months

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Paranormal / psychic read whatever comes out.

Groups

1 2

3 4

Group one

You guys seem to be respected by spirits or at least the ones that have the dignity to show the right beings respect. It seems like you guys are closed off to a lot of spiritual activity especially low vibing.you guys might subconsciously or even consciously somehow help spirits in conflict perhaps humans using advice from spirit.it seems like you guys aren't aware of what activity does take place surrounding you because you're used to it and it just seems normal. It might be more in the daytime too. I do see you guys helping lower vibing situations spirits and or people somehow someway. Something about snoopy and something about awareness. Maybe also something about ice cream.

Group two

You guys might be or have a history of fighting against lower vibing entities at night. Like most likely not that bad just random ghosts and stuff. This seems like it could manifest in tons of ways but I'm seeing for some it could be insomnia or general stress with seemingly no source. You guys might want some type of pretty lights and all around make your rooms and or homes a good vibe especially at night. I'm seeing some of you need sage or something to burn. The brighter you glow the less the negative stuff will show up and be around. I'm getting something about something in the background.

It might be a good idea to focus on your subconscious mind maybe you need background noise or decorations or lights in order to help your subconscious.

Group three

Looks like there are spirits helping you and trying to take part in controlling certain situations going on in the 3d plane of existence. Earth. Whatever you want to refer to it as ok.i see someone smiling so maybe that's significant somehow.im seeing you guys being sort of lifted up or protected somehow by an or multiple entities. I see this entity or the multiple of them view you as a child I want to say kind of like how cats do. To be honest I am getting something about aliens. I'm seeing some spirit or spirits or somebody like that trying to offer you something positive specifically when you're upset in some way so my advice is if you will just sit or lay back close your eyes and let your imagination take you wherever ok.

Group four

Ngl I'm getting something about a morgue. I'm seeing an elder and a youth that are related somehow or just similar. I also see kind of a dickish peer coming to try to take over or something. If you somehow know what I'm talking about then spirit is just confirming that they see this and they're acting accordingly. I keep getting a reference to the dynamic of ash and the kid Gary I think and professor oak. This could somehow be referencing the importance of perspective.

If you feel vulnerable or lonely somehow you should rely on spirit at this time. Is this group scared of ghosts btw? Like I used to be scared of ghosts but still was interested type of thing haha. Some are good some are bad, like people. You definitely have some good ones by your side. So no worries. You just have to have faith in them and lean on the good ones. Something about a pig like a pet pig for someone or some of you. Something about a statue of a woman figure for somebody. This could even actually be the statue of liberty or a lady with a torch similarly. Or a bell maybe. You guys need to learn to reject the negative entities then it won't be so scary ok.

☮️

#free tarot readings #pac reading #pick a card reading #pac #pac tarot #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #tarot pac #tarot reading #pick a group #channeled message #channeled reading #pac tarot reading

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legobiwan · 10 months

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Okay, ever since the concept art of the Mario Brothers movie got leaked on Reddit, I've been wanting to make this post. And I think now is the time. Gird your loins friends. I am about to overanalyze the hell out of thirty seconds and one concept art of a movie.

A Room of Their Own: An (Over)Analysis

To start with, I want to justify this whole treatise by comparing the concept art of Mario and Luigi's room with what we get in the movie.

Concept Art

Movie

These match up incredibly well. There are a few poster swaps on Mario's wall, the generic baseball team versus an obvious reference to the Mets (a point I'll talk about in a moment); Beastie Boys for the fish person poster (and it's bugging the hell out of me, because the green guy is wildly jogging my memory and I can't quite place it). Luigi's side of the room also gets slightly rearranged, although the objects are mostly the same, minus the swap of the anime mecha figure for an art mannequin.

Now that we've established continuity, let's talk about why we're exploring this in the first place.

I love analyzing people's living spaces in media. They tell such an intimate story about who a person is, what they value, what they're hiding, and so on. And the snippets we get of Mario and Luigi's room, both through the movie and the concept art, say so much about them and (arguably) connect in some measure back to the games and even the cartoons of my youth. So, let's dive in, shall we?

Mario

In both the concept art and the movie, a couple of themes emerge from Mario's side of the room.

Plumbing

It's obvious that Mario's passion is plumbing. There are pipes sticking out from under his bed, pipes stacked in the corner, books on plumbing stacked on his desk, along with all kinds of other related paraphernalia. Regardless of Spike or his father, Mario seems genuinely into plumbing as his vocation (remember, he was the one who was the driving force behind that commercial). Keep this in mind for when we talk about Luigi, because there's a divergence there.

Sports

We know from the movie and general lore that Mario is quite athletic, and seems to enjoys sports. Here, we see posters for baseball and what is presumably the New York City marathon (at least in the movie still); we see a football helmet and some small trophies that one might assume are related to his own sports activities. Is he the absolute, number one winner in all of Brooklyn? Unlikely, given his insecurities about always being "small," about wanting to amount to something. This being said, it's obvious he has some prowess and accomplishment in the world of sporting, perhaps on a high school level. And the whole parkour scene shows that he trains, keeps himself in shape for this type of thing. (As an aside, can you blame Luigi for not being able to keep up? Forget the knees, he's hauling a 15-20 pound bag of plumbing equipment with him! Give the guy a break).

Anyway, this is all unsurprising for our hero archetype. The marathon poster - grit and determination. Baseball and football - all-American sports. Central casting, call one wannabe hero. (Remember, what people showcase in their rooms is generally what is important to them, what they value).

There is a small wrench thrown in here, however (ha! a pun!) And that would be the foam finger featured in the concept art which is a very familiar orange and blue. And that along with the baseball figurine and posters - which have similar coloring and iconography of the intersecting "NY" - lead me to believe that Mario is a Mets fan.

Now, I need make a small digression here to explain why this is important to his character.

The Mets are the long-suffering little brother to the perennially-successful New York Yankees (booooooo). They still hold the modern era record for most losses in a season (their inaugural year, 1962, where they went 40-120). Over the decades, they have been plagued by inept ownership, catastrophic end-of-season collapses, and bizarre events that can only be categorized as "LOLMets." (This Reddit thread is a particularly entertaining history of the franchise's tragi-comic moments).

And aside from being a lifelong masochist fan of this team, I think it's important to bring this up in terms of Mario's character because he sees himself as the underdog while in Brooklyn; as little, as constantly underachieving. It's extremely fitting for Mario's movie depiction that he roots for the eternal underperformer, for a team that has historically been supported by the more blue-collar areas of New York, a fanbase which suffers year after year and yet always comes back for more.

Mess

This is actually my favorite part of Mario's section. Canonically, Mario is a kind of a slob. In both the concept art and movie stills, we see plumbing bits and parts strewn all over the place, pipes shoved underneath the bed, pipes stacked in the corner, half-finished projects and tools running amok his desk. (Note, he's not dirty, just disorganized).

And the thing, this isn't the first time we've seen evidence of this. Luigi, on two separate occasions, either complains about or encounters his brother's habits in the Luigi's Mansion series. (Although the first quote below could be more of a commentary on Luigi's persnickety-ness rather than Mario's laundry habits).

(seriously, Mario. Just how many pizzas did you need?)

There's something...I don't know, endearing or somehow fitting that the titular hero of the Mushroom Kingdom is a domestic disaster. Almost as if whatever energies he can muster are focused solely on hero-ing and plumbing and anything else just...falls by the wayside. (Understandable. There's only so much all of us in our lives have energy for. You have to prioritize). Still, it sets up this contrast between the front Mario puts up and how he's received by the Mushroom Kingdom and who he really is, which he definitely reserves for a select few closest to him, the prime candidate being his brother.

And speaking of that brother...

Luigi

It's unfortunate that we don't get as many quality shots of Luigi's side of the room in the movie, but from what can see, the concept art is pretty consistent with the film.

And I'm being adamant about the consistency of the concept art and the movie, due to the fact we get so little Luigi screen time and yet his room tells us so much about him.

Science

We've got a tech-mech boy here, my friends. Note the somewhat advanced microscope perched on the headboard, the calendar of the motorcycle, the schematic of the racing car, the little jet-rocket ship. Note, in the concept art, the mecha sat prominently on top shelf.

Now, what does this tell us? (Aside from the fact Luigi is a total nerd, which we knew already).

Firstly, Luigi is very into motor vehicles, science (fiction), and possibly robots. That he possibly has some interest in engineering and robotics. This may sound familiar.

Yes, the Super Mario Brothers movie, by intent or not, kept Luigi's mechanical engineering interests intact. (There's a whole other post in here where I could provide further proof of this outside of SPM. I suggest watching the SMB 3 cartoon episode, "Mind Your Mummy" which not only wildly showcases Luigi's engineering skills, but is pretty hilarious).

But I digress.

Here's the interesting contrast. Mario is obvious about his passion for plumbing. Luigi, although canonically more reserved, does take the effort to highlight what is important to him in his room - namely his interest in science and engineering (and photography, which we'll talk about in a minute).

It makes you wonder...Luigi is not a confrontational sort. He goes along with what Mario does because he loves his brother and perhaps he either doesn't know what he wants or is afraid to express it. I personally doubt Luigi's true passion lies in plumbing, from what we see here. It's a means to end.

Now, whether Luigi disavowed engineering due to finances, low self-esteem, family pressures, or if he just wasn't ready to declare who he was...we don't know (I would posit it's some tasty combination of all of the above). But I do feel like it's fair to say Luigi is along for the ride at this point. He loves his brother, is possibly a little too dependent on him. It's not like he's bitter about it (well, on the surface. The Mr. L persona raises some interesting questions) - he's just doing what Mario does because...that's what he's always done. Luigi hasn't found his true footing yet. (You can even look at the fact he carries the toolbag throughout the movie as a kind of metaphorical weight of Mario's interests and goals over his - which, I realize, for a Mario property, is a reeeeeaaaaal stretch. But since I'm overanalyzing three stills from an animated movie about video game plumbers, I might as well go for the gold).

The other aspect of Luigi's interest in fast cars, fast bikes, and fast rockets is how that contrasts with his reserved nature. Luigi is, supposedly, the scaredy cat, the one who won't take risks. And yet what we see fascinating him the most are chunks of metal being hurled through time and space at ridiculous speeds. Wish fulfillment? Or maybe another side of Luigi that even Mario doesn't always get to see.

We also see two ribbons pinned to the wall near the sciency/tech items. Most likely, this had to do with academic achievement I would bet good coins that these achievements were in STEM. Again, Luigi is showcasing this, meaning it's important to him.

In this context, him gravitating towards E. Gadd and his experiments is wholly in-character, despite Luigi's (understandable) anxiety about dealing with undead (but does he say no? Much like his rocket cars, there's a kind hidden recklessness to his character). Mr. L and his robot obsession (and skill) make perfect sense. Luigi's probably been looking for that kind of outlet for quite some time. I can pretty firmly state that the engineering aspect of Mr. L was not brainwashing and it makes you wonder if the other facets of Luigi's personality that rise to surface during that whole episode were planted or there already, just suppressed.

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Luigi is just a bit of a neat freak. We see this in the hat-cleaning episode referenced above, in the way his side of the room is somewhat meticulous in its organization (in contrast to his brother). He also has a few hilarious quotes in the original Luigi's Mansion that are worth including here that really highlight this side of his personality:

Now that I look at it-- it's full of moth holes! Yecch!" "So much dust! This will never pass the white-glove test!" "Well, they sure did pile odds and ends everywhere… Filthy." "I should probably give that a quick vacuuming…" "Oh, what's this?! Just how I like it… Nice and clean!" "Do Boos wash their faces?"

And what I find interesting about this tendency toward order is how it relates to Luigi's anxiety. I would argue that part of his clean streak is an attempt at controlling his environment, a way to counter that ever-present anxiety. It also seems fitting for the engineer to be far more fastidious about things being just so. Yes, it's a bit of a stereotype - a trope, if you will - but one that might have some teeth in this situation. After all, if you're building race cars that go ridiculous miles per hour, there's no room for error. I think the contrast between the two brothers - Mario's outside world is consistently on the edge of chaos while Luigi's inside world is the one on the precipice - is fascinating.

Sports

Now, it's not like Luigi has zero athletic ability (despite his complaints). We see a tennis racket in his room and a dartboard. He helped Mario beat up Bowser with zero training montage. It's just that Luigi seems to gravitate towards athletic endeavors that require more pinpoint accuracy (not that baseball and football don't, but it's a little different in my mind) and that avoid almost all risk of physical collision. Again, those interests are not what we think of as "stereotypical" of the big hero. And Luigi is a hero, but in a very different way than his brother.

Camera

I don't have too much to say about this one, but I think it's delightful that Luigi owns and uses an old-school camera. We can actually see two black-and-white photos pinned to his wall in the concept art, showing us Luigi's more artistic side, which is kind of neat (and let's not forget the movie subs in an art mannequin for the mecha, which only strengthens this notion of art interest. Maybe he's into the notion cybernetics? It's possible). I suppose I could read into camera thing as an observer vs. participant dynamic (Luigi behind the lens observing while Mario is always in the action), but I wouldn't make an argument any more in-depth, and even that statement is a bit of a leap in a document chock-full of leaps.

Conclusion

If you're expecting a thesis out of this, I'm sorry to disappoint - I don't really have one. I suppose this whole rundown is more of a literature review than anything else, but what I do want to stress is what can be read from the objects in the room and their placement. I can't and won't pretend to know the intentions of the artists here. It's very possible there was far less thought put into the design and layout of these rooms than the long treatise I have just given over to it. This being said, because there is a fair amount of consistency between the concept art and the movie and because there is a fair amount of subtle character moments throughout the film (which have been broken down by other intrepid Tumblr friends), I might lean towards the notion that these design choices do have some degree of intent in subconsciously shaping how we, the viewer, read the brothers.

(And yeah, maybe I just wanted an excuse to pin more evidence onto my "Luigi wanted to be a mechanical engineer and is actually really skilled at robotics and other science" conspiracy thread bulletin board :D

#hello there #luigi #mario #meta #in which i overanalyze the hell out of a piece of media #and give myself an excuse to not only promote my luigi-engineer agenda #but also talk about baseball for a paragraph #hahahaha #self indulgent nonsense #smb movie #you guys asked for it

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nordickies · 1 year

Note

Could we have a little more Estonia and Finland? I just love the way you draw them ^v^

Finland and Estonia's relationship is something so special, and any interaction they have makes me full of joy. But maybe it's one of those things only Finns and Estonians understand - these two connect so much more with each other than they do with the rest of the Nordics or Baltics

Some of my random views on their relationship are under the cut

Finland and Estonia have known each other for as long as they can remember. These two cultures have always interacted and traded; after all, they only have 80 km (~50 miles) of sea between them. And I am not opposed to the idea that they're actually related! They have a lifelong bond and have been with each other through some of their worst moments. Sometimes Finland and Estonia feel like only they truly understand one another, and everyone else is an outsider in their world. There is a lot of love, validation, and support between them!

Estonia should be older than Finland, and he has a lot more life experience than him. In their youth, Estonia was the protective one with great skills, who didn't fear other nations around them, while Finland was too young to understand what was happening. I would argue Estonia can be even more intimidating than Finland if he really wanted to be. Even Sweden didn't dare to mess with him (at first). Estonia was a wild one back in the day, never letting go without putting up a fight, but since then, he has become more calculative. Simply put, Estonia is the brain, while Finland is the brawn. You can see it in the way they approach things, too; Estonia is more knowledgeable but careful due to his experiences, making sure to plan things way up ahead and taking a long time to trust others. Meanwhile, Finland is more trusting and stays neutral in many matters. Because of his people-pleasing personality, Fin just doesn't want to be enemies with anyone. Estonia, however, finds it impossible to sustain. These two have been under the same rule twice, but their experiences have been very different

Finland values their relationship highly and spends a lot of time with Estonia, though Estonia sometimes sees Finland as a little too dependent on him. Finland can be tiresome at times and doesn't always understand Estonia's worries, but Estonia knows Finland loves him deeply and would do anything for Estonia, even against orders. There have been times when their leaders haven't approved of their cooperation, yet they have always found sneaky ways to support each other

They're poets, just like the rest of the Baltic Finnic people, and music plays a huge part in their life, especially for Estonia. Estonia has an amazing singing voice and produces music in his free time, but Finland is more skilled with lyrical writing and instruments. Their "alien" status among other Europeans and dying roots have driven them to cooperate more together to preserve their heritage and traditions

They share similar lifestyles and common interests, to the point that they can almost read each other's minds. They both have a great sense of humor and a lot of insider jokes. Estonia and Finland are both silly and curious, constantly getting stupid ideas they just have to try out. Estonia is very clever and a bit of an inventor. These guys have come up with the wildest usages for old vehicles and electric scooters. Speaking of cars, these two are crazy (but skilled) drivers. Both countries are known for their cold-nerved WRC champions, so it's a hobby that they share. They're daredevils who want to go fast on rural forest roads or frozen lakes. To them, it's a ton of fun - for others, it's a nightmare. Estonia and Finland can turn anything into a challenge, like throwing various items, seeing who can stay in the sauna for the longest, or competing about wife-carrying. They have a lot of competitiveness but in a healthy way. Fin and Eesti are happy to compliment and cheer each other on. All they wanna do is have fun! (While Norway and Sweden will argue and diss one another mercilessly over the smallest of wins)

They're both party-loving people who have get-togethers all the time, usually involving alcohol and sauna. When they're intoxicated, they can begin to understand one another, which is freaky. When they hang out together, they speak a weird mixture of each other's languages, switching between Finnish and Estonian and, in some cases mixing some other language in there too. And no one else has any idea what is going on. Finland especially finds Estonia's language hilarious, and they get into some awkward misunderstandings from time to time

THEY'RE INSEPARABLE BEST FRIENDS, END OF DISCUSSION. THE IDEAL AND PURE MASCULINE FRIENDSHIP! Plus, FinEst literally says "finest"! If you ship them, all my love to you <3 But in my opinion, Estonia deserves someone less draining than Finland, hah. And male friendships can be so pure, and I want to see more of them!!

#hws finland #hws estonia #my art #headcanons

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perkqularkreashions · 7 months

Text

Sinful Divination

Part One: Chasing Pavements

AN: I am sooo sorry for the long wait time; I hope you guys like it!

TW/CW: Mentions: Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Molestation, Child Pregnancy, Mentions of Miscarriage, Mentions of Child Murder. PLEASE CHECK YOUR TRIGGERS!!

Happy Readings!

COLD. It was uncomfortably cold, the kind that pained you when you finally relaxed your body to the surface; it was the only sensation YN felt as her body pressed against a rusted metal pipe. She was bonded by duct tape and rope, her wrists shifting and moving as she tried to create space to escape. Her wrists were raw and burned at the slightest moment; her senses were distorted, and she didn’t know if it had been three days or 20 minutes. The hum of light drilled into the silence, her eyes blurred from the tears and chemicals that knocked her out. In a panic, she aggressively yanked at the restraints. She tried to remain emotionless, but everything weighed on her; her eyes began to water as her lips quivered against the cloth in her mouth. Her chest heaving, as she slightly adjusted herself. The reality was harshly setting in. He spoke, yet YN didn’t hear him, his voice drowning in nothingness. Startled by the abrupt sound, her eyes snapping to his. His eyes were wide and full of excitement, dried blood painted on his face and clothes. Despite his seemingly clean look, his skin smelled of a strong bar soap, and his hair was slightly wet and had slight suds. YN took note of his hair, the color of his eyes, the curve of his chin, the deepness of his Cupid’s bow, his build, and the straightness of his teeth—the flaxen color of his skin riddle with freckles and healed lacerations. A necklace with a pendant that was tucked in his shirt; it was silver in color and looked to be a saint… He was catholic.

She sucked in a deep breath; maybe, she could appeal to his better nature as a Catholic. She shook the idea out of her head as she closed her eyes, waiting for him to strike.

“YN…YN….YN LN. It was just my luck to see you, walking down the street. Arms tucked underneath each other. Your wet clothes clinging to you, the way your hair falls against your face. The way you held me to pick up my papers when they fell. Beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers sliding against her face and moving from her brow to her lips. She didn’t snatch herself away; that was what Maria Cassidy did; he bludgeoned her to death with a hammer. He was quick to anger; YN knew she had to be still and gentle with him until the BAU could find her… until they could save her. She flinched slightly as he plopped beside her, eye to eye. His nose brushes against her; he moans softly, squeezing her shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry, I’m getting too ahead of myself. I never thought you’d notice me..U-Until you did!”

His hand moved to her lips, dry from the cloth and stained with tears. He grabbed at the back of her neck; she watched him fearfully. “I trust you, so I am going to take this off. Don’t make me regret this,” he mumbled against her lips. She nodded gently. With a swift tug, she could close her mouth and swallow. Her throat burned with the sensation of the salvia running down her throat. He smiled widely, his hands clasped around her face as he kissed harshly against her lips. His tongue darting against mouth, with disdain, she kissed back. Her eyes, were open as she watched him. He pulled away; she quickly closed them. Opening slowly, pressing a feigned smile against her lips.

Everyone watched the screen in disgust; the only sound was clicking the keys against Garcia’s fingers. Occasionally, she would peak at the net but couldn’t stomach it. “She has to be related to all this,” Emily whispered in disbelief. “She has to be.” She spoke louder, turning her attention to the group. “He knows her, maybe from grade school or a youth group. She participated in band, Youth Art, maybe even the church?”

“The only record I’m seeing is high school and college; there was no record that she even went to a public or even private elementary or middle school,” Garcia mumbled, as she continued typing, her eyes snapping from the computer screen to the monitor. Garcia gasped as a hand collided with her face, her body jerking as she let out a soft yelp. Her head dangling for a moment as she yanked herself back. Another blow to her face, as he spits at her. She needed to keep calm and restrain herself from the noises that filtered out of her lips. He punched her again; she gasped as her head dropped against her. The unsub’s hand tangled itself in her hair as he raised her head, revealing her face to the camera. “Now, let’s play a little game. If you get these answers wrong, I'll cut you. Simple and Fun!”

“This is a completely different M.O. than his other victims. He tortures them on camera and doesn’t utter a word. He feels comfortable. As he wants her to know it’s him. Garcia, we need you to dig deeper into how he communicates with them and how he looks at her. He has to know her.” Spencer spoke, his eyes analyzing how the unsub moved; he was careful in his movements as he was afraid to hurt her.

“Maria, she was pretty. She was always just that, pretty. Do you remember her crime against the God?” the unsub whispers.

“N-no, I-” his knife glided against her face, blood spewing out; she hissed momentarily, biting her lip as she shut her eyes. JJ and Garcia cringed, watching the knife drag from the brow to the apples of her cheek.

JJ explains in a hurried voice, pushing another laptop on the table, “The first victim didn’t go to the same school as her; they didn’t even grow up in the same neighborhood. They went to rival schools.”

“What about, Helena?” Everyone’s attention turned to the monitor.

“She had an abortion and later tried to commit suicide,” YN answered quickly; she remembered that day in school. The halls were eerily quiet that day. She woke up, her bare feet slapping against the ground as she moved to the shared bathroom. She searched for her roommate; they always woke around the same time. A loud caw snapped YN back into her thoughts as she opened the bathroom. Seeing her body laid in the bathtub, filled with a mixture of water and her blood. She stumbled back, letting out a scream. She screamed for Sister Rose, Sister Anika, and Jesus. They rushed into the room, eyes moving to the tub. “Call Father!” Sister Rose would scream as she dragged Helena out of the tub, grabbing the display and wrapping it around her arms. She survived and was placed right back in the facility after her repentance.

“What about Margot?” he hummed, the knife danced along her skin.

She shivered, “She succumbed to her flesh,” he laughed with glee.

“And what about you? Mm?” Yn froze; watching him closely, she shook her head. Her eyes flickered back to the camera. His eyes flickered down, tracing over a scar resting at her stomach's base. YN screamed as she plunged the knife slightly into the scar, yanking harshly to the left. Snatching the knife out, he watches her squirm against the restraints. “You are a whore! You don’t remember, that day. I do; I remember, you adjusting your blouse as he stumbled out of his office. You smelled of sin, but you smiled at me, you smiled at me, you smiled at me. You smiled at me.” He plunged the knife into her leg, and she gasped, the air getting stuck in her throat as he yanked it out. Chocking on pain and air, she sucked in cool air around her.

He cut at the restraints behind her, pushing her on her back. He brought himself to his knees, his face scanning her body before moving back to her eyes. He caressed her gently before moving his hand to the hem of her shirt. YN froze, her eyes wide in distress as she soon began to recognize him, his features tugging together to create a vivid picture in her mind. Her heart stabbed against her chest, her head shaking softly as she mumbled softly, “Please don’t.” She couldn’t recall his name. He was always just around, thick circular framed glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose. His hand played with each as he spoke, sat, walked, and did anything. He was often frightened and hid behind the oak desk, that Headmaster Fletcher would rape her on. His eyes would peek over to hers, full of tears and soft pleads. After Headmaster Fletcher was done, he’d kiss the top of her head before leaving YN alone with him.

His knife met the Cesarean scar; she couldn’t feel it for a moment. Feel him dragging his across the dewiness of her skin, the pain not yet reaching her brain, she sat there in a state of acceptance and solitude. Just as she did when she was a kid. The smell of burning sage and vanilla candles filled her senses, and she was back sitting on his leather couch, hands placed on her lap as she anxiously waited for him to speak. She finally apologized, her eyes brimming with tears as she met the eyes of her father and uncle. “I have sinned” was all she was able to muster out.

YN was yanked out of thoughts, from a searing pain in her abdomen; she screamed out and jerked upwards, causing him to lose his balance. Violently, she shook, her legs flailing about, wanting to put as much distance from the unsub and herself, finally freeing your right hand from imprisonment.

“I'm pregnant,” YN cries out, “Please, I’m pregnant,” she whispers again. Their eyes met before the unsub’s moved back to her stomach. He thought she was lying; she wouldn’t keep this information from him; she knew she was lying. His grip tightens on the knife as he watches her in disbelief.

“You’re a liar,” He screams erratically; he shakes his head for a moment. YN yanked at one arm, slipping it from the already loosened restraint; she didn’t have time to subdue him. She saw his hand raise steadily, and without thinking, she blocked her stomach. The knife collided with her palm. YN was stuck, her mind warping to insignificant details that surrounded her. She could suddenly see everything happening outside: the chirp of the bugs, the soft drops of the rain against the roof, and the hum of the air conditioning turning on and off. The wind howled in the night sky. The way the house shook when trucks drove past. She could feel his breath against her face and the smell of Bourbon and cheese. He yanked the knife back, and finally, her eyes flickered to his. A look of terror was written on his face. Slowly, the unsub’s eyes shifted to her stomach, now covered with blood.

Garcia screamed, her hands slapping against her mouth as she watched the scene before her. Tears burned her eyes as her mascara streaked across her face. “W-who,” the unsub spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Aaron watched the shift in his demeanor; he cared. His face scrunched in dismay at the news, and his body shifted away from him as if he were a scorned lover.

“He’s family,” Aaron started, his eyes shifting to everyone, landing on Spencer’s momentarily. “I remember, her saying that she went to this-”

“Catholic Boarding School funded by her church when she was younger,” Spencer finished; everyone was brought back to life, over-talking one another to connect her life to the unsub.

“I-I don’t know,” YN admitted, “I’m four months along with twins.” Both Spencer and Aaron were standing, gawking at the screen. Emily watched the both of them, as they were trying to register what was going on.

The unsub stood up quickly, “I will get you a towel for the blood.” With that, he was gone. His footsteps retreated upstairs as the door slowly creaked shut.

“It’s still raining; we are still in Virginia. The forest surrounds him, maybe a one-lane highway. You could feel the house shaking when trucks go past. He lives alone; he went to an all-boys charter school; when I was 13, I got pregnant, and my parents sent me to an all-girls catholic school. He was punished heavily during his stay. Our father abused the girls, but I never suspected the boys. I see scars and healed bruising shaped like a paddle and whips. He wears a necklace Nicodemus—a saint in the bible. It was our saint, too.” Garcia vigorously typed as she searched through her databases, typing in one screen before transferring to another. “Spence… Aaron – I am so sorry,” she whispers out.

The unsub came back downstairs, a towel in his hand with some alcohol and gaze. “You don’t-” he shushes her, grabbing her hand. YN hissed in pain, squirming as he doused her hand in alcohol.

“It was like when we were kids, remember.”

. Finally, she was looking at him. She saw him. His hand pressed on the wound as he robotically cleaned it up, just like when they were kids. She remembered his darkened face as she lay restless on the ground, blood pooling on her legs and the mahogany wooden floors. He hesitantly rubbed her thighs and would mumble apologies, but nothing would stop her from sobbing in her elbow.

“Thomas Fletcher, 26, went to Saint Nicodemus school for troubled youth. They had a school for girls and boys. But, it doesn’t seem like this school was doing good for the “troubled” youth. The head minister was charged with 29 counts of child molestation and rape cases. None of the girls testified, and the charges were dropped against him without their testimonies. That’s not all; half of the girls attending this school were pregnant, not by him but by many of the pastors and advisors who came to speak with them about bettering their lives. YN LN had her child on December 25, a healthy baby boy. She named him, Ezekial LN, but he now goes by Zeke LN and is legally adopted by her MaryAnn and Paul Fletcher, the former headmistress and minister of Saint Nicodemus. On the birth certificate, the parents are listed as YN LN and Paul Fletcher, the head minister. For three years, YN was legally married to him.” Garcia moved her findings to the screen.

Rossi’s face contoured in dismay as he watched the BAU. “How could her parents let their child go through with something so traumatizing?”

“Because it was her uncle,” Garcia whispered. Her fingers moved swiftly, as she pointed to the screen. News articles block the camera, showing black-and-white photos of YN’s father and the pastor. “Her father was the church pastor and appointed his brother to the head minister of his charter school.” A picture of YN pixeled on the screen, her hair tied behind her, her face emotionless as she held a minor plague in her hand that covered her stomach. “Her uncle raped her, and her father covered it up.”

“We need to know the properties listed in her father’s name,” Aaron demanded. Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared; he feared losing YN, just like how he lost Hayley. He knew there was a chance that the children weren’t his, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted back in their home, lying in their bed.

“There’s a house, just bordering the Appalachian mountains. The address is, 5687 Wieme Road, Wise, Virginia, only 45 minutes away from her,” she pronounces. The team moved; no words were spoken as they gathered into their respective cars, ready to save YN.

Spencer’s heart was racing against his chest, his gum aimed in front of him as he watched his surroundings, eyes flickering from left to right, trying to capture every minute detail. The basement door was ajar; Aaron moved first, wasting no time to rush down the stairs, gun aiming at Thomas’s head. He hadn’t yet noticed, the BAU filling the room, carefully, one foot over the either they closed in.

“Thomas Fletcher,” Rossi called out, his finger dancing along the trigger as he watched the man freeze. “It’s over. Drop the weapon.” Thomas held his hands up slowly, his eyes flickering to YN, pleading for her to help. All she could do with laugh, tears blinding her as she sat up slowly, letting her body fall limp against the metal beam. Her sobs echoed through the room, her hand pressed against her stomach as she exhaled.

She gasped softly, feeling the blanket tossed over her shoulder. Aaron knelt, cuffing her face as he watched her. “You okay?” he whispers, and she nods frantically. Wrapping her arms around him, she let out a quiet sob.

She repeats through her sobs, “I’m okay.” Aaron’s arm wrapped around her lower back, bringing her closer. “Are you mad at me?” she could barely find her voice.

“No…no, please, I could never be mad at you. I love you.” He pulls away, cuffing her face, taking in all her features. The bruises that started to form, the laceration marks, her busted lip. He grew angry; he should’ve killed him and killed him for hurting her, killed for almost killing his children. Aaron moved, as the paramedics came, kneeling beside her. The rest of the team joined, scared she would be gone again if they left her sight.

They moved her to the back of the ambulance, and the last to see her was Spencer; she was searching for him. He climbed in the back, asking for a moment alone, in which he happily obliged. He sat down. “I love you, YN – I know you love me too. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. Even if they aren’t mine,” he whispers. Standing up, Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead. He held it there as he tried holding in his emotions.

“Wait, Spence, please don’t go,” YN whispers. Spencer smiled, sitting back as he took her hand, while the other gently rested against her stomach.

#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #Criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #requests are open #SEND REQUESTS

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b4sorex1a · 2 months

Text

Soft I Scream —(English Translation)

Part I out of II “Barça Camping Smut”, Pedri González/Ferran Torres fic

Word Count: 5,5k

Summary: Because Pedri González always lets Ferran Torres do what he wants, even when it hurts deeply. They have sex in the camping tent.

CW: Rough Sex, Dom! Ferran Torres Sub! Pedri González, Rape Play, Non-Con, Fight Sex/Fighting Kink, Choking, Sexual Violence, Physical abuse, Smut, Dead Dove: Do not Eat, Consensual Non-Consent.

│❝Make me feel like I am breathing, feel like I am human❞ — The Neighbourhood.

Ferran Torres didn't really care much about being a celebrity. The club handed him a title dripping with greatness, elite forward. Despite his mindset built on determined phrases, the young athlete was like any man his age, entirely vulnerable to the greedy offering presented in Blaugrana contracts. But money in a debt-ridden Barcelona doesn't come easy or free, especially when the Catalan football entity belonged to the most corrupt league in Europe.

The administration found its goldmine in a group of attractive boys brimming with charisma, the players of the new post-Lionel Messi era. Hence, it was impossible to resist the promise of salary increases exchanged for some videos or interviews – the perfect mutualistic relationship between players and capitalist entrepreneurs hungry to push boundaries.

For these reasons, the noisy group of teenagers and adults found themselves playing around on the already paid-for travel bus. Shouts, laughter, insults echoed throughout the vehicle, even songs related to the trip played.

Ferran Torres hated the countryside; after all, he was a city boy. However, he enjoyed watching his teammates socialize happily among the comfortable seats of the enormous vehicle. Amid Lamine's laughter and Balde's jokes, complaints were drowned out, creating a light atmosphere filled with joy. The silly videos the youngest in the group showed to each member weren't that funny, but his laughter had a strange tone that made up for the childish taste in humor.

The Valencian finally headed to the back seats in search of a comfortable spot with a view of the window. The expensive journey lasted for many hours, so he impatiently sought his own corner among the characteristic red and blue carpeting.

He strolled down the aisle, ignoring Fermín's audacity, who was sitting at the back of the bus, almost devouring the lips of his boyfriend. He flashed a mischievous smile, baring his fangs at the blonde. This day truly evoked nostalgia for those school trips where hormones flourished in the air, overwhelming the adolescent bodies of the students.

Ferran glanced forward and locked eyes with a brunette girl sitting in the front seats, holding her phone. The social media admin, Ferran thought. He was alarmed when the female figure raised her phone to start recording the surroundings, a concentrated smile on her painted lips.

Being the good friend he was, he smacked his hand against the blonde-haired youth's head in front of him, who was completely lost in a passionate session of deep kisses with another guy.

—Fermín, dude, they're about to record you, wake up, —he whispered loudly but teasingly.

Fermín furrowed his brows as he separated from the other guy, dazed by the touches of the honey-brown-haired individual in his lap.

—Fuck, she's so annoying— impulsively came out of Pablo Gavira, whose toned arms were wrapped around the neck of the blonde. Pablo settled into the seat next to his partner, irritation stemming from being away from a much-needed physical contact he hungered for. His facial expression distorted, annoyance spreading.

Accustomed to the midfielder's piercing gaze, the admin ignored the death threats expressed by other eyes. Smiling, she pointed the flash camera at Xavi, who observed the whole situation with a serious and tired expression. The coach simply greeted in Catalan and returned his attention to the window, years of exposure to the press weighing on his shoulders.

Ferran found it amusing that the management insisted on bringing the coach on this trip. It was as if they had sent them a nanny in the form of a forty-year-old man with more stress in his body than is considered healthy.

With enough exposure to a hormonally charged couple for a month, the Valencian stepped back, moving away from Fermín and Pablo, towards the side, where he noticed a compact figure seated in a chair. Affability melted into his pink-cheeked face when he identified the identity of that mysterious silent person, the boy who entered to take the furthest seat from the others.

Pedri. Pedro González López. Pedri, lifelong. Adorned with his short, disheveled black curls and an oversized black hoodie, with a sun-kissed tan warmer than Ferran had ever witnessed. The midfielder played with the cord of his earphones, lost in the green view of meadows and cows displayed by the window.

Without thinking, the Blaugrana forward chose the perfect corner to spend the entire journey, one where he was accompanying Pedri in the corner of the vehicle, isolated from other curious looks and the girl bothering them with recording new content. His presence became noteworthy as he greeted Pedri with a surprise, his hand suddenly colliding with his muscular thigh.

—Hello— Pedri turned his head in surprise and shyly smiled, opening his space amiably to welcome Ferran.

—Don't mind if I sit here, do you?—he said, but he had already settled into the seat, a mischievous smile decorating his proud lips.

—Nah, if you don't sit, I'll be too lonely and look like a weirdo— he replied sweetly, years of friendship allowing the younger one to open up in the best social way.

Ferran moved his backpack beneath him and looked at Pedri again, waves of happiness coursing through his heart. His hand, claiming space on soft skin, hadn't moved from that leg, now comfortably settled there with no intentions of letting go of the pleasant sensation. Ferran remained seated with legs apart, arm extended to the side, leaning on Pedri's thigh, testing the limits of the midfielder.

It was a friendly game he liked to play too many times, relishing in stretching the boundaries of comfort for Pedri. He loved playing with the lines, knowing that the Canary Islands native would adapt to the new, uncomfortable structure. Because that was their dynamic – hungry, both figuratively and physically, pressure that Ferran exerted against the other guy.

His hand remained where it was, slowly caressing from the appropriate area, inching upward at a centimeter per hour. The voices, complaints, the sound of the engine, and Xavi's frustrated shouts faded into the background from that isolated corner, allowing the duo sitting there to concentrate on the presence they had between them. Everything exterior became blurry for those hidden youngsters in the corner, narrating a new promise of confidentiality.

The golden sunlight adorned Pedri's marked face, his eyes quickly turning vanilla in the exposure to the sun's rays. The shy smile lay on those pink lips, directed towards the Valencian, casual conversation settling between the two.

The high temperatures of the Spanish weather tormented the confined moving space, but the multi-million-euro-valued commitment kept the Barça players calm.

—It's so hot in here; we're cooking, — complained Torres.

Pedri emitted a little laugh.

—I don't think they can install air conditioning, huh?— Pedri replied calmly, shedding himself of the heat in his oversized hoodie.

Like the most torturous paradox, the midfielder folded and stowed his garment in some bag, then lifted the armrest, closing the distance to share a thermal touch of bodies. The canary's head rested on Ferran's shoulder, complete trust demonstrated through innocent actions.

Without the annoying seat divider in the middle, the brunette felt the need to adjust so that both could occupy the space more 'efficiently.' So, he woke up the younger one with a movement, firmly took him by the waist, and placed him on top, shifting towards the center.

An eager commotion sat in conscious uncertainty. Pedri looked at him uncomfortably in the new position, analyzing as if he were at Camp Nou. It was a charming phenomenon to witness the analytical anxiety of Pedri, who moved restlessly at the possibility of being discovered in a compromising position.

—Ferran...— the beautiful boy who sat with legs spread on either side reproached.

—I know, trust me,— Ferran decided to convey with confidence. However, in response, he received a skeptical Pedri trying to get out of that position.

—Stay still— an assertion came out more like a threat painted in a dangerous red, as he reached a hand to the midfielder's neck and pushed forward. The dark-haired one's head was hidden in his neck, unable to get a visually satisfying response, but apparently, Ferran already had one foot in the semi-open door, and Pedri remained static, sitting on his lap.

—Such a good boy, are you my good boy?— he whispered into his ear, leaning in to offer a friendly kiss on the cheek. The athlete withdrew from that space, scandalized.

—We're going to get recorded; let me sit down— he warned, a variety of unspoken pleas invaded his tone.

—But you're already sitting, look,— he pointed out, letting out laughs.

Pedri González wasn't in the mood for this banter, agitated in a thousand breathing rhythms. Ferran seemed to understand that, releasing his grip on the hands that rested on Pedri's waist.

Except that the Valencian's coldness under long lashes hit much harder than the warmth.

—Okay, if you're going to behave like this, I think Félix wants me over there— he casually pointed three seats ahead, where the pretty Portuguese was sitting.

The younger player lifted his eyelids instantly, panic filling his mind, agitation rising as he felt the body beneath him start to move away.

—No, stay, I want to sit like this— he pleaded earnestly.

Victory tasted like euphoria in Ferran's mouth, but as always, when the limits were stretched to the supposed maximum, he wanted to push them much further.

—Dude, don't mess with me; I'm not going to force you, move— Ferran insisted, lazily pushing the nervous guy on top of him.

Rejection tasted painful on Pedri's tongue; he knew the flavor of fear very well. Usually, he subdued it with calmness, but this was different. He didn't speak; the death of syllables came so easily when nerves traveled through his entire system. Like almost never before, he decided to resort to one of his most inconsistent tools – impulsivity.

He hugged the older one tightly, pressing his body against the other's. He prayed for Ferran's greater ignorance as he leaned against his lap, a guilty friction electrifying the air.

Ferran pushed him away, using his strong arms to encircle his neck, risk and insecurity settling into tanned skin.

—Mmnh... no, no— the canary denied, trying to remove those hands from such an intimidating area.

The punishment for innocent disobedience came in the form of hard slaps to Pedri's face. The first two showed no shyness, leaving temporary crimson marks on the younger one's cheek. The strong impact caused the dark-haired one to turn his face in pain.

With one hand threatening a jugular and the other free to assert dominance, Torres coldly eyed Pedri.

—Shut the fuck up.

Another blow, an extended hand applying upward force in several more slaps. Almost-silenced screams filled with pain were unheard outside of that corner.

—Why?— Pedri's pained expression lacked tears, but the emotion of betrayal unfolded, burning into his own flesh.

Immaculate white fangs appeared mischievous in the vexing curve of Ferran.

Another collision, drier, more painful – one caused by the bluntest part of Ferran's hand – was the fitting response. Pain surged like an electric current through the younger one's face, forcing him to twist while sitting, processing what was happening.

It wasn't a punch; it was something lesser, something more condescending, a warning like those given to disobedient little children. It was the perfect message to keep him in check, offering him his only role in that environment; one of complete inferiority.

Pedri was beaded with cold sweat, terrified in a state that struggled against submission, trying to devise a negotiating dialogue. Seriousness mixed with concern covered his entire face, the marks on his cheek turning redder, his heart racing at a thousand, swelling with adrenaline and cortisol. His survival-mode brain recognized the situation – Ferran was a bigger man, asserting dominance – the easiest evolutionary way out he developed since childhood smiled at him more and more.

To surrender, show his neck, and offer a pathetically curved smile. The values his family taught him, that conflict is never good, words are the key to resolving everything, tranquility is essential.

Hesitation only earned him another blow. One, two, three; the player number seven amused himself by impacting his hand, toying with the force. The last one detached from any shame or fear and collided brutally with Pedri's cheekbone.

His reaction was instantaneous, bringing his hand there while he wrapped himself in the unbearable feeling that expanded through his side.

—No, no, please, please, no— he could barely shout as Ferran's palm quickly covered his mouth, stifling the painful screams.

Pedri whimpered with that limb pressed against his mouth, eyes closed and brows furrowed, in need of a break. He was granted a pause, lying in Torres' lap, so he decided to hide again in his neck.

—You actually let me hit you— Ferran said into the air, stating it as a fact.

The midfielder's chest rose and fell interrupted and irregular. Torres finally relaxed, intrigued by the exciting paradox he felt in the lower part of his body.

He felt Pedri's hard cock, pressed against his own stomach.

(…)

The hours passed as the bus roamed through routes; the entire staff remained calm in emotions. Many were content with listening to music or checking their social media, while others slept peacefully. Ferran Torres gently stroked the small, toned back of a sleeping Pedri.

The Valencian diverged his gaze to witness the bold scene of Fermín emerging from the bathroom, with flushed cheeks, legs trembling with tics, and the facial expression only found on a satisfied man. Not even three minutes later, Gavi exited the same bathroom, resembling a disheveled prince, saliva spilling from his corner, teary eyes, and pure disorientation. The eldest of the group amused himself at witnessing Pablo's stumbles across the entire floor, completely out of it.

Ferran surveyed his surroundings again. The sun descended, and the sunset purples invaded the sky. The heat dissipated, and typical LED lights illuminated the entire bus aisle.

Minutes were left to reach the destination, and mentally, the camping gear already weighed on him. The work they would have to do on the unstable ground, at night.

A male voice snapped him back to the present.

—In ten minutes, we arrive. We've organized, and it's been decided that seat pairs will share camping tents for the night— Xavi shouted from the middle of the bus, capturing everyone's attention.

—I believe it's unnecessary to mention what's appropriate or not in a first division sports camp— Xavi shot a bit with his typical stern gaze at Pablo Gavira.

—Yes, míster.

Contained laughter echoed amid the silence of that confirmation. Torres shifted to make room for the male figure waking up in his grasp.

—Have we arrived?— Pedri asked, still half-asleep, his cheek slightly swollen from the earlier teasing.

Ferran gently touched the bruise, enchanted by the mark it left.

—Yes, we need to grab your stuff, come on.

With neutrality, they lined up at the front of the door; everyone was already eager to exit. The scent of nature and fresh air hit them positively. It wasn't often that they left big cities to admire views as beautiful as the ones in front of them.

In the sky, lights of various bright and dark colors moved, painting a starry picture of a peaceful night. The groups quickly divided following the guides' instructions. Alongside them were the photographers responsible for promoting this adventure on social media, and the cold flash light blinded the players every minute.

After a quick dinner consisting of fat-free chicken salads, Ferran noted that their tents were already set up. He read the small paper Xavi handed him minutes ago, trying to identify their designated area.

He surveyed the entire place, a path filled with rocks and uneven ground greeted him knowingly.

From afar, he could see the large red tent, where a minimum of three people could enter. His sleeping spot was far from the original zone, away from the other blaugrana boys, tall bushes covering most of the ground.

Surrounded by conflicting emotions, he turned completely around, investigating the whereabouts of his night partner. Pedri wasn't far; the dark-haired boy seemed a bit dazed, bathed in moonlight, backpack on and a black coat wrapped around his waist. His soft locks tousled to the sides and upward, offering a pleasing view to Ferran, who admired from not too far away how those big eyes explored the forest.

Pedri's hint of facial maturity didn't convince anyone at that moment; inappropriate thoughts of Torres likened him to a lost kitten that might jump at any moment to protect itself.

—Pedri! Over here!— he raised his hand, and Ferran's heart melted a bit as he discovered, for the tenth time, the soft and affectionate change of expression when Pedri recognized him.

The midfielder followed the rocky path to the secluded area, using the mobile flashlight as the main source of illumination. With instructions to unpack and sleep – according to Xavi – the night would pass easily, everyone resting to the sound of chirping crickets.

Ferran Torres had other plans for that night. Pedri dropped his backpack inside the tent and went out to accompany the culé forward, seeking company. This time, the cold wind danced across the sky, gently pushing the camping tent fabric, creating soothing sounds.

Both stood looking at the sky; the midfielder reached his hand to entwine it with the older's arm, relaxing his awareness, bringing his cheek closer to the other's worked biceps.

Pedri was shorter than Ferran, so his honeyed brown eyes looked upward, embarrassment easily settling in his chest.

—Qué chico más mono— Ferran whispered, —What a shame.

Questioning covered the atmosphere's sentiment for a few seconds; Pedri's affectionate expression vanished, replaced by a quickly-formed serious grimace. Ferran violently pulled the younger one's dark hair, intending to throw him to the ground.

He succeeded; despite Pedri's dedication to sports as a profession, he was ultimately a thin and weak boy. The midfielder crashed face-first into the ground, lightly staining his face with dirt.

Fear took residence in the canary's heart; he tried shouting for help towards the camp center, but it was futile. The punch to his eye left him dazed for several seconds amidst the rocks that hurt his muscles. His vision blurred, pain emerged from all sides, and tears threatened to surface.

In pain, Pedri brought his hand to the blow, babbling. There was no respite this time, and Ferran reveled in the dark purple color spreading across the younger one's eyelid.

Tingling sensations tickled his lower part as he observed the other's pathetic attempt to compose himself. The Barcelona 'Golden Boy' was lying on the ground below him, writhing breathlessly, covering his face with his hands, attempting to shield himself.

When he moved, a scared sound escaped from Pedri's pink lips, an instinctive reaction. Ferran used his leg to kick the flexed thigh of the younger one without measuring the force. A groan was heard, new dark marks emerging on the abused skin. The pain in the struck area allowed Ferran to see the terrified expression of the figure beneath him as he tried to cover his legs, exposing his face.

Deep sexual excitement ran all over Torres' cock as he delighted in the terrified view of Pedri, who had one eye narrowed and the other looked at him with fight; even even in the situation he was in. He took a hand to caress his member on top of the clothes, sending a disgusted look to the other.

Assuming that Ferran was distracted, Pedri managed to recover supporting himself by crawling, the ground of the floor hurt his hands and knees, but he still crawled in a pitiful way to escape.

When he walked away less than two meters, Ferran decided that it was a good idea to really chase him, since he found the painful attempt to avoid the inevitable very amusing.

He walked slowly but safely to Pedri, appreciating how the boy arched his back and how small his angular waist was from that angle. He drank from the sinful sight of the backside under the miserable canary's sports shorts.

—Where do you think you're going?— He expressed full of irony.

He closed his hand on Pedri's hair once again to stretch him towards himself, this time focusing on moving him in a more brutal way. Pedri held back a scream but began to whimper.

—I asked you a fucking question.

He wrapped his hand around Pedri's neck to push him back, letting him lie down on the floor. Once there, Ferran removed his coat and lifted the white t-shirt to the top of his pectorals, displaying the buttons standing on the culé.

—No! Agh!— He whimpered.

On the cold floor, Pedri González was agitated, with spots on his face and body, dressed in violence on his face, exposed to his stomach; he began to cry.

Ferran Torres' cock couldn't harden more than it already was.

Upon seeing the marked abdomen of the canary, the Blaugrana striker approached to give him a blow in the center, taking away his air at times.

He took advantage of those seconds to turn him on his knees and hands, waiting patiently for him to recover. When the crying returned little by little, Ferran aggressively stretched the black soccer shorts that covered Pedri. He used the fabric to handle the weight of the canary as he would like, lowering his underwear just because of the humiliation of exposing him in that way, and then releasing the elastic of the garment and leaving it hanging below his knees.

He hit the exposed buttocks of the midfielder with his palm, a small laugh escaped him only because of the theatrical, he fed on how bad Pedri could feel in those moments. The Valencian spat in his entrance that expanded and retracted to contact.

He took his two middle fingers to align with his entrance. He was perfectly aware that it was too much to put him in, but the thought that Pedri became miserable trying to endure the pain from interference made him dizzy.

He inserted both fingers at the same time into the salivated pink entrance, apparent difficulties when entering. Pedri crossed his eyes upwards and opened his mouth, failed attempts to breathe. The pain punctured all over its interior, the comforting thought of fainting came at times.

—I can't! I can't take it anymore! Why are you doing this?! Why don't you just kill me if that's what you want?— Pedri screamed with his shattered voice, loud enough to attract attention from afar. Ferran reacted quickly, withdrawing his fingers from the tight entrance, vaguely hearing approaching footsteps.

Dragging the canary's body by the neck, he placed him inside the tent. Adrenaline surged through him. He entered as well, zipping up the fabric door, surveying his surroundings.

Pedri resembled a deer caught in headlights, utterly bewildered, almost naked, lying on his stomach on the flat mattress. Ferran approached the submissive Barça player, his training and match companion since his debut in the first team.

—Quiet— he commanded. Swiftly, he removed the remaining garments from the athlete. An idea Fermín had recommended weeks ago crossed his mind. He crumpled Pedri's underwear and forcefully placed it in his mouth to muffle the screams.

Everything was going as planned until he underestimated how much fight the canary would put up. Something that felt like a metal brick collided with his face.

Pedri’s phone. Pedri had thrown his phone at his face, violently.

Anger boiled at maximum power inside and outside his entire body; finally, Ferran understood the phrase 'seeing red' as his anger blocked the calm and playful response he would have had in another context. The pain was sharp and electric, leaving a horrendous taste in the his mouth. Pedri, who apparently didn't think things through so clearly, sat covering his face while crying.

The Barcelona forward sucked all the oxygen from the room, inhaling and exhaling in an effort to calm the desire to strangle the younger one. Some minutes passed, the sound was noticeably absent; only Ferran remained fully dressed in sports attire, and Pedri, who refused to lift his head amidst his whimpering.

Ferran approached and separated the other's legs.

—Chaval, I just don’t get it, you practically try to kill me, but when I hit you, you get all horny and hard— he said, while directing his hands to Pedri's dick, massaging from top to bottom.

Crimson colors exploded all over the abused face of the canario, fear still latent in his dilated eyes. He positioned himself on his knees, moving away from the friction that Ferran gave him.

Pedri and Ferran looked physically battered from the fight, the striker felt blood fall down his nose but decided not to pay attention to that detail, Pedri on the other hand was caressed by the painful marks of previous brutality, his eyes were tired and an intense red color emerged from his cheeks.

Ferran decided that his favorite art was to paint purple and darkness on the sun-kissed skin of the boy who gave himself on his knees in a tent where no one would come to help him.

—You're like a bitch in heat, addicted to pain, eh? do you like to be hit? I'm going to fuck you up while I put my dick inside you— he slapped Pedri’s cheek again, with sickly softness.

—Mmhg, I don't want to, Ferran, please, let me go,— he begged all pathetic and drooling.

Torres walked his tongue through the trace of liquid enjoying Pedri's saliva, sucking until he reached his mouth, savoring his mouth abruptly. When separating from a union that he thinks could not be considered as a kiss, a line of saliva interconnects them for seconds.

—This is happening, I'm going to rape you anyway, so make the best of the situation and try to enjoy it— his diction was cruel, Pedri's empty look of hope confirmed it, he still nodded, accepting what was offered to him.

He excitedly handled the almost motionless body of Pedri, spitting in his face to remind him of his place. The confinement became heavy, the smell of sex was combined with that of nature, the wind entered through the grids of strong fabric and distant sounds of insects and other animals were noticed.

He placed Pedri on the floor like a puppy, positioning his body on all fours. His cock jumped at the sight of that small figure arched completely at his mercy. To violate him, he smiled when he licked the entrance, corrupting his privacy completely, sucking and kissed that area enjoying the mixed sounds of pleasure and shame.

He had to stop to remove his clothes. This day was one of the great reasons why he loved Pedri so much, the boy would let himself do anything, he could try to kill him and somehow the midfielder would affirm that it is his own fault, that he was provoking him to commit those actions.

The attractive Spaniard was there in front of him, delivering his body despite the fact that sex is not something he wants right now. Veins of excitement were throbbing in Ferran's thick arms, he loved that the important thing all this night is if he wants, what Pedri wants or needs is not a priority.

Pedri González placed himself in a position of inferiority, allowing violent injustices towards his body and spirit. Because that's how he was, in need of pleasing.

For that same reason Ferran pulled him by the back of his neck to stamp him down, keeping his hips up, and then arranging his foot on his head touching his cheek, applying pressure, crushing him. He used that impulse to support himself right in his hole, the fat tip of his cock would deliciously stretch the tight walls.

It didn't matter that it was painful for Pedri, or that it was uncomfortable, or that it was too much forcing him to faint, it wasn't the point of everything they were doing. Pedri didn't have to feel good.

His cock disappeared inside that warm interior, expanding and ruining the hole that his member ate. Ferran was sure that it would be completely ruined after sex, completely molded to the size of his own dick.

He waited several minutes when he entered completely, once Pedri’s body got used to it, he could assume an incessant rhythm to hunt his pleasure.

Pedri whimpered below him, babbling prayers that made no sense, destroyed and corrupted in his entirety.

He began to move, his patience returned the best prize, his cock slid deliciously, impaling the entrance in each thrust. His balls collided with Pedri's fleshy buttocks, the characteristic sound of a good wet sex came out of the isolated tent.

Pedri moaned sweetly because he was getting fucked so hard and he couldn't do anything to avoid it, just receive everything inside, cross his eyes sometimes and open his mouth to release dirty sounds.

He stood still introducing himself to be impaled whole while he was crushed, satisfied and painful expression mixed up.

—Does it hurt?— Ferran asked him between hoarse growls.

—Yes, yes, yes, ahnf, so much, it hurts so much—Pedri could hardly answer, feeling an incredible abuse towards his prostate.

Torres suddenly left his entrance, taking a look at the disaster that caused, Pedri's entrance could not be closed, from his sight he could see all the pre-seminal fluid that was inside.

—Come on, squeeze a little— Ferran spoke to humiliate Pedri.

—I can't, I can't, I can't, I need, I need— repetitions of thoughts and cries was the only thing you could hear coming out of the mouth of the Barça star.

I need your cock. And how can one blame Ferran Torres for his mentality when he has a boy so beautiful below him that needs his dick to be able to breathe, even if he doesn't say it out loud, because even his aroma was needy. Ferran gave Pedri the best wish, he put it to the bottom and did not stop at any time, even when the canary's legs began to tremble.

The tingling began to resemble intense cramps, so much that when the climax came, Pedri needed to cry; he only had the option of enduring an orgasm where he is unable to stop or establish a rhythm. The stretch of nerves intensified, the powerful electricity was due to the overflow, the midfielder stopped emitting sounds, only drowned air came out of his mouth.

—Are you going to cum while I fuck you in the ass? Good boy, cum just because of my cock— he murmured dragged, also losing control completely.

He felt below his foot Pedri nodding his head, unable to emit any coherent word, his brain fried in white when he reaches the peak of pleasure. The orgasm hits him like a whip for several seconds, he screamed low while jets of semen came out shot down several times.

Ferran came out of his entrance when he felt his climax coming, quickly settling down on his knees in front of Pedri's face, masturbating his cock abruptly until he stained the minor's entire face, sperm liquid on his lips, forehead, nose, up to a little in his hair.

Both men collapsed on the ground, covered with blows, fluids, a little dirt and new experiences.

Pedri lost consciousness and Ferran was too tired to clean them both, but he still reached for baby wipes for sensitive skin to clean his boyfriend, worrying about not hurting sensitive areas.

He kissed him on the forehead after cleaning the whole scene as much as possible, wearing him in comfortable pajamas.

—Pedri sweetheart, we have to stop roleplaying like this, you almost killed me this time— he murmured to his partner who slept peacefully next to him.

I love you, it was the last thing he thought before falling asleep next to Pedri.

(...)

24 notes · View notes

ladymirdan · 10 months

Note

Please explain Cato Sicarius

I've only heard recycled TTS memes but never anything actually about him

Omg, you have opened Pandora's box here! I'll make sure to keep it brief (editing me: I tried, ok :P ).

First of all, he is kind of a dick, but in an entertaining way.

He was first written during a time were 40k was a heavy mix of satire and power fantasy (yes, worse than now), and he bears a lot of that with him.

I heard a GW employee explain him more like a traditional ancient Greek hero than a modern superhero and he was in my opinion spot on. There is hybris and tragedy here we don't usually see in modern pulp sci-fi.

But a brief backstory:

He was born as a Duke(the highest title currently used in Ultramar, so he was basically a prince) on Talassar (a feudal ocean planet) and from the moment he was born, he was trained to be an Ultramarine. The guy had no childhood at all and turned out (absolutely not) fine because of this. Imagine Tiger parenting on steroids.

He does so insanely well after getting picked to become an Astartes. He has a meteoric rise to captaincy, first to fifth company and then within 4 years to second company. He just can't seem to lose. Until he does. He loses at Damnos so very badly and almost dies. It's a substantial political embarrassment to the Ultramarines, and boy, does this guy not handle it well.

And this is where I find him so endearing and relatable. As someone with ADHD who was a very gifted kid and an overachiever in their youth, I know all too well that the moment you hit a curveball, everyone that cheered you on is gone. That hits home for me. I have never had a character resonate with me like this before.

He does get his revenge in the end, but it isn't the glorious battles from before, and slowly by slowly, he is learning about humility and humanity, something that before was alien to him.

And now, at the end of the story, when he looks back at his legacy. Everything he has fought for, everything that has been lost, friends, family, in exchange for glory, he wonders if it's all been worth it.

It is, in my opinion, some of the best storytelling Black Library has ever done. And it kind of saddens me that it's all being pissed away and not taken seriously by the fans because of the "I am Cato Sicarius" high-pitched voice.

#warhammer 40k #40k #warhammer #ultramarines #cato sicarius #wh40k #asks

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creepling · 4 months

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i had a eureka moment the other day and now i have a theory about potential killers and maps that may or may not come to the tcm game.

so yknow you have the radio/news broadcasts in the loading screen before a game, and they can sometimes be heard during gameplay. there is a lot of clues talking about crime that has happened within texas and especially in Newt or near it. this is where we know about johnny killing a college student and being attacked by her friends. they don’t say his name, but describe the killer as “late 20s, dark hair and eyes and multiple scars on his face and arms”. the devs confirmed this when they said how he got the scar on his arm.

we also got hints of nancy before her release in these broadcasts. strings of men dying in unknown circumstances and had poison in their system. this seems to fit nancy’s “black widow” characteristic and we know she has a hand for poison and hallucinogens.

this is when my theory comes in. surely when it comes to killers, not all can be part of the slaughter family. big families exist, but say the game does really well and it has years on running, getting new dlc third monthly. that becomes a lot. so why not open to have killers loosely related to the family but not blood related. neighbours, other insane families. what about the people the cook work with at the gas station? (seen in the movie, ie the guy that cleans the van), or maybe nubbins is part of a community of graverobbers that know each other?

here are potential characters and mals that might be in the game. sorry if i get names or details wrong, im doing it by ear:

martin wembley is mentioned in the broadcasts when his home was raided by police confiscating his animal jars. some were human remains, which he claims to not know about and thought it was “just regular animal stuff”. is this a potential killer? or someone buying nubbins’s weird oddities? either way, his hobby is questionable and can be linked to the family, especially nubbins. the broadcast ends saying he is held for questioning

a male body found near devil’s river off highway 163, SW texas, found by a hunter. this is also the location two female bodies were found supposedly a year before this event. all bodies have evidence of stabbing and strangulation. in gameplay nancy says “have you ever heard of devil’s river?” and i am guessing this is where nancy disposes unwanted bodies that johnny kills to ‘clean up his mess’, as the method of murder is very similar to his. devil’s river would be a very unique map and i hope we get more info about it.

there is also hints johnny may have been caught by police but let off due to lack of evidence. when cops followed a lead to a motel they found 36 year old Kelsy Keo (sp?) being subdued by a man ‘whos named is withheld’. it seems that he talked his way out of it, saying kelsy agreed to it during intimacy. he denied being the infamous killer that cops were looking for, and with the current timeline, it seems johnny was let off. could this kelsy be a potential new victim in game?

three youths are vandalising Lexington, TX. their work has been described as depicting ‘famine and the macabre’, similar to how the texas chainsaw massacre is described. authorities think 2 of the youths are sisters, but cannot confirm. could this be a possible duo that might be new characters? or is the string of animal bone vandalism painting a bigger picture to potential new maps?

justin austin is another name mentioned when he was arrested after a case of food poisoning was linked to his meat factory. he admits some of the meat was “tainted” by a rat infestation. he awaits trial for his carelessness and lack of food hygiene. could this hint to the slaughters possibly selling their meat is make ends meet? are there more people turning to cannibalism due to lack of resources and steady income like the family? with a game about cannibals, it’s hard to believe rats are causing this problem.

a high school dance was intruded by two men, Hackett Wayford and his son Grant and they attacked the teenagers with bladed weapons. the football team managed to tackle the men before they caused more harm. one boy who tackled them said they were “freak strong, like bulls or something”. they say nothing about their motives, but their mention of strength is interesting as it would make for good potential new killers. the use of freak also implies their strength was inhuman, so can the powder in game also be used as a performance enhancer later on for potential new killers? if it can give nancy visions, it’s not that far fetched.

“the terror of I40” is the murders committed by sissy on her hitchhiking journey from california to texas. it says it took place between 1971-1972 so in canon sissy returned to the family sometime in ‘72. with a razorblade, she attacked a man in his home but he was able to fight her off. sissy fled the scene, but the man never reported the incident right away for an unknown reason.

Hellum’s Ranch is a location mentioned when police arrived at the scene from a report about cattle abuse. instead, they found men dressed in white clothes and sun glasses poisoned and slumped in chairs. some where holding King James bible, which has association with the KKK. one man also held an item which the police described as a ‘manifesto’. it is unknown why these men poisoned themselves, but the police found large quantities of the substance in the area. is this ranch a potential new map, linked to a dark past? to me, i think this could lean more into a Jonestown situation than a KKK one. with the men holding bibles, poisoning themselves, wearing clothes similar to the Jonestown cultitist, it’s uncanny.

there is also a random mention of the Marfa Lights in the broadcasts. how this is linked idk how, considering the theories of them are linked to UFOS. Marfa, TX and its setting could be a new map in the future, but that’s the only thing i can think of.

Omar Parly (sp?) is a man mentioned for multiple offences in different counties. he spent 5 years in prison and continued crime after his release. his current whereabouts is unknown. potential new killer?

Gerrard Gaines found a burning truck on ‘his back forty’ (idk what this means sorry). on inspection he found the burnt body of an unidentified male and a large bag of money 30 feet away. i find this one VERY compelling as this man shares a surname with Danny. who is the unidentified man? why is there money? and is this man related to danny? if that’s danny in the car, and gerrard is related to him, is someone paying him for his troubles of losing a relative? if so, who? im completely stumped on this one and my assumptions are far fetched.

personal belongings are found to be linked to a missing couple, Tim and Tiara Divine. they disappeared during their roadtrip through the country of texas. their IDs where scattered near a river assumingly to be disposed of if they are previous victims of the slaughter family. since they are missing, maybe they are still alive and being held captive by the slaughters, hinting to potential new victims?

#texas chainsaw massacre #tcm game #headcanon #johnny slaughter #sissy slaughter #nancy slaughter #nubbins sawyer #drayton sawyer #bubba sawyer #scout.rambles

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lookismaddict · 1 year

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Lookism Chapter 432 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

I’d like to say, thank you for reading my reviews and thoughts for each chapter so far. And thank you for liking the memes. 😳💖 But bruh, this chapter man… There’s a lot being revealed, so let’s get into it!!! 😌✨

Well crap. Eugene’s got some leverage on James Lee too. Wtffff 😭😭😭

WELL… SHIT. R.I.P. JAMES LEE IS GOING TO BE U S E D ✨

HE LOOKS SO UPSET SITTING IN THAT LOW ASS CHAIR NOW. I CAN’T GET OVER THE WAY HE’S SITTING ON THAT CHAIR FROM LAST CHAPTER. SORRY GUYS. 💀

And let me guess, you gonna do that to James too...? 🤔

DAMN. HIT EM WITH THE THREAT, JAMES LMAAAOOOOOOO. THESE TWO ARE ALREADY THREATENING EACH OTHER SDFHSDKFHSAKJDFHSDF. I’M- 💀💀💀

GOOD LUCK WITH THAT!!! HAHAHAHAHA... 😶 (Also, James. That’s Crystal’s dad too. She’s might hate you for it lol. UNLESS- 👀 Plot twist: she hates her dad too.)

Ok, I kinda get WHY he’d bring up James’s murder case in the first place. It’s like the “check and balance” thing where you counter them if they do something wrong or betray you. I get it. Eugene and James both have dirt on each other in case one betrays the other, but it sucks to think that Eugene has the upper-hand here because of his connections with the police. He can cover up ANY dirty thing that he does. Also, he can use his knowledge against James whenever he wants so James is just... stuck. Poor guy. Imagine having your ex-boss blackmail you and NOW your new ally blackmails you just to help him. 😭

Yayyyyy killer bros together!!! 😍😍😍 The Psycho Alliance has made a brand new treaty. 🤭

Literally, it really be like this.

Ok, but why do I find this hilarious? They’re still young, and they have so much time and opportunities to spend their youth without doing any illegal or gang related activities. Yet, their main goal is to kill an old guy. LMFAO OK, JUST IMAGINE. A random old guy sees them chatting outside in front of a cafe or something. discussing their plans about taking down Charles Choi. Then, this old man walks up to them, right? He asks them, “Oh my, you kids are so young! Don’t you have any special things that you want to do in your lives? Don’t just sit around and let time go by. You should go out and do something with your lives!” and then they reply with, “Oh, we are! We’re off to kill an old guy because we hate him!” Like... 👁👄👁 Bros, are you good? LMAAAOOOOOOOO

Also, if you think this template is familiar, then you’re right. I couldn’t resist reusing this template because EUGENE REALLY GOT +25 CARDS UP PEOPLE’S ASSES. ESPECIALLY JAMES’S IN THIS SITUATION.

“Hey Alexa, play Often by The Weeknd!” 🥵🥵🥵

I’M SORRY. YOU GUYS ARE TIRED OF ME OBSESSING OVER THIS MAN, BUT LOOOOOOOOOOK AT HIM!!! 😍😍😍😍😍 LIKE GAAHHH DAYUUUUUUUM. THIS MAN CHANGED INTO A SIMPLER OUTFIT, BUT HE STILL LOOKS SO FIIINNNEEEEE!!!! UGGGHHHH. Ayo he can bend me backwards bro, I DON’T CARE. Gawk Gawk 9000? Uhhhh... LET ME CONSIDER- 👀 NAH I’M KIDDING... Or am I...? 😏 I’D LET HIM FOLD ME TOO. 😭😭😭💀💀💀💀💀 (And ofc he’s drinking Hibiki. 😂 Like brooooooo... hottest Yakuza I’ve ever seen. You can’t DENY.)

*N S F W M E M E S W A R N I N G*

Sorry. I just had to. 💀 ALSO, COMPLETELY UNRELATED BUT...

I APOLOGIZE. I GOT NO “STOP” BUTTON WHEN IT COMES TO THIS MAN. 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 I’M SO SORRY!!!

*E N D O F N S F W M E M E S*

AAAAAAAAND THE OLD MAN AGREES. HAHAHAHAHAHA Bruh, I’ve never seen him genuinely smile before. Is it just me? He always look so grumpy and serious all the time like >:( Tbh this panel really surprised me lol.

EW. BRUV. WHO BROUGHT IN TRASH OVER HERE??? 😭😭😭😭 HAVEN’T SEEN THEM IN FOREVER PERO LIKE, I DON’T MISS ANY OF YOU LMFAOOOOOO GTFO.

OK, BUT THIS IS SO NOSTALGIC!!! SEEING LITTLE DANIEL BEAT THEM UP. 🥺🥺 This makes me reminisce the older Lookism chapters.

Also nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. You’re all getting your asses beaten for sure. Daniel will clap you all. Each. 👏🏽 And. 👏🏽 Every. 👏🏽 One. 👏🏽 Of. 👏🏽 You. 👏🏽

OHHHHHH... WELL, SPEAKING ABOUT DANIEL-

TIME TO GET HELLA CLAPPED!!!! 😆😆😆😆😆😆😆

These fools. Smh.

OMGGGGGG IT’S DANIEL’S MOM!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH IT’S BEEN FOREVER. 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ BEST MOM EVER!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!! ALSO, NAH. YOU FUCKERS ARE FUCKED NOW. HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT ABOUT SOMEONE’S MOM, LIKE WTF IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU? Do they not have respect for anybody? Sometimes I think about these so called “bullies” in this Webtoon. Like no wonder you guys are so fucked up, y’all don’t got any parents or something? No guardians who’d teach you how to be a decent person??? Any manners? 💀 At least Daniel has a mom who knows how to treat her own son. I’m guessing y’all are just jealous that you don’t have a great mom like Daniel who’d sacrifice herself just for her son because she LOVES HIMMMMM!!! 😤😤😤😤 If any of them approach me, I’m throwing hands. Idc.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🏃🏽‍♂️🏃🏽‍♂️🏃🏽‍♂️🏃🏽‍♂️🏃🏽‍♂️🏃🏽‍♂️

Daniel Park for FIFA World Cup 2026. ⚽️🏆

YEEEEESSSSSSS THAT’S OUR BOI. AHHHHH I’M SO PROUD OF HIM!!

And when that one bitch from your old high school called you ugly, but now thinks you’re hot... 😑

OH MY GOD. IT’S HAPPENING!!!!

OH MY GOOOOOOODDDDDDD!!!

MA’AM, WE WERE AS SURPRISED AS YOU ARE WHEN WE FIRST SAW HIM CHANGE TOO. 💀 AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! FINALLYYYYYY. WE GOT TO SEE HER REACTION TO HIS TRANSFORMATION!!! UGH. I’M GONNA GO CRY NOW. 😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

He has matured into a very good man. And a fine one too... I’m so proud of him. His character development had come such a long way. 😭💞

THIS IS JUST MY THEORY. (Before any of you argue about this and flame my ass, I’m telling you now. This is just my opinion. Pls don’t get heated by it. Thank you.) 💀

You know it’s about to get serious when an old person did the, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” pose. 🚨

FINALLY. Jinyeong Park’s time to shine. 🤩 I’m getting a Darth Vader and Luke moment here. “Luke.... I am your father.” (That’s the only Star Wars reference I know. My bad.) And Jinyeong belongs to the dark side (The Worker’s First Affiliate), while Daniel is the main protagonist who belongs on the good side. Call me goofy, I know. Because my wack ideas make me think about my life choices sometimes. LMFAO But ANYWAYS, I CAN’T WAIT FOR DANIEL’S MOM TO EXPLAIN WHO JINYEONG PARK IS. I’m just glad that Daniel got to see his mom after everything that he had been through. The kid needs a break, and I’m here for it. ❤️

ALSO I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIS FAMILY’S REACTION TO HIS TRANSFORMATION. AHHHHHHH I’M SO EXCITED!!! 🤪

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cacaobean760 · 5 months

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Hero and Leander Poem Analysis

DISCLAIMER!!!!!! I am not a professional in dissecting things like this because it's written very...Shakespearish? I don't even know the word for it. So if you do see something that I said and it's wrong, please correct me <3

Sooooo uhhhh Idk why I decided to do this but I found a poem by Christopher Marlow that is about Hero and Leander. This is really long and I mean REALLYYYYYY LONG(the poem itself is 124 pages...)Here is the link if you guys yourself want to go over it(The actual poem starts on page 78): http://dbooks.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/books/PDFs/590654826.pdf

But ya I am just gonna be going over the first part of how Leander is described and some things I noticed that might relate to our Leander! So strap in because this is also probably gonna be a long one~

(Also Yellow highlights will be vocab and red highlights will be descriptions)

Ok so if we look at the very first image, it tells us that Leander was born is Abydos and he had long hair(ARTIST NEED TO GET ON THIS NOW!!!!) and "unto Colchos borne" just means that if Leander did cut his hair, It would fall onto the land of Medea and the Golden Fleece. The Golden Fleece was a piece of treasure, and the word Golden is specific to Leander and the MC because when we show Leander our curse, he relates to us by saying "we match" while showing the pin on his coat that is Gold(Gold will be used A LOT in this poem). Now because the Golden Fleece we can infer that a lot of people would want to have their hands on is so by saying that if Leander hair had been cut, more of the youth of Greece would be attracted to Leander and want him more then the Golden Fleece. And then to further this emphases on his attractiveness, they name a women who whished that," his arms might be her sphere"(hugging her). Something interesting to note is that instead of saying hair here, the word Tress which as you can see in the image above, means a lock of woman's hair(which will be brough up later).

It described Leander's body as," Straight as Circes wand" Now what is special about this? Circe is a Goddess that practiced in the magic of Illusion and Necromancy. I think the Illusion does apply to Leander I just don't know how yet, I also saw some theories of Leander using Necromancy soooo....is this a coincidence??? Then it says that Jove, might have sipped nectar out of his hand. Now Jove being a God really says something about Leander if he would be willing to drink it out of his hands. And then you find out that Jove is actually the God of Jupiter which is also the God Zeus(they are all connected just have different names depending on the origin I believe but correct me if I am wrong). And Zeus is THE GOD, the ruler of all Gods. So for him to be willing to Drink from Leander's hand, a HUMAN hand, is really big.

(First off just want to say that White is used twice here I just forgot to highlight the first one, Gold and White will be used consistently throughout. I think that White is important because they are the color of the Lilys that Leander gives to us). It first compares Leander's solder to a nice piece of meat and then it talks about Pelops Shoulder that got....Eaten(idk don't ask me, Greek Mythology is weird) Also something that could also relate to Leander is this....

So I just wanna say that we Know that Leander is a beautiful young man and I think got resurrected and we know that Leander dies by drowing...in water...and we all know what Poseidon is the God of sooooooooooooo(they probs met in the water...Im just saying)Anyways, Then it just goes on in further detail on how attractive Leander is. Then with the Pen thing, I think Marlow meant that that he can describe men much less Gods so it will have to suffice that his muse(The 9 muses from Hercules anyone)talks about Leander's eyes. Then this was unusual to me because Marlow describes Leander's cheeks and lips as Orient which means the East. So at first I thought it was talking about Leander home town Abydos but Abydos is on the West...

And that would have to mean that Sestos(where Hero lives)must be on the East so maybe Marlow was saying that Leander's cheeks and lips were for Hero?????

Then Marlow talks about how if Hippolytus had seen Leander, He would be enamored by his beauty. Which would also be a very big thing because Hippolytus is known to be disgusted by sex and marriage(which is also ironic because we know that Leander is DEF not disgusted by sex)and also it talk about Aphrodite for a bit and who is Hero the Priestess of????(you can probs guess if you don't already know). Then says that Leander's beauty could melt the rudest peasant, So he is just really driving home how Pretty or attractive Leander is. Marlow talks about soldiers who would do anything for Leander just to get a favor from him and says that," he was a maid in man's attire, For in his looks were all that men desire." So I guess everyone just thought that Leander was soooo beautiful that he had to be a women because he was just too attractive.

Now just like the Gold and White that a brought up multipole times, Hand touching is also brought up a few times and obviously we can see the significance of this relating to Leander and MC…

The next thing is def sus and weird but I feel like goes along with how manipulative we all think Leander is because Leander wanted to get with Hero but Hero was a virgin and had to stay a virgin to be a Priestess for Aphrodite. But obvious Leander did not want this so he goes on a speech on how Virginity is just a concept(which I guess is true but its sill sus)and it does not really matter...

So ya, Leander is just telling Hero,' Hey like it does not really matter if you are a virgin or not so just get with me." Like ok....chill out dude. And then Hero rejects him and Leander continues...

It's giving what happens when we reject taking the flowers from Leander from when we first meet him.

Now this is just ironic so I figured I can put this here but I don't think it really relates because I don't see any bracelet on Leander(Poseidon gives this to him so it relates back to Pelops)...

Then Poseidon thinks Leander is also a Women???? Also I would like to note that on Leander’s belt, the shape represents the triple goddesses which are all very feminine in their descriptions so could this also relate to why Marlow keeps describing people thinking Leander is a women?

And upon Him finding out Leander is a man and not a women he gets upset a throws a weapon at Leander....

So Leander gets hurt and I am thinking that maybe that is what Leander's scar is from?????

Now I first want to talk about the white lilies because this is the flower that Leander gives us in the beginning...

ok now for all the other times gold and white are used if I count them, for white it is 13 and for gold it is 16, so ya, they are used quite a lot.

And then at the end, there is a toxic flower called Oleander, So it's very close to Leander's name and this is what I found when Hero saw Leander dead...

She shouts O, Leander soooooo is this why the flower is called that???

OK that is all! I hope you guys enjoyed, I know this was long but ya, I hope you guys liked it. Again if you guys see anything that is wrong please let me know so I can fix it!

#justice for long haired Leander #pretty boys #leander #leander ts #visual novel #leander theories #touchstarved game #touchstarved

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