#losing the people who reminded him he was human makes him forget he ever was one

[marc--chilton]

imagining lawrence, the doctor who knows he can't save everyone and detaches from his patients to the point he doesn't connect to them as another human whatsoever, breaking down over his failure to save adam so loudly, so horrifically that it frightens the people around him and he comes out the other side fundamentally changed forever as a person. he sobs and wails harder than he ever did in the bathroom, rattles the pictures on the walls with his grief. he squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them again his room is destroyed and hours have passed and he hurts from his head to his heart to the foot that's rotting away with the person who always should have lived yet never got the chance

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Theseus is dead. You’re escorting the Minotaur, more beast than a man, out of the Labyrinth. The problem is, he seems to be more interested in what’s between your legs than in his mission of killing the notorious king of Crete… (12 k. Minotaur is not an actual hybrid in this fic. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Part 1 here.) Tags/warnings: Shameless smut mdni, dubious consent, extremely possessive behaviour, abduction, first time (König & reader are both virgins), hugs & cuddles, washing blood off your monster boyfriend, awkward flirting, semi-rough sex, shifting power dynamics, sexist insults & slurs (the citizens of Crete do not approve of your choices), implied cannibalism, fluffy ending. Mythical AU.

The candle goes out before you reach the surface.

To someone else, it would be the end of the world: to you, it’s only a hindrance, a nuisance, mostly. 

You’re not easily distressed. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the service of the greatest goddess of the Underworld. And you’re not mourning losing the sight of your warmly illuminated beast... You’re only worried about what he will do once the darkness descends. Whether he will forget about his vow, whether the baser instincts take over him once the darkness falls.

And darkness is not capable of making you lost: you can always follow the string in your hand. But without light, it’s difficult to predict the Bull’s moves: whether he decides to maim or fuck you against the wall, you can never tell. He hasn’t lived in the real world among people; he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong and what’s expected of him. Even the best of men can succumb to the demands of the flesh, so what power would a Bull Man have against his animal wants? No one ever taught him to respect the gods, let alone the maidens who serve them...

Then again, if a simple candle was the only thing that kept you alive, then what’s the point of lamenting the loss of it? Your life was already forfeit when you chose to descend here.

So you let it go: as always, the greatest lesson in life is to simply let go. Of control, of judgment, of fear, of hope. 

He doesn’t say a thing when the light flickers, then fades. The candle goes out in silence, and you let it drop before the remaining wax burns your palm.

And it’s not the absence of light, but strength, that forces you on your knees before even an hour has passed. There’s still a long way to go, and the yarn is like a thin string of hope in your hand, but you’re too exhausted, too worn out, too hungry and too tired to go on.

The Bull Man doesn’t object to your suggestion to lay down and sleep for a while. He has walked behind you in silence the whole day. Or night… You can’t tell the difference; you lost count somewhere along the way down here. The air is stale and humid, and there’s no torch, not a single candle anywhere and even if there were, you wouldn’t do anything with them without a flint. 

The horror is kept at bay only through your numerous exercises with the goddess who introduced you to darkness many, many moons ago. You were initiated during the dark Moon, the new Moon, the blood Moon, introduced to the mysteries of the maiden, mother and crone, to the secrets of both the living and the dead. You’re not afraid, but your body still warns you of danger: you just don’t know if it’s a memory from childhood or a reaction to the Bull, panting behind you – out of lust or exertion, you don’t even know. Someone who wasn’t a maiden probably could tell… At times, you curse the fact that there hasn’t been a single phallus inside you because men too possess knowledge. Taking a man into your bed would have initiated you to a different set of mysteries, but now, you are poking blind. 

The Bull Man is an animal, you remind yourself. The longer you stay in his company, the more he starts to resemble a human, even if he is a man of few words. How he even remembers them is another mystery: you thought he was sent down here as a young boy. He speaks oddly but eloquently, a remnant of his noble descent, perhaps. Or perhaps he has listened to the people speaking in the Labyrinth, eavesdropped his victims an hour or two before killing them. Whatever the reason, you have to constantly tie your tongue because there’s simply no point in talking to a beast. The less you know about him and his past, the better.

You ready yourself for sleep, but the cursed cold of the tunnels keeps your body awake. Your flesh is human even if your mind is forged to withstand hunger, thirst and pain. Endurance against cold was never your strong suit, and you miss the heat of the sun, the warmth of it on your skin, even the ample light it gives. You, a lover of the moon, missing the heat of Apollo… It’s a joke, surely.

On the stone floor, it’s even colder, the rough, damp ground making your very bones ache. How on Hecate’s name has the beast survived this place?

“Bull Man,” you speak into the darkness, thick like an impenetrable wall and thin like a virgin’s veil.

“Maiden,” he echoes with a dark, low growl, slightly amused by the name you’ve selected for him.

“Are you cold?” You whisper.

Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand the question or why you asked it. It doesn’t matter: you have to swallow your pride and ask for his help if you’re going to survive this dark prison.

“I don’t get cold,” he finally responds.

“Good. I need your heat.” 

The silence drags on, and you fear he has misunderstood you again, but then he speaks again, with the same slightly amused tone as before.

“Come take it.”

You’re not sure if you’ve completely lost your mind, crawling to him through the uneven floor of the Labyrinth. Who knows what he will do to you once he gets those arms of iron around you? You’re placing your maidenhood, your whole body at his mercy. And you’re not even sure if it’s a he, if this thing is human at all. 

Human or animal, your hand meets the bull’s head on the way to him. He has taken it off, then... It’s not a part of him, just like you suspected. Maybe he is just a giant, daunting man, born from whatever forbidden desire Pasiphae had. Who knows if she only went to a foreign lover’s arms when her husband was at war? Who knows if King Minos has trouble getting his phallus up… These things happen: women get pregnant from their lovers, they do desperate things to pacify their husbands. And you don’t need a bull to get yourself an heir...

You feel his heat before you feel his skin: the Minotaur is verily blazing. He has gotten used to the cold, it seems, his body like a small bonfire in the clammy tunnel. 

“Cold little female,” he comments when you snuggle towards him shyly, thoroughly aware of the uninviting chill of your body. 

You settle next to him, every muscle in your body tight like a bowstring, your breaths shallow when he gives you a welcoming rumble. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and your throat goes dry, the thick swallow in the tunnel echoing around you like a thief.

Arms like iron go around you, and his body is taut, just like yours, but for a whole different reason entirely. He’s not afraid or nervous; he’s just… big. Pure muscle, his whole body thick, the stock and heat of him remind you of the sun. A miniature sun down here in these dark tunnels, but while you start to slowly soften in his arms, a different threat is already emerging. It doesn’t take long before his cock stiffens against you, and with the scarce clothing you both have, you can feel its every excited twitch.

Artemis… Protect me from this beast. Turn him into a dog if he tries to penetrate me. Let him rip my throat instead… 

You’ve never prayed to the Virgin Goddess; you don’t know if she can even hear you from down here. But Hecate would only laugh if this Bull decided to breed you. No mercy would arrive from that direction: she would either send a disease of blisters upon the Minotaur for touching her chosen or then she would cackle like an old woman, thousand times raped.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hoping your kindness will distract him from what’s happening downstairs.

“My pleasure,” he grumbles, mimicking the words he probably heard as a child in his father’s great hall. 

It sends a chill down your spine and butterflies into your heart to hear him speak like a polite man of court. And again, you think of asking him about his childhood... His mother, his father, the things he remembers from the surface. How he survived here without water, if there are underground springs here somewhere. Whether he eats humans like they say... If he ever embraced the dead women he killed. 

“Can you do it again,” he rumbles against you, cutting you away from your grotesque thoughts.

“...Do what again?” 

“Touch me… With your hand.”

His words are blunt now, his speech clumsy. But the way he says it is not an order. It’s an odd beg, more like. Laced with hope and wishes far away from greed. This Bull is never greedy, per se… He’s just lacking. Starved, for so many things that you fear there’s not enough time nor kindness to give him what he needs.

Your pulse flutters when you slowly lift your hand and caress the strong cords of muscle that make his neck. The rumbling returns; it turns into a low purr as the beast relaxes under your touch. Something softens inside you when he sighs from relief. His unbridled happiness tugs at your heart, trying to yank open something forbidden. It’s the softest violation you’ve ever felt: to be held by a giant killer having a roaring erection, while the said killer clearly enjoys your caress like it’s the touch of Aphrodite herself…

You even stroke his face. His jaw, unclenching under your touch; his cheek, covered with what you suppose is simply a wild, overgrown beard. 

“Your hand,” he groans softly, “makes me sleepy and warm…”

The cold, uncaring goddess recedes. The burdens of past, present and future dissolve. Softness takes place in your heart; the iron locks give in like brittle brass. A smile plays on your lips as you continue to pet him softly, lulling you both to sleep with your voice.

“Then sleep, Bull of Crete...”

…

You wake up to his cock pressing against you.

Not against your stomach like when you went to sleep – that you could do with – but against your cunt, barely veiled by the thin linen of your dress.

The panic is soon wrestled down with reason: you tell yourself it’s just a cock. It’s just him. You’re simply in the Minotaur’s arms, and he’s sound asleep still; there’s no reason to buck and jerk and scream. 

The darkness feels like a safe womb now, but with nothing to lock your gaze to, you have to take a moment to ground yourself into reality. And the first thing you ground into is a thick cockhead, pressing fast into your nether lips. He’s practically at the gates, and you’re lucky he’s still asleep.

It’s perhaps your fault this happened in the first place: you notice you’ve dragged your thigh over his hip; as if wanting him to fuck you in your sleep… You embrace him like Helen of Troy, and he holds you through his sleep like a man in love, perfectly content with napping on the cold ground with you.

“Mm…” The beast stirs, probably noticing how the female in his arms is tense as a rod. “You smell like you want to fuck…”

“No I don’t,” you hurry to whisper.

Gods curse this man’s ability to smell everything from miles away. Blood and humans and, apparently, a woman at her most receptive. 

What if he can actually smell the wetness between your legs?

“We need to go,” you slowly remove your leg from on top of his waist, hoping it would go unnoticed that you were clutching him like a lover. You have no such luck: he grabs your thigh and draws it back, sets it safe and snug around his waist while adjusting his grip on you, now hugging you entirely like a lover would.

“I want to mate with you,” he says softly. “You want to mate too. Why go?”

He sounds so adorable when he’s still in the process of waking up to a new day. Drowsy and sweet, voice husky from sleep, body warm as can be, the hard-on between his legs happy and stiff.

“I thought you wanted to kill the king,” you try to point out. 

“This is more important,” he gruffs. “Urgent.”

The cock pushes further up and against you, now spreading your folds under the dress, trying to penetrate into your heat. Your eyes go wide as thick need pools down to meet his greed. His body, his cock makes your head go dull for a moment; you feel like you’re not even capable of thinking actual thoughts.

“No, it’s not. We need to get up.”

You stiffen in his arms, push yourself away, and to your surprise, he actually lets you go. Reluctantly and with a hollow grunt, but he lets you go. 

You rise with a wobble, and adjust your dress, your head spinning from his advances. You swear he becomes more man-like every day, every passing hour, even. Or is it just you who’s changing…? 

The Bull Man is up before you get to ponder on that thought for too long. Your heart and head struggle to find their footing for a moment, your legs are so weak you feel like fainting. He catches you before you fall, the warm, thick arms closing around you with stout affection.

“You need more heat?” He asks softly.

You look up out of habit, even if you can't see his eyes, covered by the carcass again because his voice is muffled.

“No… I’m hungry.”

He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking what he could do to help the situation. You fear he will suggest you go back to visit his “pantry” and eat whatever horrible, half-rotten man-flesh he might have in store there, but he only holds you close to prevent you from sliding back to the ground.

“Hmm. No mice up here,” he ponders. 

“You eat mice…?”

“Sometimes.”

You leave it at that: you don’t want to know what he’s had to do to sustain himself down here. You don’t even have a fire to cook the vermin, even if you would be ready to eat even those after another day or two without food. 

“Not a long way up,” he says. “We will reach the sun soon. Then I’ll find you something to eat.”

“How do you know that…?”

“The air smells different.”

You sigh and search for the string, your lifeline to the outside world. You can’t wait to get out of here, and with both hurry and an odd dread, you hike for what seems like another whole day. Tension, hunger and thirst distort your thoughts, and you’re sure by now that the time flows differently here in the Underworld. With no small amount of pride, you feel accomplished to have survived this place so far. Even gods have had to do some tricks to escape the nether worlds: it is no small feat to charm the Minotaur and then walk out of here unharmed. 

To your knowledge, you’re the only one who has ever escaped the Labyrinth. You haven’t even had time to think about what you will unleash with you… The demon that walks on your heels will take his revenge, not only on the king but on the city who threw him here. 

Well. It’s their problem now. Minos and Pasiphae simply have to deal with their successor. The world will simply have to deal with the Underworld’s wrath. 

And oh, how Hecate would laugh if she saw this monster prince of Crete escape his prison because of you – the feared Minotaur set free, only because he’s mesmerized by a woman. You suspect he would have his cock jumping for any girl, though. It's not because you're an exceptional sorceress that he follows you: it's your cunt he's after. And it shouldn’t make you feel jealous that he probably gets distracted the moment he sees a better offer walk by.

But it does. In your darkest wishes, you would keep the Bull Man all to yourself. Get him a leash, perhaps... Feed him with your own hands and let him grope you in the dark, watch him go wild from lust when you finally give him access to your cunt. 

Many would hardly think you’re a virgin if they took a peek inside your head. But the things you’ve seen and done, the white bulls you’ve slaughtered for the dark Goddess, adorning them with cypress wreaths before slashing their throats open, would turn any woman bleak and twisted like this. For once, you would like to save the bull from slaughter.

When you see the first evidence of light, your body lets out a sigh it has been holding ever since you arrived here. Seeing the sun gives you more strength than any food or meal, and you pick up your pace while the Minotaur behind you begins to hesitate. 

“It’s too bright,” he says before you’ve even walked out of the tunnel, now turning into a vast cave, the entrance to the Labyrinth. 

You turn around to look and stop in your tracks when you see the fear in his eyes is acute. It’s mixed with wonder, the curiosity wrestling away doubt slowly but surely. He only needs a little nudge, a gentle pull, an enticing little smile and eyes that he can trust.

“You’ll get used to it soon,” you extend your hand. 

He takes a step, then another, then another, until he reaches your outstretched fingers, and hand in hand you walk out of the Labyrinth and into the bright morning sun, burning over the kingdom of Crete.

He’s only a breath away from panicking, but covers it well. You wonder if it’s truly the light that’s too bright or if the feeling of being so exposed is what makes him so afraid. Clearly, the vast space opening up before him is intimidating. 

There are grassy plains as far as the eye can see, little hills that dot the horizon, and skies so expansive and bright it must hurt his eyes. Goats are grazing under the sun, trees are bending in the wind, the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds calling him to look in all directions as he tries to make some sense of his surroundings.

“It’s alright,” you give his palm a soft squeeze, and the way he looks there under the sun, so big and powerful and able, and still so utterly lost, is giving you heartache you haven’t known since you were a child.

“There’s… so many colours,” he says, looking at the blue summer sky, the deep olive greens, the dirty whiteness of the goats, the flowers upon the grass. A butterfly, flying past, yellow like the citrus that people harvest from a few miles from here. A big blackbird with an orange beak, swooping down to catch a cricket, the slate grey pigeons flying so close to the sun that he has to shield his eyes even if they’re already safe and sheltered under the bull head.

Seeing his wonder and awe makes you look at the scenery so differently that it burns, it actually hurts: there’s so much beauty in the world, and you have always taken it for granted. Cursed the rain and the storms, cursed the droughts, cursed the gods for sending down another famine, when in truth, the world was filled with abundance, of colours, of life and joy… And all you’ve done is worship darkness. Now the darkness is out: it’s standing next to you, watching the view of your mundane everyday life like it’s nothing short of a miracle.

And when you turn back to look at him again, his eyes are upon you.

“What?” You ask, freshly caught in your moment of weakness.

“You are pretty,” he says, eyes wrinkling with delight under the mask. 

Gods damn him… 

He doesn’t know that human men don’t act like this, talk like this, or if they do, there’s usually something vile involved behind it all. He doesn’t know how to play games, he was never introduced to the lies and deceit of the world.

The Bull of Crete only looks at you with soft fondness in his stare – he doesn’t understand that he should cover that softness as well if he intends to win. Any woman could put a leash on him before another moon has passed, but he doesn’t seem to care. And it’s not even heat or hunger that makes you weak this time... It’s those eyes, looking at you with more and more warmth.

“Nonsense,” you huff without a voice, and turn towards the old road with an adoring bull on your heels.

The cold sigh of the underworld is quickly left behind you as you walk up the old carriage road, nearly grown in with weeds. The Labyrinth is located miles away from civilization, but the people living in these hills are used to the cold cave by now. They trust that the Minotaur will never escape and only turn away their heads and close the doors of their huts when the screaming, crying human sacrifices are delivered to the mouth of the cave. Little do they know that the monster is now looking at their little hills and goats with delight, not bloodlust.

For the Minotaur is fascinated with your world: he has to touch every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass, it seems. The goats are afraid of him, but one small nanny is bold enough to come and sniff his hand. Perhaps it remembers that beings walking on two feet give her apples sometimes, and the giant studies this small white animal with gentle curiosity, allows the goat to smell his hand, only chuckles when the goat gives out a little scoff when she notices there are no treats to be found there.

The vision is more adorable than when you’ve seen children play with kittens, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn your heart into ice anymore. You were taught that the Minotaur is a monster who enjoys torturing his victims, creatures far more helpless than him. Now you see him watching the she-goat with warm curiosity, rumbling softly inside his helm, far from the ravaging beast that approached you in that tunnel what seems like months ago.

You watch him with tender sadness as he marvels at the sky and remembers how he used to sit in the shade of an olive tree when he was a child. He goes to sit there now and examines how the sun filters through the massive branches of the tree as if trying to recall the memory. 

He asks questions like: “How can you humans stand this heat?” or “Why is there only one road?” and listens to your answers carefully.

He says he can smell the sea, even if the salty water is miles and miles away, and gets curious about what’s behind that hill, or that one, what about that one… You wonder if he’s even interested in killing the king anymore and suggest that he could just forget about this cruel place and buy himself a sea voyage with that expensive sword. He could get rid of his helmet and ask if anyone needs a goat herd or an able-bodied man to help at construction sites or stables; he could get work from the docks any day, sail to Athens or some other big city, forge himself a new life. 

But he doesn’t want to.

He says he has to avenge his mother who always cried when he was little.

More wretched tugs pull at your heart as you approach the city. The lovely summer’s day turns into a nightmare once people see who’s on his way to the heart of Crete.

You don’t understand their screams, not anymore, while only a few days ago you knew they preceded death. The Minotaur doesn’t kill anyone, mainly because he doesn’t have to. Everyone flees before his wake, people rush to their homes and bar the doors, even soldiers slip away to be with their loved ones or run to warn the king if they have any loyalty left. 

You’re left to walk through the marketplace in settling dust and tense silence as the Bull Man explores the abundant samples of food on display. He has to have a taste of everything from all stands, but only after he has offered figs, olives, grain, grapes, grilled meat and fish to you first.

“Eat,” he says and shoves a handful of pine seeds your way. “You were hungry?”

“This is not the way to–” you ignore the food only through sheer willpower. “This is not right. People own these things. They sell them at the market, you need to pay for these.”

“Pay? With what?”

He looks at you for a moment, unable to recall what money is and how these things are supposed to work. He probably had his mother’s servants bring him everything he needed as a child anyway, so how could he know? 

“They will take your hands for stealing,” you try to explain with softly building despair.

“I will take their heads before that.”

“The next king will hunt you down and punish you,” you rush after him, and when he won’t listen, you seize his hand and finally get him to halt. He looks down at the weak palm around his wrist, then raises his gaze to you.

“Bulls don’t have kings.”

Your attempts to tame him are futile. The things they’ve taught him to be are now being used as a way to escape responsibility, and while it’s none of your business, you refuse to let him believe that he is nothing more than an animal.

“You are not a bull,” you wail in frustration. “You’re a man.”

He hesitates, only for a moment; the gentle, loving gaze makes your legs weak.

“You’re the first to think that.” 

Then he rips himself away from you, softly but sternly.

He doesn’t need directions to the palace: he knows he has to head for the most prominent building in the city to reach the king. The grandiose heart of Crete, white-chalked and beautiful under the burning midday sun is the pride of every citizen, even if it houses another monster.

You sigh as you watch him go: the Bull Man, the demon of the underworld, the one you thought would rape you bloody before you get to crawl out of the Labyrinth. The fact that he wanted to kill his father more than he wanted to be born again into a new life wasn’t a surprise, but that he chose to bloody his sword rather than his cock is somehow... insulting, almost. 

What actually haunts you is how your insides coil and turn when you rush back to your temple. It’s not like you thought the Minotaur would take you with him. Board some trade ship bound for distant shores, and ravage you ever so softly in the belly of the creaking hull. It’s not like you dreamed of petting him to sleep while you two embark on a new life. But the way your heart twists and wails inside your chest makes it clear that losing him is even more painful than losing Theseus and the life he promised you. 

You never even wanted Theseus; you only wanted him to take you away from here. His affection would have been the result of ample witchcraft at best.

He’s practically already dead, and your heart turns to stone far more slowly than you would prefer. It’s just your luck to first have the golden hero of Greece look down on you in disdain, and then witness even the Bull Man walk away from you like you never meant anything to him. Men killing each other is the oldest story in the world, and you want no part in it, but something in this beast has stirred you awake from a long, cold slumber. It’s infuriating that you can’t dispel a simple animal from your heart. Oldest story in the book, that one, too…

But oh, how you now yearn after some cruel, lowly, dirty beast… The Minotaur already owns you, and he never even had to plunge his sword inside you to prove that. Besides, you would’ve been perfectly willing had he decided to take you on the green grass, under the vast sky, while some noisy goats graze around you. You realize that that’s what you expected to happen, and when it didn’t, you’re left more than disappointed: you're left completely hollow. You always find out these things a little too late, it seems… The Bull is headed for the palace and will likely get killed after he slaughters his cruel father. There’s at least thirty spears in that building, and more will arrive when called.

You arrive at the temple, panting and with your body flushed and weak. The maidens at the entrance share a quick glance with each other before turning their fearful gazes back to you. They’re the youngest arrivals, not even initiates yet; one of them hardly even bleeds. 

“The King is dead,” you announce without bothering to even greet them, and the girls huddle up together like they’re a bunch of slaves about to get slapped.

You realize you must look like an animal with your dirty robes, dishevelled hair and your wild, alive stare. No wonder they look like they’ve seen a ghost... You basically are one, coming back from the dead like this.

“What?” 

A priestess arrives at the threshold like an image of Hecate herself, dressed in robes as black as the midnight sky, but you don’t shy away from her like you used to.

“Or he will be. Soon. The Minotaur is here.” 

“How did you… How did it...”

You’ve never seen the priestess in disarray. She’s always composed, cold and distant, but seeing you like the wraith that you are, freshly escaped from the Labyrinth, spat back from the bowels of the earth like the dark gods didn’t even want you there, makes even the greatest of Hecate’s servants a little uneasy. 

She gathers what’s left of her dignity and finds her most commanding voice. Sadly, it doesn’t have the power to shake the ground anymore.

“Where is Theseus of Athens?”

“Disemboweled… is my best guess,” you say in a listless voice, then turn your head toward the smell of fresh fruit.

Normally, you would walk these halls with dignity, but now, you simply barge in and grab the first piece of food you find. You ought to get whipped for your insolence, but no one dares to raise a hand against you. The maids and priestesses stare in shock as you eat and drink like a starved prisoner. You’re a living Hecate in certain aspects, your arrival the first toll of the bell of doom as the palace guards sound the alarm.

So…

The Minotaur has reached the king.

…

The priestesses deem it only logical that the King finally pays for his sins: the gods have been offended by the number of human sacrifices sent to the Labyrinth, and this is their way of exacting revenge. You were only an instrument of their will.

After a quick wash and some more food, you begin to feel like a human again. The maids bring you a new chiton, flowing and white: your old clothes are burned in a brazier as if that would help you forget.

And this might be the only place you don’t get blamed for unleashing a monster. You were at a crossroads with the Minotaur, and anyone would have done the same: try to talk him out of his killing spree, calm him down, entice him with a gift. No one expected that the beast could even speak, so your approach was unusual, perhaps, but it worked. Hecate guided you through the tunnels, even when the candle went out, she stilled the Bull’s loins until you reached the sunlight where the beast got distracted with other things. You leave out the Minotaur's attraction to birds, bees and butterflies because your story is unbelievable enough as it is.

But the Minotaur will be slain after he has done his deed: Minos is the one who should be punished, not the city of Crete. And it is only just to put down this beast, a mercy.

So when he appears between the pillars of temple, this time wholly covered in blood, people are bound to scream. Even the priestesses who are used to seeing blood, shriek like widows when the Minotaur steps inside the holy shrine of Hecate.

“Where is the maiden of the crossroads?”

He came back for you, after all…

The boom of his voice is familiar, and yet, you cower on the bench when you hear it. The Minotaur sounds like he’s an envoy of Hades himself, and while you’re not among those who scream and yell, it still sends shivers down your spine to hear him speak like that.

Or is it the excitement, a tiny flame of hope that makes you quiver like this?

“We all belong to the goddess,” someone peeps, the Minotaur now descending down the stairs.

The massive head turns, gaze like razor sweeping across the marbled shrine. You’re so far back that he can’t catch you, sitting behind many bodies and faces, and before you can force yourself to rise, the main priestess, the oldest, most crooked of the crones, steps forth to meet this beast.

“This is a House of Hecate,” she speaks. “No man is allowed to enter unless they are Death.”

The black carcass turns, but the priestess doesn’t waver. If anything, her spine turns into unbreakable metal before this man’s gaze.

“I am Death,” he says, far more gently than anyone would expect. Then he walks past the crone like she’s just a harmless elder. No one does a thing, because even the head of your temple is powerless now.

“She had a red string and a candle. Where is she?”

He grabs the first woman he sees, and you rise up before he decides it’s time to thrust his blade into someone to loosen the tongues of these women. 

“Please,” you take a hesitant step towards your Bull. “I’m here... I’m the one you’re looking for.”

The Minotaur lets go of the frightened initiate the instant he sees you. She’s shoved aside with little interest, the blue eyes behind the corpse now solely fixed on you. The way they soften into hazy ice makes your knees weak – that’s the stare of someone who recognizes their loved one among a thick, dull crowd…

“Come with me,” he extends a hand when he reaches you, strong legs swallowing tiles like he’s in a hurry to get back to you. You open your mouth, close it, and look at his hand, the rough, enormous palm held out for you to place your own little hand in.

“You belong to me,” he says with great weight when you don’t speak. It should spark the ire of the goddess for him to dare to talk to you like this… But mostly, your body sings. It tells you to take a step and take his hand: to let him have you, once and for all. 

“My place is here,” you utter, all power gone from your voice. All your dreams, all your fears are offering their hand to you with his, and the maidens, mothers and crones of this hall look upon your exchange with the Bull Man in stupefied silence. 

“You were sent down to me,” he presses on. “You are mine now. You belong to me.”

Your body is singing, singing, singing.

It’s not a request… Or a proposal. 

It’s a god, taking what’s his.

…

You swallow with nothing in your throat and look at the head priestess with helpless misery: she looks back with the eyes of a noxious Medusa, wholly dispassionate to the problems you brought upon yourself. And what could she even do? She’s unarmed against the claims of Hades: Death is now in love with you, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it. 

He doesn’t want to stay in the city, as enchanting as it is, saying that it stinks and that he’s tired of the screams. No one wants him here; he already knows that, and the task he was meant to do is done. He doesn’t seem to be much moved by it either, only asking you if there is a place where he can wash the blood off himself. 

People become more bold when they see you walk out of the city. Not even the sight of a crimson demigod makes them watch their tongues. Insults and slurs follow you through the streets, shouts such as “Kingslayer!” and “Beast!” are accompanied with curses such as “You are an abomination!” and “Go back to your lair!” 

No one treats him as their prince and savior, no one sees him as the man he truly is. And because hatred thickens in crowds, you get your share of the insults as well. 

What kind of a woman would follow a beast like him? Have you sold your soul to the demons of the desert, or has Hades himself forced you to be with this monster? Are you behind the murder of their king?

“Must I remind you?” You turn on your heels, standing tall and proud with the posture of a queen. “According to the old laws, the one who slays the king is the next to rule.” 

“You led him out of the Labyrinth, didn’t you?” the voices ask.

“Gave him your cunt, too,” they sneer.

“You’re worse than the bloody Gorgon,” they mock, but you have a thick skin: if anything, you take it as a compliment to be referred to the mighty slayers of men.

What cuts through your heart is the filth and hate they spit at him, the man who has known nothing but loath since he was born. 

“Hecate’s whore… I should kill you first,” one soldier shouts with spit running down his chin.

The citizens of Crete would never hail the Minotaur as their king, but none can say the deed didn’t prove great strength. Some would even call it justice. He is the queen’s son, after all: he’s more royal than any of these dung-stinking peasants will ever be. He should never have been sent down to those tunnels in the first place.

Before you know it, the Minotaur swoops past you in haste, diving towards the screaming crowd with hunched shoulders and a fiery breath.

“Stop,” you say, and he halts immediately, gaze still directed to the one who called you a whore. The soldiers back away along with the peasants and tradesmen, these poor, humble Cretes who act like they never meant to be so mean.

“Let us go in peace,” you command, voice unwavering and stern. “Or I will curse you all. You and your families, down to the seventh son and seventh daughter.”

That manages to shut them up. The threat of a curse frightens these poor beasts even more than the enraged Minotaur breathing fire through his helm. No one wants rot and puke to follow them wherever they go; no one wants to doom their offspring with illness, death and sorrow. They disperse in all directions and only hiss and whisper as they go.

You spit on the ground as your last gift to these people, leaving the city of Crete with the ever-adoring Bull at your heels.

“You’re even prettier when you’re angry,” he says while walking next to you, voice thick with genuine passion and awe.

You roll your eyes: any man would cower before Hecate’s curse, but this one? This one only gets more horny. 

“Perhaps you are part bull after all,” you retort dryly.

“It takes more than one spear to kill me,” he boasts, but you don’t need more proof of his prowess. Surely, people have tried to kill him in the Labyrinth, but he’s survived every single attempt on his life – for that alone, he should be a decorated hero.

The only thing that makes you annoyed, however, is this childish need to prove he could’ve taken the whole city by himself just because some man happened to call you a slut.

“Mother said I’m a monster instead of a man,” he says, completely unaware that your snap wasn't meant as a compliment. He says it like he’s partly proud of it, and you finally sigh and turn. 

“Your mother was heartless. And wrong.”

The Minotaur only looks at you with a building passion that goes straight to your loins.

“But you’re not.”

“...What?”

“Heartless.”

You feel stripped naked before him, the way his eyes seem to burn away your poor dress. But the fact that he unearths your most guarded secret, just like that, is a catastrophe of a far wider scale.

You’re not sure who’s tied to whom anymore… Or if you’re tied to each other, the gods now laughing in their wine as they look down at you two: a fierce and bloodied giant following the maiden he stole like it’s you who took him and not the other way around.

You reach the roaring waters of a waterfall in silence, the night wrapping the lands inside a dark blue veil. Stars will be visible soon, and with the moon creeping up to the sky, you won’t be needing candles tonight. The silver mistress gives plenty of light for you to admire your beast, and compared to the thick darkness of the tunnels you emerged from this morning, it feels like a generous blessing.

You sit on the banks of the small, clear pond, utterly exquisite at nightfall. The sun’s heat has turned into a warm, caressing breeze, and you submerge your feet into the water, giving out a satisfied sigh as the cool pond embraces your travel worn feet. The Bull sinks to a crouch some distance away from you, curious about your obvious moment of pleasure.

“Did you meet her…? Your mother?” You ask from the cool water lapping at your feet – how can a simple man make you feel so restless and shy?

“Did you… kill her?” 

“She cursed me,” he says, sullen and wholly unsurprised. Time and time again, you are shocked by the hatred his own kin shows him. How can a mother be so cruel?

“How could I kill my own maker?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For everything.” 

You swallow before such unwavering love. The same man who cursed the gods yesterday  honours the womb he came from so much that he won’t raise a hand against it, not even when his own mother spits curses at him. You don’t know if it’s his greatest strength or biggest weakness, but sometimes you wonder if he’s more human than humans, this beast.

“I’m not,” he retorts immediately. “The king is dead. Mother is safe. I have you... This is the best day of my life.”

You turn to look at him. Time and again, the lack of lies and deceit in this man catches you off guard. It’s more painful than any wound, to see how the Minotaur has no protective skin against the corrupted human nature, that he is human nature before it was defiled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you falter. 

The chiton pools around your ankles, and you wonder if the man even breathes anymore. You know your skin is glowing with the last rays of the setting sun, you’re aware that the water and moonlight play upon your skin and make you look like an illusion, powerful in its own way.

When have you ever faltered…? Back when you were a little girl, you reckon, the notion euphoric and eerie in your bones.

You rise up and undress before him nonchalantly, trying to ignore the fervid stare of your admirer. Unclasping the brooches holding up your white linen dress, you let it fall down and set you free, secretly reveling in the downright carnal stare now glued to your skin. 

Ripe for plucking, you think while stepping out of the pile of cloth and into the thin evening air. His gaze feasts on you: the plump breasts no one ever loved, the vulnerable navel down below, the dark triangle between your legs, the secret power it holds.

Heat pools into your core as you watch him: everything in your body turns warm and soft when you take in the utter heftiness of him. The mean, swelling phallus between his legs, the near inhuman strength those shoulders and chest possess. Your body is the complete opposite of him, ethereal, almost, compared to the absolute brute strength before you. 

His eyes linger there the longest until he rises too, stiff and dreamy, a beast entirely taken by a thrall. The loincloth is practically torn away, as if it’s only a nuisance he must get rid of immediately. His eyes never leave your shape while he bares himself, and the phallus, you notice, belongs to a human. It’s thick and wondrous, fully erect, adorned with dark curls and accompanied by a set of balls you’ve mainly seen on horses. Big, full and round but unlike animals, they’re covered in dark fur, almost black here in the evening light. Thick seed beads through the slit of his cock from simply seeing you, and the way his chest heaves makes it clear that this man is ready to mate as soon as he’s allowed to do so. 

“You need to take off your helm,” you lift your chin, thoroughly aware of your power over him, even if it’s laughable, a miracle that he doesn’t fuck you on the spot like the animal he is. “You’re a man, not a bull.”

His eyes don’t betray any kind of hesitation. He doesn’t seem to be interested in whether he wears his mask or not. He just blinks as if he’s indeed under a spell and nods.

“If you say so.”

The broad muscles flex as he takes it off, and what is revealed to you from underneath the head is both a surprise and a disappointment. There’s not a monster under there, only a man, a stoic, boorish, shaggy male who’s in desperate need of a wash and a comb. He’s somewhat handsome under all that facial hair and knots, actually, not bad at all – if you like your men rugged and wild. 

He lets the head drop to the ground with a thud as if it was never a part of him at all, and follows you into the pool like you’re his mother and he’s your cub about to get scrubbed clean. 

He seems to dwarf you, even when half submerged in the pond, leaning back with a sigh not unlike yours. If you’re afraid, your body has a peculiar way of showing it: even in the clear, glossy water, you can feel yourself get wet. Never have you seen such strength, not in any man: in horror and awe, you realize he could be a descendant of Zeus himself. As if providing proof to these claims, he looks up to the sky, mesmerized by the myriad stars dotting the vast, unattainable blue.

Using this momentary distraction to your advantage, you reach to pluck a handful of moss from the bank. With this soft little sponge in your hand, you hope to make it clear that this is indeed a bath, not foreplay. 

“They’re stars,” you say softly while slinking closer to him. “Have you ever seen them...?”

“Yes,” he rasps with his head lolled back, throat completely exposed. It always hurts your heart to see that he trusts you so fully. You are no threat to him – even if the gods changed the moss in your hand into a weapon of some sort, you wouldn’t pose any kind of challenge. And still, the way he allows you to creep towards him and wipe his rough hide with the makeshift sponge without so much as flinching is heartbreaking. 

“I have forgotten…” his voice drifts off as he examines the night sky, eyes filled with distant, glass-like delight.

“Beautiful, aren’t they...?” 

“Your world is pretty,” he brings his gaze back to earth and to you. “But you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen so far.”

You almost freeze upon hearing that. His compliments always catch you off guard, but this time, something forbidden and long forgotten comes undone: a lost want, no, a need to hear such simple words of shallow praise.

“You do not scream... You do not run. Why?”

Your eyes are liquid, glass about to break as you set yourself on the task of scrubbing him clean. You refuse to get emotional in front of him: an initiate of the dark goddess, shedding tears when a horny man calls her pretty? What utter nonsense.

But then he grabs your wrist: not to seize back power, but to prevent you from escaping this fragile moment.

“You are different,” he agrees calmly, then releases you, but you reckon it’s mostly because he misses the soft rubs you were giving him. 

“Perhaps I’m crazy,” you breathe while looking at the damp curls on his chest.

Yes… That’s the only explanation for this madness. It has to be.

“Is that why you took me?” 

“I took you because you’re mine. I want you.”

“You can���t just take what you want,” you warn softly.

“Why not?” His head tilts a little to the side as he’s trying to make sense of you and the manners of your world. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

You lift your gaze and risk a look into his eyes, stripped from all facades as always. You even catch a passing wave of worry there: he had counted on you being as fascinated with him as he is with you. The hunger behind that want, the need to be something special to you, is a whole another issue that must wait until your head is more clear. Way more clear…

“Perhaps,” you confess.

“I have nothing to give you,” he shrugs, eyes looking slightly past you this time, out of shame or anxiety. It takes a while for you to understand he’s liking you to the goods at the market and thinks he’s expected to have money to be able to keep you.

“You don’t need to pay for me,” you smile, trying your best to disguise the soft amusement in your voice. His brows only furrow as he tries to calculate and think.

“I don’t understand the rules of this world,” he finally shakes his head. 

“I’ll teach you.”

For a while, he only looks on with fascination how you rub his arms and belly, basically massaging him with the wet moss. His eyes drift closed when you scrub the back of his neck, the stout erection only getting thicker under the cool water. You’re careful with his legs, not because you’re afraid he’s ticklish but because you try to avoid touching the huge cock already jutting up from happiness. It gives a few excited bounces when you wash his inner thighs, hopeful to get its needs satiated soon. 

“I can hunt for you,” he suggests. “Bring you food… Protect you.”

He’s visibly excited when figuring out a way to give you something in return. He wants to provide offerings for your company, your lore, and eventually, your cunt, too. You might be a virgin, but you’re not stupid: of course he wants the soft, wet prize between your legs. A pair of lovely tits to squeeze at night... Ears to groan hushed confessions into, thighs to nibble, bite and suck until you cry... 

“What do you think?” He asks, breath heavy from the bliss you’re already granting him by simply giving him a bath. “I could give you my heat. Please you...”

“You know how to please women?” 

“No. But you could teach me.”

The way he says it is not shy. Only tentative. A bear, walking on ice and hoping it would carry his weight. One wrong step and the ice will swallow him, spitting out his bones only in spring. 

And then…

“Do you know how to fuck?”

The ice holds, mainly because you’re too shocked to even slap or ridicule this man. His eyes bore into you with such unbridled greed that you have trouble keeping your precious pride intact.

“Of course,” you hear yourself whisper like it would be an insult to your intellect if you didn’t.

“Teach me,” he says, ever more greedily.

“I…”

Your jaw is left open, but not a word comes out. A strong palm closes around your wrist again, this time to bring you flush against him. The water laps at your skin, a distant crow cackles somewhere. Your hand is brought to his phallus, but he doesn’t have to wrap your fingers around it: you do it all by yourself, breath locked in your throat as you feel how hard and blazing he is.

“You want my cock,” he says, mouth only an inch from yours. “Don’t you...?”

You wet your lips – a mistake, because his half-lidded gaze darts to your mouth the instant your pink tongue lashes out. You’re in a predicament, but on the other hand, what else did you expect, taking your clothes off in front of a touch-starved bull?

“I’d give it to you happily,” he insists. “No female ever wanted to spread her legs for me.”

Or a leash. 

Your fingers tighten on their own, they mould around him. Like a bond…

“Really?” You breathe. “What fools they were...”

The cock gives a full throb inside your palm, exalted to be yours. But only a moment later, the dreaded Minotaur moves. 

You find yourself under him before you can even gasp for air: the soaked, hot body of a giant now pinning you on the grass and crushing you under it with ease. The weight of your error is fully pressed against you: he was never tamed, and you were a fool to think you could put him in chains.

The raw scent of earth and musk fills your nostrils, making the stars above you spin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, giving another rich pulse against your thigh. Gods, if he were throbbing like that inside you…

“You make my skin burn,” he growls into your ear, the heat of his skin now unbearable, the coarse hair prickling your skin from neck to thigh. “My loins, ache…”

“Are you a witch?” He asks, and you finally allow yourself to breathe.

If he only knew… But hexes and charms are of no use for you now: the only thing you can do is moan, apparently, as he dives for your neck, planting barbarous kisses on your skin.

Down, down, down he goes, pure avarice driving him to feast on every part of you. You’re too weak to stop him when he searches for the source of your intoxicating scent. Discovering it between your thighs, he dives nose-first into your sex, meeting your core with a hungry grunt.

Your back arcs with pleasure, your nails sink into his back: a funny thing to do when he’s already as close as can be. The trail of crude kisses leads him to your breasts, and you try to keep your whimpers in control, but a gasp erupts when he drags a hot tongue across your nipple. Massive palms close around your tits while you squirm in his hold: he doesn’t seem to be driven by the need to please you; rather, he wishes to study you first, examine how your body reacts to his groping. He leaves your breasts aching and sore, every bite and suck managing to make you wetter and wetter, your cunt screaming for attention by now.

“Gods...” you wriggle on the soft earthen bed, not expecting him to take you with his mouth first.

He withdraws, only a little, but his voice is surprisingly soft.

“Do I hurt you...?” 

“No… But this is not mating…”

“Even I know that much,” he says darkly, and grabs you by the waist, moves you around like a doll until you find yourself on your belly. 

He looks at you from between your thighs, demonic and keen. The broad shoulders force your legs wide apart when he’s seated there, waist-deep in the water, with you hauled to the shore like a siren.

Not a moment is wasted as he pulls you back to him by the hips: you’re drawn to all fours, a hot streak of cum dragging on the inside of your thigh from the cock that meets your skin. He grabs and steadies it with an annoyed grunt, and the fat tip is shoved straight into your folds, your nether lips parted with brute force almost. 

“Guide me.”

His voice is demanding, impatient as he drags the fat head up and down the entrance of your hole, coating his cock with your slick in the process. You wonder if it’s instinctual, if he knows that this is where he should poke and that it will hurt you less if he’s well-oiled. He’s about to rut you into oblivion the instant you tell him where to shove his cock, and the prospect only sends more sap flowing down your thigh.

“There…” you stutter when he finds it, the aching spot that’s leaking profusely. He pushes the head in, not by teasing but by bullying, almost forcing it inside from how tight and unreceptive you are.

“Tighter than my fist,” is his only comment, and it makes you shudder. “I will not last long…”

You wince from the burn, but the rest of it glides in like a dream, and suddenly you’re filled, to the capacity, one could say. He grunts just from the way your womanhood is hugging him, not sure what this foreign object inside you is – is it a good thing or a threat?

“Easy then,” you breathe a huff into the sweet night air, filled with fireflies and night birds who know nothing about the fucking you’re about to go through.

He doesn’t move – inside you, that is. Outside, he crawls forward until he moulds around you, heavy body enveloping you completely. The hairs on his thighs tickle the back of your legs, his chest scrapes your back just so as he demonstrates how you belong to him in every way. But when your cunt starts to squeeze him again, he swallows thickly.

“Does this feel good to you too…?”

You catch faint confusion and concern in his voice, astonished that such a soft, frail body like yours can take his cock just like that. Little does he know you’re still adjusting to his size, thanking all the gods that he doesn’t move yet.

“Yes,” you confess because it does feel good: his thickness inside you, stretching you both gently and violently, studying how it feels to be inside a loving, wet heat.

“Then I will fuck you every day,” his lips come to brush your ear. “Many times...”

You hear yourself whimper, more humble now than ever. No man would dare to take you on all fours, but here you are, like a bought bride about to get stuffed…

He withdraws a little, asks, “Like this?” when he returns with a rough, nasty thrust. The balls meet your mound, heavy on the tender nub you’ve flicked when you’re lonely, covering your mouth while you do it. Both your hands are planted on the ground now, your legs spread before this beast, cunt filled to the brim with his cock.

“Not so rough,” you warn, and he heeds your instructions to the letter until he’s moving in and out with a slow, delicious pace that allows you to feel every thick bump of him. Soaked now down to your thighs, the sounds of your mating is utterly sloppy and slick, and of course he’s curious.

“Are you always like this…?”

“Like… what,” you huff in between the slow, torturous thrusts.

“Soft,” he rasps. “Tight… Wet like rain.”

“No. It’s just when…”

“When you want to fuck?”

You whimper for an answer, mostly because he starts to slip from the agreed sluggish pace. His cock invades you with more urgency, chasing the eruption that must be generous from those thick balls that should belong to a horse.

“I knew it…” he says dreamily behind you. “Some women want to mate with bulls...”

He punctuates his newfound pride with a full, deep thrust, and you wince.

“You’re not a–”

“Keep telling yourself that, little maiden.”

He exhales a hot smile next to your ear, and you’re neck deep in love. Your mouth hangs open, your lids half closed and fluttering from the way he pounds into your poor, abused cunt. Heavy balls slap your swollen nub with careless abandon, making you squeeze his thickness every time he hits the end of you. His grunts become more animalistic with every thrust, and your cunt is a wild thing, leaking and weeping and throbbing until you fear there’s something wrong with you – no woman is supposed to be this needy for a beast…

I’m going to come… You realize in horror as the slick sounds of fucking overthrow even the coursing roar of the waterfall. The knowledge shoots your body full of dark, hot ink; it explodes inside your core like a liquid star, throbbing through your cunt currently being ploughed like you’re nothing but a needy, sloppy hole for him. You’re swimming in so much pleasure that it’s almost painful, the revelation some secret of the gods, no doubt. 

He growls when you moan, heavy arm snaking its way around your middle to keep you in place for him. The purr is eager and low, the rumble erupts from his chest like a thick, loving volcano, a statement of how perfect you are. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and rubs his scent all over you while fucking you through it, the divine rapture that leaves your throat dry from moans. 

He doesn’t need to be told what it means when you’re crying like that: he doesn’t need to be explained that his cock is giving you ample pleasure. It’s so desperate, how much he wants to both fuck and please you, just own you and fulfill you, that you start to shake, your frail body not capable of handling the orgasm he just gave you. 

Your strength fails, and you find yourself on your elbows, cunt even more exposed to him now, the cock pistoning into you with a relentless pace. He’s like a titan upon you, taking pleasure from your quivering, weak frame and the tight wet hole that belongs to it. You’re still in rapture when he starts to sound like broken, wounded man.

“You were made for me,” he huffs. “You were made...for me…”

His voice evaporates along with your thin, adoring mewls, just before he fucks himself over the edge. You can feel the hot, thick spurts, filling you as he roars into your hair, balls pressed flush against your sex, thighs meeting yours in a moment frozen in time. 

They can probably hear him all the way to the city, hear what a cunt like yours does to an invincible beast like him… But his cries are only met with silence; the night sky looks back with disinterest, the birds continue their songs when they notice it was only the roar of a mighty beast that filled the land. Before long, he’s groaning above you, using your hole more softly; loving it until the last drop is milked. 

When he stops, his whole body is trembling from release, but you’re not given a moment of reprieve. He forces you to the ground with him on your back, the rough, thick body never leaving yours. Coarse beard chafes your neck, his body trapping you completely under him, he even opens his jaw to take your shoulder between his teeth and bites you while his cock is still pulsing fat inside you. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants into your ear, angry, almost.

“Good,” you breathe a smile, but he’s not satisfied.

“You couldn’t get enough of me too… I noticed.”

“You gave me pleasure,” you agree. “Lots of it.”

“That was a lot of seed… I haven’t spilled in days.”

He huffs into your ear, astonished and proud that he could do such a thing. You feel him shift to take a better look at you, fingers arrive to graze your temple as if to make sure you’re real, as if having his cock inside you wasn’t enough proof of that. They’re a little shaky, a little uncouth, but the touch is gentle enough, and sweet.

He's boasting again perhaps, you don’t know, but you give him a soft laugh, notice how he stops breathing momentarily when hearing the bright sound.

“I am filled to the brim with you, yes… It will take a while before I can take more.”

“...You have other holes in you,” he offers after a while, quite seriously, in fact. 

“Get off me, you beast,” you huff and squirm to get out from under him, but there’s a luscious grin on your face, a smile that tells him you would more than approve of his obscene ideas later. 

“This feels good,” he murmurs into your hair. “This feels right...”

He allows you to leave from under him, only whines when his cock gets exiled from your cunt. He misses the wet heat like a newborn child misses the womb, but you need to recover from the recent invasion. Seed gushes out from your hole, making a mess on the ground as he pulls you against him, wanting to cuddle you next.

You wonder if he even knows what cuddling means as you lie there with a sticky mess between your legs and the heat of an entire sun on your cheeks. You smile into the coarse, sweaty body hair tickling your nose, deciding it doesn’t matter whether he knows or not: the most important thing is that he wants to hold you like this.

“Yes,” you smile. “This feels right…”

Something blooms in your chest. An odd flower, persistent and sweet. 

The stars above are cold but motherly as they look down on you two: born again into a world that doesn’t want either of you. The only things that accept you now are flowers, birds, the wind and the rain, bees and salty sea, but that’s aplenty. That’s more than the whole of Crete could ever give you.

“Are you thinking about your hero,” he asks above you.

“What? No…”

“Good,” he rasps, so softly now that you start to fear he’s about to cry.

You are more than capable of lying, but Theseus hasn’t crossed your mind in hours: the last time it did, the memory was received with loath and disdain. Thinking about Theseus while you’re draped all over your Bull, his seed flowing out of your womb... What a ridiculous idea. 

The reason for his hardly disguised anger is laid out plain before you: he's just jealous like any other man. Somehow, it makes you feel even more glowy inside.You’re my hero, you want to say, but have no courage to spill out the words. He was balls deep inside you mere moments ago, but telling him this intimate truth seems to be too much.

It never occurred to him, then, that you would enjoy copulating with him. He fucked you with the impression that you needed thoughts of another man to make you wet… That perhaps with the help of the image of Theseus in your mind, you were able to come with his cock inside you. 

“My Bull,” you whisper. “Tell me your name. You must have a name…?”

His breath stops only for a moment, the heart in his chest gives an arduous beat before he answers.

“Asterion.”

Starry one…

Of course.

All monsters have names, usually the opposite of what they’re claimed to be. His birth is in heaven, in the stars; he belongs to the company of heroes and gods.

“Asterion,” you whisper it out into the night air while the animal an man both find their new home in your arms. “Your birth is written in the stars. Did you even know…?”

“Does that make me a hero?” He snorts, more old wounds torn open right before your eyes. 

You wriggle yourself out of his hold, but he avoids your stare. You lift a hand to bring those beautiful Olympian eyes back to you.

“It makes you immortal.”

Perhaps you should’ve known he would be enticed with an apple instead of tethers and deals. Or with a palm, held out with no intent to strike… 

It’s lovely, how he blinks every time he’s confused. You’ve yet to see him shy, but if he ever is, this might be the moment… You even catch him swallowing under that wild facial hair, an awkward blob right after that blink when his birthright is acknowledged.

But even more dumbfounded he becomes when he realizes you’re truly and veritably admiring him. When you whisper it to him – you’re my hero – and watch something shatter in him that was supposed to wrench itself free, that’s when he’s truly granted divinity.

Perhaps it was all about becoming animal again, allowing the other to have a sniff. Baring your throat and embracing the instinct to trust. Marrying your wild soul… The deepest magic of all.

[ghost-bxrd]

Ghost, you are a fountain of incredible aus. I am impressed (and a little jealous). Do you have anything more on eldritch Jason or the Calvin Rose road trip au?

Awe thank you! I’m happy you’re enjoying all the crack content on here hehehe 💚💚

and boi do I have more ✨

Edlritch Jason 👁️

Jason has trouble keeping his true form in check when he’s excited! The happier/upset he gets, the more his outline and shape start to ooze

He has several maws with teeth that range from blunt to sharp needle points. In one of those maws hides a black hole

Jason is scared of space, funnily enough. Too empty and vast for him as he gets lonely pretty easily. He likes the crowded spaces teeming with life.

Jason loves learning new human things

Jason has no reaction to fear or joker toxin. Or any kind of substance that would impair a regular human’s health. Bruce finds out about that after he nearly loses his mind with worry following a widespread toxin attack in which Jason “forgets” his rebreather.

Pictures of Jason always end up looking a little displaced. There’s always some kind of glitch/blur/shadow in it that no amount of tech improvement can get rid of

Even though he’s eldritch at core, Jason’s human body can still be hurt, and he experiences pain just like any other human would

Calvin Rose road trip 🌹

Calvin finds Jason soaking wet and still in his funeral clothes and injuries sitting by the curb and is disturbed enough by the kid’s appearance to usher him back to his hideout.

For the longest time Calvin thinks Jason is called Bruce because that’s the only thing he will say

Taking Jason with him is a spur of the moment decision. Jason reminds him too much of himself, beaten and broken and locked away in a dog cage to die, and he looks so… lost. Calvin can’t bear to drive away from that without knowing what happens to the kid

As much as Calvin grumbles about it sometimes he’s exceptionally good and patient with Jason. He talks a lot and points out inane things even though he rarely (if ever) gets a reaction. (Calvin was lonely, not that he’s gonna admit that)

For some time Calvin thinks Jason used to be trained as a Talon when a few people try to mug them and Jason goes all Robin-training on them. He’s sure their little experiments went to far and the Court meant to dispose of him now that he’s “broken”

The first words Jason speaks that isn’t any iteration of Bruce’s name is “burger” (because he wants a burger). Calvin buys him ten because that’s literally the first time Jay has ever expressed an opinion on food.

Jason’s second word is “Dick”, and Calvin nearly chokes to death on his beer.

From there on it’s a steady improvement of Jay’s mental state, but that also means he starts getting night terrors as he remembers his death and the Joker. Once Calvin pieces together the broad picture he’s down to devising plans to dispose of the clown. He’s not making compromises where people who hurt children are concerned. Especially not if they’re family

Jason never tells Calvin about Batman or being Robin, he’s… kind of happy to be away from all of it. Especially after seeing Brucie Wayne and his new protege and Dick Grayson, a happy and smiling family, on the news together. And sightings of Robin making the front page of most magazines

Calvin knows Jason is hiding something from him, but hey, so is Calvin. All he knows is that his kid brother road trip buddy really doesn’t seem to like Gotham’s vigilantes. Something he can totally respect. And thankfully, Calvin is skilled enough to keep him safe even if the glorified furry and his acolytes were to come after Jay for whatever reason.

Jason’s favorite song to listen to while driving is “I know the end” by Phoebe Bridgers. Calvin starts out hating the song but is to endeared by how happy Jason gets (even in his early catatonic state) that he doesn’t say anything. It ends up being both their favorite song

[gay-dorito-dust]

aemond x reader: the reader reacting to aemond showing his sapphire eye

The subject of Aemond’s eye was ever a sore one, an Achilles heel one might say. There was nothing more unbecoming of a future king or warrior then to loose an eye to their kid nephew. Granted he was no more then a child when it happened. Yet there were certain people within the realm, who no doubt take the upmost pleasure in reminding the young prince of the day he’d rather forget. Making him feel as though he was lesser then a man, then a human being like his brother and nephews did when they heard that he had not claimed a dragon. Aemond could barely look at a pig, alive or dead, ever since without being rudely reminded that despite the amount of victories he’d later claim for his house, he’d still be viewed lesser then a man.

His torment only grew when he became old enough to wield a sword, visualising that the straw stuffed dummies in the courtyard were Lucaerys, Jacaerys and Aegon as he hacked away at them brutally; Refusing to take a break until he was satisfied with the disfigured state they were in. Yet the fire of vengeance burned ever brightly within him as it’s haunting voice called for blood. However those ill demands would have to be forcibly silenced for a time as it was Aegon’s coronation day and Alicent had made it apparent that nothing were to disrupt the usurpation of the throne. Aemond could care less for had his mother took the time to heed Aegon’s desire of not wanting to be king, they wouldn’t be running after his older brother like headless chickens.

“Aemond?” Your voice pierced through the fog that clouded his mind. Even though he claimed that everyone looked down on him for losing his eye, you however were the exception. You didn’t stop him from claiming Vhagar as you knew the importance a dragon of her stature held, you didn’t squirm away when seeing his slashed eye nor looked at him with pity. Instead you held his hand as the maesters stitched his wound close, tended to him when it would become aggravating during the healing process. Not once had you forfeited the facade Aemond believed you had put up in his presence. You didn’t see him less then a whole person but more so for bearing an injury that most would’ve cried at.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Aegon, he’s-“ “missing, I know I’m more then aware, given how his disappearance has sent everyone tits up.” Aemond said, abruptly cutting you off from finishing your sentence as he sheathed his sword. “Is that all you wished to tell me? If so then you may take your leave.” ‘He was doing it again.’ You thought to yourself, Aemond would act like an uncaring, cruel hearted bastard when old wounds were picked away at until they bled once more. Which lead to him lashing out at those he claimed to care the most for merely existing. His attitude had started to chip away at your patience with him overtime that you started to become as prone to anger as he was. “You can pack that attitude up right now Aemond Targaryen, I’ve already proven enough times to you that I am to be trusted, that you can rely on me to keep a secret. However, what I will not be as complacent of being is someone you can take unjust anger out on as you please.” You snapped, uncaring of whoever overheard as it was none of their business to eavesdrop in.

You’ve grown tired of the same old routine you and Aemond has built up until now. At first you couldn’t bring yourself to blame him but after a time it became an scapegoat for him to pass the unbridled anger he felt towards Lucaerys onto someone else. You didn’t have a backbone then but now you’ve forged one out of steel, one that didn’t break or bend as easily as the young prince wished it would. “Have care how you speak to me,” Aemond began, “for I am your prince-“ “a prince is nothing but a title that you could easily be stripped of one day Aemond!” Your cries cut him off, forcing him to be silent as you continued, “all I ask is that you treat me with the same respect that I have treated you with when no one else would but I guess that’s too much of a tall ask, even for someone like you.” You finished, not bothering to stay any longer then you would like to hear his venomous words as you departed back into the red keep. Leaving Aemond on his own in the courtyard to mull over the consequences of his actions today.

Aemond knew deep down that you were right, his actions were uncalled for and his treatment towards you was unsavoury at best, cruel and harmful at worst. Heaving a heavy sigh, he ran a hand over the side of his face that was concealed his eye behind an eyepatch before a thought darted across his head like a pesky fly. You claimed that he hold no respect or trust towards you but if the heated words you spoke were to be true, then what he was planning on doing shouldn’t come as much of a shock to you. Though that would sadly have to wait later tonight as he had the obligation to search the city for Aegon with Ser Criston Cole. Aemond could only hope that you were willing to wait that long.

The coronation was everything Alicent didn’t want to happen. Many innocent civilians died upon Rhaenys’ intrusion before she left, assumably to Dragonstone, with the warning roar of her dragon, Meleys. A declaration of war as many have chose to interpreted it, despite having the advantage of bathing the opposing family in a downpour of Dragonfire whenever she desired. In the end however she chose to spare them, whether or not that was the smartest decision was ultimately left for fate to decide. With that put aside for a later date, Aemond was already in your chambers by the time you gotten there. “What is it Aemond, haven’t finished chewing me up and spitting me back out yet?” You said, wanting nothing more then to rest your psyche for the mayhem that tomorrow would surly bring. Aemond didn’t say anything at first as he moved himself in front of you, holding your hands in his as he rubbed his thumbs back and forth gassing the skin there.

“I wish to apologise for my unsavoury treatment towards you earlier this morning,” he said, his singular eye darting across your face for any signs of repulsion but found fatigue instead, licking his lips, he continued, “I shouldn’t have dared snapped at the one person who had been nothing but of help to me when everyone showed me their backs. If I could spend the rest of my life making up for my wrongdoings, I would but I have high doubts that I’ll be living that long.” Aemond confessed as he pulled away from you, secretly smiling when you hands instinctively went to reach for him. “However in proposition, I wish to bestow upon you the biggest form of trust that I can come up with.” You were confused at first but when Aemond reached behind his head, you realised what he was going to do and without thinking your hands grasped his arms.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” You asked, not wanting Aemond to put himself in an uncomfortable situation just to make amends. The prince stared at you with steadfast determination, “I wanted to do this for a long time but wasn’t certain when the best possible time to do it considering the bases of our current situation.” He replied with his hands still poised at his eyepatch. You breathed a heavy sigh before letting go of his arms, “okay, whenever your ready.” Aemond only hummed in acknowledgment as he undid his eye patch, bringing a hand to the front of it as he removed it slowly to reveal that where his eye had once been was replaced by a beautiful blue sapphire. It’s stark contrast to the rest of him was hard to ignore but there was a beauty behind it like no other.

Your brain hadn’t the time to catch up as your hand had reached up to gently run your thumb just beneath it. “It’s beautiful.” You whispered softly, finding it hard to tear your eyes away from how the flames reflected within the sapphire as though to show you Aemond’s soul. “You don’t have to lie to save my feelings y/n.” Aemond muttered, knowing how he looked but as he was about to move away and put the patch back on, you stopped him by hold his face in your hands. “I’m not lying Aemond, I truly think it looks beautiful on you.” Aemond’s gaze softened as he brought his hands to yours, leaning his forehead against yours, closing his one eye whilst the sapphire reminded glued on your face. “Doesn’t that scare you?” He asked, not wanting to ruin this perfect moment. You smiled, rubbing your nose against his, “your beauty never, ever scared me Aemond, not even one bit.”

[ruyakasunshine]

Formula one has some of the most insufferable fans I've ever seen (and this is coming from someone who's been in Kpop fandoms), so I'm gonna type a couple of reminders for y'all :

Max is not ruining the sport by being "too good". I honestly don't understand how people can have the same reaction whenever someone is actually good at the sport (e.g. Hamilton during his prime days), and never learn. He's not going to start losing just to entertain you (and that wouldn't work anyway, he DNF'd in Australia and the race still sucked).

You should be happy enough to witness the making of one of the biggest names in F1, because he will for sure be a considered a legend in the future (if that's not the case already).

The whole 'Hamilton is washed' narrative is starting to become annoying. You know, even as someone who hasn't been into the sport for long enough to remember his prime days, I can call you out on how baseless this narrative is. A seven-times world champion doesn't forget how to drive over the course of a season, obviously there is something that is going on behind the scenes, and his sudden move to Ferrari is only a proof of it.

Likewise, you guys need to drop the "Ferrari fired the wrong guy uwu" narrative. Firstly, Carlos wasn't fired, they decided to not renew the contract with him. This happens all the time, and we don't even know all the reasons behind this decision. This is a sport, not a boyband, they don't owe each other eternal fidelity for the fans or something.

Ferrari saw the opportunity of signing The Lewis Hamilton (which; like it or not, the guy is a legend), and took it. And, as Max himself said it, it isn't too surprising that they re-signed Charles and not Carlos, considering that the first has been more consistent throughout their career as teammates. He had chances at the championship, and could have new chances in the future with the right team orders (and with the maturity he's gained over these years).

Finally, Carlos will most likely have a seat in 2025, considering that he is a good driver and that most of the seats for next years aren't taken yet. Stop crying under each instagram and twitter posts of ferrari, stop bringing down Charles at every opportunity (seriously, hearing you talk you'd think the guy is finishing at the end of the grid each race and not within the top 5 at the very least since last year), and start cheering on their last season as teammates instead.

Overall, fans need to learn to whine less, be more respectful (drivers are human beings who deserve basic respect, I can't believe I need to remind this in this day and age), and appreciate the sport more.

[osarina]

Hellooo,

So, it's not really a request, just kinda? Idk, i just want to share this little idea with you and you can do with this anything you want!!

So reader and adazai are dating for a while rn and they are happy and all and dazai decides that he wants to propose reader. He has the ring and all planned out. But before he could, reader is sent to a mission and dazai be like: "okay, i'm gonna wait til she is back."

The only problem is that she isn't back in a good shape :') Something went wrong on the mission, there were stronger ppl than reader and the ada obviously didn't know abt it (let's just say that ranpo didn't know abt it too for the plot, okay? :')) and they all freak out and everything. Reader is sent to a hospital (yes, yosano's ability doesn't work on her. No i don't know why and how. It's just ✨plot amour✨)

But anyway, reader gets better and wakes up from her coma. But! She lost her memory. So when she finally wakes up and dazai is holding her hand while half asleep and the others are here too and when they notice that she is awake she just be like: "Huh??? Who are you all??"

And dazai of course heartbroken. The love of his live, his reason to live, his soon-to-be fincée doesn't remember him?? That's the end of the world. But ofc he doesn't show it that his world crumbled over, instead he tries to win over reader's heart again. And it's all fluffy through reader's recovery. Ooooo and i have this very very very cute scene in front of me.

Imagine: Dazai and reader are sitting on a rooftop, it's after some time when reader finally remembers her name, age, family, job etc (expect dazai, we love angst :p) so the basic things and there's a moment when she says that: "My mind may not remember you, but my heart could never forget."

And it's just shows that how domestic are they really that even if tragedies try to force them away from each other, their heart, their soul will always find the way back bc you only find true love once. And the right person (or people) will always came to you (i'm delulu.)

But let's not forget abt dazai and his self-blaming tendencies. My man here would be so crushed that he couldn't save his beloved. So maybe, at first, he wouldn't try to make remember their relationship. After all, if the only person he loved romentically forgets about him then that must be fate, no? A reminder that he doesn't qualified to be called human, so ofc he shouldn't enjoy such a human things as love. That he should cherish the time that you two spent together but should never reach out for you. After all, he might get his dirt on your freshly started new life. And he also wasn't sure that you would even want him with all his mistakes, inperfections and that ugly, broken soul of him.

So i think reader has to make some moves first too. Just from instinct. Bc loving him is like a second nature to her. But aftet reader defeats dazai's self-sabotaging attempts, the cutesy recovery would start <33

OH MY GOD I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. Someone should check this out bc my love for him is starting to get a little unhealthy 💀

Anywayyyy i wish you the loveliest, most beautiful day ever bc you deserve it. And again, feel free to ignore this rant, no pressure <333 i'm just so down bad for him, ughhh. I want to squeeze him so bad <33

Also, if it's not a big problem, can i be 🍄 anon? If it's taken then 🎶 anon?

Much, much love!!!

(Pls ignore the spelling and grammar mistakes, i'm running on 4 hours of sleep each day this week and english is my 2nd language)

AHHHHHHHH NONNIE UR SO IN MY BRAIN I'VE BEEN DYING TO WRITE AN AMNESIA FIC FOR DAZAI. the way i was going about it, i was thinking maybe we could do an ability user that targets reader and their ability causes reader to completely lose memory of the most important person in their life ... except this was going to be set pre-relationship but they were both sooooo clearly in love with each other but neither wanted to make the first move. so reader would come into work like usual and nothing seems wrong until she sees dazai and she's like ??? who are you and dazai is just CRUSHED and the whole fic is set around him trying to hunt down this ability user to make reader's memories come back but it's like they've vanished off the face of earth. eventually he comes back to the office when he gives up because he literally CAN'T find this ability user and then we follow reader re-falling in love w dazai and dazai self sabotaging because he's dazai

I WISH YOU THE MOST LOVELY BEAUTIFUL DAY EVER NONNIE I ADORE YOU

[hekateinhell]

I was wondering what your thoughts are on this. A lot of people see a vampire biting (without consent) a metaphor for rape. Like when Lestat is turned and the ball scene. Armand was seemingly attempting a hook-up. He's maybe using mind control because Lestat is somewhat incoherent. He's terrified because it reminds him of Magus. He calls it an unforgivable lie. Where do you think this metaphor ends? Do they (metaphorically) rape mortals when they kill them or is that different? Thanks！

Hi! 🖤

So I think it's going to be a two-part response here because it's an interesting question and I want to do it justice. Now, this is what Lestat says in TVL:

I wanted him [Armand] to beg. I wanted him to give me that powerful voice full of lies and cunning, the voice that had made me believe for one pure and dazzling instant that I was alive and free and in the state of grace again. Damnable, unforgivable lie. Lie I'd never forget for as long as I walked the earth.

This is the unforgivable lie! The illusion Armand created that let Lestat believe with his whole heart and soul "I [Lestat] could get away this time. I had another chance. The wheel had turned full round", but of course it wasn't real, and that's what hurt Lestat the most.

That being said, let's address the metaphor because it comes often enough in VC. Usually between two vampires — the most explicit examples would be Armand saying he wants to rape David in TVA, and Lestat ruminating over the violence of his creation (which mirrors David's) in Blood Canticle:

[...] immortals who think they want the Dark Blood perish infinitely more easily than those of us who never asked for it. Perhaps the anger of the rape carries us through for centuries.

Your question was: "Do vampires metaphorically rape mortals when they kill them?" and I would have to say, yes, they do!

Because when we're thinking about metaphors, allegories, and the different ways that language is used, it's so important to put it into context or we're going to lose the nuance completely. I discussed this with my friend @somevagrantchild, who's not just an obsessive Anne Rice fan but also someone who's been studying vampire media for a very long time, and they made some excellent points in response to your question that I'm going to directly quote below!*

They are violating and taking from the mortals without consent; it’s a general vampire allegory for all vampires since the beginning of time. Anything not consensual = rape. If a vampire hypnotizes a human to drink from them so that the human enjoys it, it’s still rape.

No human ever consents to be killed. Even like the suicidal people Armand draws to him still aren’t consenting. They don’t have enough knowledge to consent, killing a suicidal person doesn’t make it consensual. The only way would be if the human was like, “I understand you are a vampire, please kill me sir.” The consenting to death would be seeking out the vampire themselves and making the conscious choice; suicide means deciding when you die. If they’re suicidal but haven’t killed themselves yet, then killing them before they make that choice is still violating them.

Rape especially applies to vampires (more than other types of non consensual murder) because of the intimacy of it, the way they’re violating that person's inner self by drawing out their memories and private feelings, also the bodily fluids going from one body into another (as opposed to stabbing someone and their blood just spilling on the floor).

Examples in literature: At the very beginning of vampire fiction with Lord Ruthven seducing innocent maidens; Dracula just snuck in their room and attacked while they were asleep in bed but Ruthven was seducing them personally, and all adaptations of Dracula have him being much more seductive. Carmilla, too, sneaking into Laura’s bed and feeding on her breasts in the middle of the night. The whole penetrative aspect makes the rape metaphor more applicable than it is to other types of murder/violence.

*touched up for grammar and continuity from Discord.

Hope that answers your question and thank you so much @somevagrantchild for lending me your brain for this one! I want to devour it. ♥️

[xenaisnumber1]

Legend of Korra Rant incoming so buckle in

Every time I attempt to rewatch the series, I'm reminded yet again that Mako ruined the series. Any scenes with him in it is ruined because of what an emotional abusive sack of shit he is and because I'm reminded that people still think this soulless garbage is a hero.

Let's go through the reasons for why he's garbage.

He doesn't give a fuck about his brother. People defend him using the fact he took care of his brother after his parents died to pretend he's an amazing dude and that him and Bolin have an amazing relationship. So amazing that he warns Bolin off of Korra because he was jealous despite Mako rejecting her then when he finds out about Bolin having a date with her, he confronts Korra as if she did something wrong. They kiss and when Bolin sees them, he then blames Bolin for having feelings for Korra. Then when he finds out that Bolin told Asami about the kiss he blames his brother. Man he's such a loving brother isn't he? FYI Bolin still acts like he's a great brother through the entire series. Not to mention how the trash bullies Bolin the entire series. He continuously dismissed Bolin's feelings to make himself look better, he's always screaming at Bolin about something like when Bolin is using Pabu to free the trash's useless ass. Bolin is the only useful one of the two. His earthbending and later lavabending actually helps throughout the series unlike Mako's useless firebending and the ligteningbending the writers forget about until they need to make him look heroic. Asami makes better use of electricity than the trash does. Take the trash out and you lose nothing but horrid abusive relationships between Mako and Asami and Mako and Korra. What a loss that would be. There's also the fact that they had a funny, sweet guy that was interested in Korra and the writers put her with the abusive trash who treats his brother like trash. Gotta love those healthy heterosexual relationships am I right? Can't have two women kiss on scene but we can have Mako emotionally abuse the female characters because he's a cis het dude and can get away with it.

Now let's go to Korra. That sack of shit is trash to Korra the first time they meet for no reason at all and when Korra expresses interest in him, he rejects her. But when she has a date with Bolin, the trash attacks her for it as if he has any say in anyone she dates. But then the sack of shit starts to date Asami. So apparently he doesn't want to date Korra but he'll make damn sure no one else will date her. She's nothing but a possession to him. But do you know what really made me want to explode. When Korra finds out that Asami's father was a terrorist, the heartless garbage had the balls to accuse Korra of being so petty and jealous over his worthless ass that she would accuse a man of being a terrorist. And when it was revealed she was right, the spineless sack of shit deflected responsibility yet again by saying it was hard to believe that the man whose wife was killed by a firebender would hate benders. And the shit writers want us to believe that he was such a genius they needed him to become a detective to make him relevant the rest of the series. Oh and the horror show isn't done yet. The piece of garbage that was pretending to care about Asami when he could use her to attack Korra suddenly doesn't give a fuck about comforting her after she learns her father is a terrorist. Korra has to tell his bitch ass to go comfort his girlfriend. And there are actually brain dead people who try to blame Korra to defend this soulless monster. That's why I automatically dismiss anyone's opinions if they claims Mako is a good person.

And oh my God what he did to Asami. She is one of the kindest people ever and that piece of human filth treated her like she was nothing. She was nothing to him but a weapon to manipulate Korra into staying with his manipulative ass and once he was done with her he threw Asami aside like she was nothing. He's always screaming at her like any time she's driving. He thinks he knows who to drive better than the woman who races cars for fun. And she always end up saving his worthless ass while he gets his ass handed to him. Anytime Korra's around, this snake had his hands all over her right in front of Asami without giving a damn about how he's hurting her. Because he's never given a shit about her. Oh and they still do this in the final two seasons. They have Korra hug the trash heap while Asami is right there. But I guess since they're not dating they have him keep doing the exact thing he did while he was emotionally abusing them when they were dating. And his narcissistic ass had the balls to go to Asami expecting her to heat up the tea for the woman he's obsessed with despite him actually being able to create fire. It's so petty and heartless and it's obvious he just loves to hurt Asami. Because the only respect I'll give the trash is not believing he's stupid enough that he doesn't know that every action he does hurts Asami. And she still allowed this snake to stay at her place because he had no place to live. And she allowed his family to stay instead of punishing them for what he did to her. She's one of the most forgiving people ever.

And the fact he suffered no consequences at all for what he did infuriates me. Asami and Korra immediately forgive him and the shit writers have them act like they need his useless ass along to help find airebenders. And they yet again try to make us believe that Bolin needs his trash brother to come with them because they need him. And of course he ends up being useless the entire season until they need to make him look heroic in the final fight scene.

And they have Korra talk to this trash at the end so he can cry that he'll have his back. He's never had her back and he's always been garbage. But the writers prove they are shit writers by doing what shit writers do. Force the characters to act like the trash is a good person by telling you he is when his actions show otherwise and by writing scenes specifically to try to make him look heroic to get people to forget what he did because they're lazy and couldn't actually put in effort to redeem him. They also couldn't have given us a final scene between Lin and Korra to parallel their first scene together to show how their relationship changed to one of caring? Oh that's right, they needed to force the trash on us to make us believe that he has a deep relationship with the woman he claimed falsely accused a man of terrorism because she was jealous he was with Asami. They have such a deep relationship don't they?

The fact that Su Beifong gets more shit than this garbage pisses me off. Idiots act like she's evil because she made a mistake that hurt her sister as a teenager even though she's shown she's changed after 30 years and actively tried to make amends. But the trash abuses the female character for two entire seasons then never apologizes and refuses to even be around them because he's spineless and they act like he's a hero because the writers stop reminding you what garbage he is every scene. It really is pathetic how easily people forgave the trash just because the writers stop reminding them he's trash. That's why anyone who likes Mako but hates Su isn't worth listening to. Because unless they are spoon fed that a character is good by the other characters they can't determine what a good character looks like. Lin and Su actually care about each other even if they have fought. Mako has always been trash to Bolin and has never apologized for anything he's done but people act like Mako's a caring big brother.

And he's trash to everyone in general. Every sentence out of his mouth is the most negative shit and he's the most unbearable character to watch for those who don't immediately forgive him because they want to bang him. He's trash to Wu but people think that was hilarious because Wu was selfish when we first met him and he hits on Asami and Korra. And yet he didn't treat them like trash like Mako does. And Wu actually has an arc. He actually cares about people once he pulls his head out of his ass unlike Mako.

And what infuriates me is that the writers acknowledge the horrid love triangle in season 4 but played it off as a joke. They had the asshole act smug as he's telling the story because he manipulated Korra and Asami into fighting over his worthless ass. Then in the reunion he whines that Korra didn't write to his narcissistic ass when she was experiencing PTSD. Then the writers had him attacking Asami and Korra over and over again for everything they were doing even going so far as to asking Korra if he should trust her Avatar feelings only to acknowledge that they're doing the same thing that they did during season 1, getting on each other nerves ie Mako being abusive to Korra. And the writers portrayed this garbage as a hero.

The writers ruined this show with their desperate need to make us like this horrid character. I can't watch a scene with the trash without wanting to deck him. I have to subside on fanfics now or just not watch any scene with that trash in it. I don't trust anyone who wrote that trash to write anything ever again.

[iwonderwh0]

The day androids got taken away for deactivation, hundreds of kids with household androids cried themselves to sleep, mourning a family member.

They got attached. Hank too got attached.

Before today, he thought of the revolution as an overall positive event - something worth celebrating, or something he celebrated, at least. For him it symbolised change, a beginning of something better. It was only now that the true scale of the tragedy caught up with him, making him aware of how many android lives it actually cost. Only now it clicked with him how many of them were still mourned, and how, of all people, it was mostly kids who truly missed them.

Throughout December, he saw the memorials with old broken smartphones lined up in tight rows and columns, each for one killed android whose life was meaningful enough for someone to honour it with flowers and candles. And back then, he could never understand why were those flowers so crappy-looking and messy, mostly artificial or folded out of paper as origami. He used to wonder if it was another part of a symbolism - "artificial flowers for artificial people". Now it was obvious that the reason for that was much simpler: it was mostly kids who brought them. Most of them had no means to bring real flowers, so they folded them out of paper.

For the first time, Hank felt embarrassed for never having contributed anything to that memorial when it was still around. He should have brought some flowers, the real ones. Maybe he could even succeed in finding his old smartphone with dead battery and use it as a part of the memorial – if not for someone he personally knew, maybe for some of the deviants he saw last November, perhaps the one who killed himself in a holding cell. He didn't *know* him, didn't even consider him to be a person then, which, however, doesn't mean he could ever forget about him or his case. Arguably, he was the only person who kept thinking about him almost daily months after he died.

Hank didn't lose any close friends or family members the way others did that last November, though. The android he cared most about was still alive, now sitting right beside him on a passenger seat, waiting for Hank to start the engine, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. Hank noticed him always fiddling with something, be it a small object or his own clothes that he kept adjusting even if it was perfectly fine the way it was before. He would rub his palms together as if struggling to keep them warm or other times he'd tap the table or other surface he had around with his fingers in some irregular rhythmic patterns that Hank sometimes wondered was originated from some songs he happened to hear, maybe even among those Hank played in his presence himself.

Fiddling was one of those things Connor always did, even before turning deviant. Something so human yet small enough to be completely ignored, or, like in Hank's case, only think of it as something, android did to annoy him personally. How come he never gave it a second thought back then, never wondered why those completely pointless actions were even there? Would it change anything if he did? Would it provided him with enough evidence to answer his question before he had a chance to ask it with a gun? He wished the answers to all those questions were 'yes', and yet it was only now, months later that he actually paid attention to Connor doing any of that and questioned why. Why did he fail to see the significance of it earlier?

As he pondered that, Connor crossed his hands over his chest, deep in thought, while his fingers tapped out a rhythm on his left sleeve. Was he even aware of doing that?

Suddenly Hank felt the urge to touch him. Confirm his presence, and remind him of his own. It took a conscious effort to suppress that urge. Instead Hank cleared his throat and said.

"I remember when kids wanted to become pop stars or video bloggers. Never occurred to me that some kids today might want to be androids."

Connor stopped the tapping and eyed him.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know... It's just weird. That's all."

Connor shifted in his seat, turning to face Hank.

"Who did you want to become?" he asked, "As a kid."

"Not a police lieutenant, that's for sure."

"That's not the answer to the question I asked."

"And you're gonna make it my problem."

Hank could almost feel being scanned as android tilted his head slightly.

"Am I bothering you?"

"Always."

Connor grinned at him, and Hank felt the corners of his own mouth rising as well at the sight.

[ashessonfire]

hello lovely!! would it be possible to write smth w wylan?? like, sweet little headcanons abt him in a relationship!! thank youu <3 love ur fics

Dating Wylan Van Eck - Headcanons <3

- Pairing - Wylan Van Eck x Reader (gender neutral)

A/N - Hi Hi!! One exam is down, only four more to go! Very soon my other works will be completed, but i missed writing so much, so here are some of my sweet headcanons for Wylan. I hope i have done him justice in this, as I am normally a Kaz type of girl. I hope i have done you proud anon <3333

Reminder - my requests are always open, please keep sending them! <3

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The most attentive partner you could ever find, he will pay you 100% of his attention no matter the topic

He never wishes for you to experience the loneliness and isolation he felt with your father, EVER

As a result of this, expect the sweetest and most heartfelt gifts to be hurriedly placed into your hands before he runs off to distract himself from the blush blooming across his face

Every single present you receive from him will be extremely intricate and personal, remembering childhood stories you've recalled, or things you wished for years ago

"I know you said it about six months ago, but..."

He does not forget nor ignore a single detail about you

Despite his sheepish nature, the longer you're with him, the more adorable outbursts occur

By this I mean sudden bursts of bubbling confidence as he explains something he's passionate about, or witty jokes he's thought of

"Well, actually, did you know that technically, humans can create their own venom? So, it starts with....."

Although he may be embarrassed and retreat into himself afterwards, any sign of encouragement from you would melt his heart, prompting him to keep opening himself up to you

Another thing that would simply make his heart implode, is if you took interest in his passions - allowing him to teach you simple chords on the piano, or help him produce a few basic chemical reactions down in the lab

Just showing care for the things he adores would result in him losing his mind, since very few people in his past had taken any true interest in him, at all

He would be the most gentle and patient teacher ever, placing soft kisses on your knuckles when you succeeded in getting a melody correct on the piano, or a peck on the cheek when you have accomplished anything

In terms of love languages, I am certain that Wylan actually uses all of them... <3

Although he can be nervous to express his feelings through words, he is a poetic and creative soul, so given time to grow comfortable with you, whispers of "I love you," or "I'm so lucky to have found you," would slowly slip into conversations

Quality time is a given for Wylan, since he's never had someone who wants his company for long, again wishing to shelter you from the pain he has experienced himself - expect many quiet evenings by the fireplace where he crafts melodies on the flute, and you bake or read in comfort

Once time has gifted the boy more confidence, expect his touch to increase swiftly, never wanting to let you go - soft brushes of your shoulders as you walk side-by-side, fingers gently interlocked, brushes of stray locks as the breeze shifts them...

He would do anything for you, no matter what you ask of him, so always expect your home to be spotless, your chores already completed when you turn to do them - with Wylan its very unlikely you will need to do much at all, he is so attentive

As mentioned earlier, gift giving is definitely one of his favorite ways to express his love, clearly portraying his heart to you when his words may fail him

In terms of what he wants and needs in a relationship? I think his standards would be on the floor, merely needing your presence in a room to comfort him

However once he realizes that you reciprocate his acts of love? Well I think he'd be completely at your mercy by that point

Although it may take some time to stop his fretting and insecurities, once he accepts that he doesn't just have to give, but he can receive love back, he is the happiest he has ever been in his life

With your love and affection, he would absolutely thrive, becoming a more confident and strong version of himself - slowly stripping him of his nervous behaviour and allowing his true self to shine more often

To me, a relationship with Wylan would be a gentle, affectionate, and peaceful experience - both partners being showered in love constantly

Being with him is like having a personal ray of sunshine, who would express his love for you in any way he can <3

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p.s ~ any reposts help me infinitely!! ^^

[awkwardgtace]

829 Returned

hey hey managed to get overbearing done just in time! so day 7

Ryder is back home with his family after being set free from his place as a weapon. It hasn't been as easy as he hoped.

829 Returned

I was a weapon.

Ryder was reminded of that every morning as he woke up. When he faced the sword that only he could lift. The one he’d used his old clothes to tie it in its sheath.

I am not one.

He almost constantly had to remind himself of that. He was back in the only home he’d ever had. That fit him when he left. Surrounded by a family no bigger than his fingers. It felt foreign and familiar at the same time.

My entire body can be one.

The idea slammed into him every time he forgot to duck under a door frame. He’d grown a few feet bigger than they expected. The predictions were wrong and he couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t stop wondering what other predictions about him were wrong too.

I inspire fear like one.

Those thoughts screamed in his mind every time Vitus flinched from his shadow. As much as he tried to hide it, Ryder always noticed. He noticed when Vitus dodged behind something as he walked by. The scars of what he’d nearly done wouldn’t fade.

I am as strong as one.

At least once a day Rhys or Felix would insist he pick them up. They said he had to get used to them again. At first the determination helped Ryder feel as if he belonged. Then he noticed the changing bruises on their skin. Some parts faded, others fresh. All caused by him.

I sound like one.

Vitus would try to make him talk. Ryder’s voice kept a gravel aspect to it. As if he was always growling. They didn’t know what the scientists had done to silence him. It was easier not to speak. He hated the way the humans he cared about jumped from his voice.

I am seen as one.

It was difficult to live as if life was normal. He was larger than other giants. At least a full head if not more. They avoided him. Humans did too. It was obvious the few times Felix insisted Ryder go with him to a store. If he entered the clerks would hide until he left. He caught on the first time Felix waited thirty minutes to buy what he needed.

I committed the sins of one.

Ryder struggled to face Dabria. From the moment he returned she was kind to him. She would do her best to make him meals. Spent days working somewhere near him. Always in the same room. Always somewhere he could see. It was obvious she didn’t know that he’d spent years trying to kill her husband. That he almost killed Rhys and Felix. He didn’t deserve her kindness. It could drown him.

I would never forget I was one.

It was an impossible dream. He didn’t belong. The family he’d once known tried their best, but it couldn’t last. Dabria would need to learn the truth one day. Rhys and Felix couldn’t live with bruises on their bodies all the time. Vitus deserved peace after the torture Ryder put him through. There was a time limit. One he would enforce himself if no one else would.

I should live as one.

He had to leave. It was the only option available. It would give the people who gave him a life the freedom they deserved. A weapon didn’t belong with others. It belonged hidden away. Where no one could abuse its power. Ryder accepted that.

I won’t forget the past as one.

He would never lose his history again. Vitus gave him a name. Rhys taught him to laugh. Felix gave him someone to rely on. Dabria showed him that family was something you chose. He’d repay them for all of that. It was easy to prepare what he needed. Especially when it was just his sword. All he had left was a letter to tell them the truth. Tell them why he made his decision.

Hours passed as he stared at the paper. Statement after statement that echoed in his head sat crossed out. The thoughts that he couldn’t share about himself. He would have to act as though he’d been sleeping soon. Before anyone checked on him and found what he was doing. He couldn’t though, not yet.

I am not anyone’s son.

A gasp next to him made him freeze. No one else was usually awake at this time. It was always Ryder alone with his thoughts. Slowly, he turned to see Dabria staring at the paper he’d written on. The words were the size of her, impossible for a human to miss. Her hands were held against her mouth.

Ryder put the pen he used down. Tried to come up with anything to say. Dabria started to shake. He opened his mouth a few times, words wouldn’t come. It broke him when she finally looked up at him. Tears were in her eyes. She shouldn’t have even been awake. He moved his hand, but she stepped back in response. He froze up.

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracked. “I saw the light, I was worried.”

He shook his head. His own voice would sound awful next to her. She was so close, he didn’t want to speak. There had to be something he could do. Dabria smiled at him. The tears in her eyes made it crush him. Ryder slid his hand towards her. She stepped back again.

“I shouldn’t have been on top of you so much,” she said. Ryder’s heart shattered. “It’s been years. Of course you don’t see everything the same as before. I’ve been overbearing haven’t I?”

Ryder shook his head. He was terrified to speak. Once again he tried to move closer to Dabria. Her acceptance had been a blessing and curse for him. It made him feel like a person. Something that he didn’t believe he deserved. Not after the pain he caused the family she so readily added him to.

“I’ll… leave you to what you were doing,” Dabria let out a pained laugh. 

This time Ryder lifted his hand. Shot it towards her. Surrounded Dabria with his fingers. She didn’t panic. Of course fear froze her as pain had frozen him. He slowly started to drag his hand towards himself. She stepped forward as his skin pressed against her back. He didn’t stop until Dabria was standing on the words she’d read.

“Ryder?” she asked. Her voice still cracked. It had to be fear, but he had to speak. As much as he hated his own voice.

“You’re not overbearing,” he whispered. Reluctantly he pulled his fingers away. He was the overbearing one. He’d always known that. His presence alone changed everything. 

The life before those scientists found them was peaceful. He believed he could be their son despite his size. Despite what he’d become some day in the future. With all his sins he couldn’t pretend he belonged anymore. 

“Ryder,” she said. He knew that tone of voice. A gentle way of chastising him. It made his eyes burn. He didn’t deserve anything gentle anymore. “You can be honest with me. It’s ok if I’m trying too hard. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

Ryder lowered his head. Rested his forehead on the edge of his hand. Dabria reached up to touch his nose. Just like in the past. The times she got him to open up. When she talked to him about his interest in knights and heroes. Asked about his time in the labs before Vitus showed up.

“...I can’t stay anymore,” he said. His eyes burned, but he pushed the feeling down. Dabria… his mother’s hand ran across his skin.

“Why is that?” his mother asked. A small laugh. Worry, but the crack from pain was gone.

“Because of what I am.”

“Ryder Kamia!” 

The shout made him jump. He sat up in response. His mother crossed her arms. The glare she gave made him feel small. Too similar to the past. A past that he couldn’t make his present. Before he left he’d managed to face her the whole time. Now he turned away. The memory of the shocks for disobedience were fresh in his mind.

“You are a person and a member of this family. I don’t care how much has changed,” his mother was too kind. “Even if you don’t believe it, you're still my son that won’t ever change. I’ll give you all the space you need, but I won’t stand by while you act like you’re just a tool or a weapon or whatever else is in your head.”

Ryder closed his eyes. He curled his hand into a fist, careful to avoid pulling his mother into his grasp. Some of that was true. He wasn’t a tool or a weapon. While his mother lived in the dark she’d still see him as a person. As a family member.

“I’m not a weapon,” he whispered. It sounded angry. The change in his voice made him sound angry and cruel. It suited him. “I’m a monster.”

“Ryder,” his mother said. He shook his head again. She couldn’t change that.

“They were making me try to kill Vitus. I almost killed Rhys and Felix. We came back and no one mentioned it. They all said they would tell you, but they must not have. I can’t pretend I’m not what I am or let you stay in the dark…” He took a deep breath to prepare himself. Opened his eyes to face her. “I’m a monster.”

His mother stared at him with wide eyes. The fear other humans had would happen. She’d run and he’d leave. It would be impossible for anyone to catch up to him. At least from the family he couldn’t keep. It would make this place safer too. Something he desperately wanted.

It felt like eons before she started to laugh. Ryder bit his lip. His mother could be odd and laugh when she’s afraid. Except she backed up to his fist. Placed her hands on his finger. Moved them back and forth, back and forth. It was soothing, and made it worse.

“Oh, Ryder,” she sighed. He swallowed all the words in his mind. He’d spoken more than enough, inspired enough fear. “Of course I knew what happened.”

His eyes went wide. She turned back to look at him.

“Rhys and Felix couldn’t hide the bruises they came home with,” she offered a smile. “Especially Rhys with the strange ways he sleeps. Vitus told me everything after we’d gotten you a bit settled.”

“Then why accept me?” he whispered. “I…”

“Because you’re still my son. I knew a lot more about how those people worked before Vitus saved you. It’s why we wanted to give you a name, you needed to know you were a person.”

He opened his mouth, but his mother shook her head. She waved her arms towards herself. A call for him to come closer. As much as he didn’t believe he deserved it, he did as she wanted. Moved his head down until she tapped his skin to stop. Gentle strokes against his face made his eyes burn again. This time a tear fell out.

“No matter what happened, you all came home. My three sons and my husband,” she said. Ryder blinked to clear the burn, but more tears fell free. “It won’t be normal right away, we all know that. Things have changed, but not the fact you’re still a part of this family. Talk to us Ryder.”

Ryder closed his eyes again. Tears kept falling. He wanted to argue against it. He couldn’t be family anymore. Not after what he did. He was a monster. That’s all he’d ever be. Worse than a weapon, at least weapons were controlled. Except he wanted to believe it was true too.

“It’s ok sweetheart,” his mother whispered. “Let it out, I was so worried you were hiding how upset you were. Guess I was right. We’ll take everything slow Ryder, find our new normal. We’re all here for you. Why don’t you give it a bit more time before you decide you can’t stay? If you still think it’s best then talk to us, we’ll respect what you want to do. Although I’d much rather you stay here if you’ll let me be a little selfish for a while.”

I was a weapon.

His tears kept falling. Birds outside started to chirp.

I feel like a monster.

Hands kept moving against him. He leaned a bit further down. His mother did her best to hug him. Her full weight against him.

I can’t forget my sins.

In the distance he could hear doors opening. Everyone else was starting to wake up. He shook as a full sob escaped him. The force made his throat burn. His mother didn’t move.

I hurt them.

“Ryder?!” Rhys’s voice. Crashes followed.

“Did something happen?!” Felix shouted. He could hear the quiet hum of the two talking to each other. They were always loud.

I scare them.

He tried to pull away, but his mother’s hands gripped his skin. They’d check on him. As soon as he heard panting it scared him. It didn’t stop another sob from breaking out of him. A hand on his tightly curled fist made him freeze.

“Ryder,” his father’s voice. “What happened?”

“We just talked, Vitus,” his mother said.

I don’t want to be a monster or a weapon.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. The hands on his face started to move again. He heard a confused noise from his father. Another sob escaped him. He was terrified of what he was. Terrified of what he might do. 

I want to be with the ones who taught me I was a person.

“Were you planning on leaving?” Felix this time. Ryder managed to shake his head. Based on where his older brother’s voice came from he was close.

“Good, I’d have to find you again. That just causes a mess since Felix might follow me or I’ll get lost. All around better just stick with us from the start,” Rhys said. Ryder almost smiled. All of them continued to act like he belonged.

I want to be who I used to be.

“Ryder, you should get some sleep,” his mother. “I know you didn’t sleep last night.”

Ryder nodded, but didn’t move. He heard Rhys laugh and Felix sigh. His mother didn’t move. His father came closer, put his hand on Ryder’s face.

I want to be their son.

“Take your time, no one will rush you,” his father said. His mother hummed in agreement.

I want to be their brother.

“Could always have a sleepover like when we were younger,” Felix said. Ryder nodded again. He liked the idea. 

“It’s early, I don’t mind going back to sleep. You’ll have to carry me, it’s so far,” Rhys whined. It succeeded in making Ryder laugh. They weren’t acting scared.

I’ll remember I’m accepted here.

Slowly he pulled himself away. He flattened the fist he’d left behind his mother. There wasn’t a single word exchanged before the four all climbed on his palm.

I’ll remember I have a family.

Ryder pushed himself to his feet. Pulled his hand up to his chest slowly. Held his family near his heart. He looked down to see Rhys already leaning against his chest. It made him smile. For the first time in a while he actually felt tired. He actually wanted to use his bed.

No one jumped from his steps. He watched his father, there wasn’t active fear. He was able to easily slide into bed and set his family on a pillow. At his height his feet barely stayed on the bed. It didn’t bother him. Ryder watched his family get comfortable then placed his hand over them.

I’ll remember…

“Dabria, did you ever look into getting Ryder a new bed?” his father asked.

“What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t? It should only take a few more days,” his mother patted his fingers a few times. “You should be a lot more comfortable then, Ryder.”

…that I’m loved.

[hadesrise]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆.

summary ➳ you should have a happy ending, even if barty had to push you away for you to have it. but at what cost?

pairings ➳ bartemius “barty” crouch jr. x male reader

warnings ➳ angst, foul language, lovers to strangers, no happy ending, sad barty, arguments, hurt/no comfort, VERY SHORT, kinda depressive

author’s note ➳ uhm... yeah. i’m in barty crouch jr. phase. i’m trying to write smut for him, okay? i just need a little motivation from his tiktok thirsty edits.

Barty believes memories to be more significant than anything else. Unphotographed, precious moments that are stored inside a human’s mind that plays over and over again whenever nostalgia hits, or when seeing something that reminds of someone. Memories keep people going and appreciate little things in life; it keeps them alive.

That’s why people become less and less human when they lose a memory, because they forget every significant moments of their life, which means forgetting what made them who they are in the present. He considered losing memories to be most unfortunate and awful thing to happen, especially if it’s early dementia because it meant not remembering those treasured moments within just a span of few hours or days.

Memory lost has become his greatest fear ever since meeting you in Hogwarts. Learning to handle every moment with carefulness and carry them gently in his arms, Barty greatly feared forgetting any moments he shared with you, even those others considered little and insignificant. First meet, first conversation, first meal together, becoming friends, hanging out together, studying in the library, going to Hogsmeade, pranking others, bickering, falling in love, feelings being reciprocated, first little gifts, first date; he remembers every single moment, even one as small as you painting his nails black. Even the moment both his and your heart broke.

Just the thought of forgetting them made his skin crawl and anxiety devour his soul from the inside. The extreme fear is new and unfamiliar to him, considering he’s never been afraid of anything, and the foreignness of it makes his stomach turn. He doesn’t know how to deal with fear, only knows how you’re the one silencing them, the one who commands the storms inside his head to quiet down and remain in peace.

You were always the one. Never someone else.

The heartbreak of losing you as consequences to his sin still had its effects despite forcing himself to get everything together. The memory of your horrified expression as your eyes stare at the dark mark on his wrist embedded into his brain. How you couldn’t even utter a single word, throat tight and shoulders heavy, with betrayal written in your face as tears flowed like an endless waterfall down to your cheeks. How the blood drained from your face as it pales, realization sinking in. How disappointment carved your expression, and the moment Barty realized it wasn’t directed at him. Painful voices of memory still lingered in his ears, the way your trembling voice whispered, “Was I not enough?” brokenly to him.

You blamed yourself for the sin he committed.

Nothing but that is a sword to Barty’s heart.

You could’ve screamed and beat him up, could’ve hexed him and abandoned him. But all you ever did was stand there, in front of him, with horrors in your eyes as you stare blankly at Barty as if tears weren’t running down, words after words slipping past your lips that took his heart out.

“Did I do anything wrong for you to choose this path?”

Barty snapped his eyes up to meet your empty gaze, taken aback. But he didn’t meet your eyes despite you looking at him. “(Y/n)...”

“Did I fail to love you as much as you wanted?” You asked again, not hearing him. “Have I treated you horribly? Have I failed to meet your expectations and standards? Is it my... Is it my fault...?” Each words drove the sword deeper and deeper into his heart.

How could you think that? You were always enough. You gave him everything no one else could’ve given. You loved him truthfully despite his flaws and imperfections. You offered your heart to him, even though people told you not to. His father was never proud of him, but you were. His father considered him a failure, but you considered him a treasure. Cherished him, brought him down to earth, taught him to feel and love. You’ve always been good. Unbearably good, sometimes.

Bloody fucking hell, why the fuck didn’t he choose to be loyal to you instead? Why did he go around having that death mark carved into his skin when it should’ve been your name?

Barty could feel tears build up as the back of his eyes sting. He didn’t want to join. He wanted to be with you, have a great home, adopt a child, and be a happy family. He wanted you close, needed you close. But what’s been done can’t be undone.

“Why are you blaming yourself?” Barty whispered. His frustrations were building up, to himself, to you, and to the circumstances he put himself in as his voice starts to raise. “Why can’t you fucking blame me? Everytime I do something, you’re always blaming yourself asking that! Stop making it about your-fucking-self!” He yelled, leaving you loss for words.

“Not everything revolves around you and not everything I do has to do with what you did or didn’t! It was my bloody choice. Stop acting like I’m a fucking kid who makes irrational decisions from how others treat them!” He hissed in distaste, hatred and disdain plastered on his face.

“Barty—”

“What, you think you’re so fucking important to me that you not being enough affects me?” He spat, and instantly regretted it when your face falls. But it’s been said and his mouth doesn’t know when to fucking shut up. “Nobody cares, (Y/n). Stop trying to put a blame in yourself for every little thing I fucking do ‘cause it makes you look pathetic. It doesn’t matter what you do or didn’t do, I would’ve still fucking chose this path.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking away the tears. “Are you saying I never mattered to you?”

Fuck, your voice is so fucking quiet that his heart dropped. He could hear the devastation, the heartbreak, the betrayal. It stabbed him repeatedly, feeling like his chest is being squeezed from how hard it was to breathe. His entire body felt numb, his heart being the only thing experiencing sharp and stinging pain, like multiple knives were being digged into it.

It’s so fucking painful, but how could he stop? He loves you all too much not to drive you away with sharp, piercing words. He had to, otherwise you will be in danger, or worse be recruited as well. You don’t deserve that life — a life where you have to kill and torture someone else, forever follow a path you cannot escape, with not a single ounce of peace around. A life where there’s no happy ending. You didn’t deserve that, and Barty would rather hurt you to push you away than let you get the possibility of being recruited.

It was difficult to open his mouth and utter the words, but he did.

“You’re nothing to me.”

And just like that, he witnessed the moment your heart completely shattered to the ground and his heart being torn apart. There was nothing else he can do but to shut his eyes tight as a single tear escaped the corner of his eye.

He will forever be tormented by this memory, but will never ask for it to be forgotten, no matter how painful and torturous it is. That was the last he saw of you as you had disappeared with no trace of existence behind, only leaving a single note for him to find.

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓾𝓼, 𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸.

You couldn’t be so certain about that. You could have your happy ending now that he successfully drove you away at the cost of his heart being empty, with him living a dark life with only bad ending to meet at the end.

He could never have it, but at least you could, right?

Barty has been feeling all too emotional ever since the break-up. Although he turned himself into someone he knew you hated, that is solely to hide the fact he’s been hurting and crying himself to sleep almost every night. A tough and evil façade to keep everyone away from looking into his memories, his feelings, his undying love for you — even if it meant he had to join in on the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom. You probably hate who he became now, but he still loves you. He doesn’t think he could ever stop.

Seeing you so close made him nearly breakdown on the spot. Sitting there at the professors’ table, right beside Severus Snape, as Dumbledore gives a speech.

Barty, disguised as Alastor Moody, frowned. Your eyes looked empty, as if you had seen every horror of this world. It wasn’t sparkling brightly like it used to, holding wonders and beauty. It was dead. Soulless, even. Despite the occasional smiles you threw at the students, light never appeared in them like it forgot what happiness was. Your smiling expression merely just a mask to cover up how empty your face looked to not scare the students.

He can’t ask what happened. But he can wonder out loud.

“What happened to him?” Speaking to McGonagall with the gruff voice Alastor had, nodding towards you. “He looks dead without the smile.”

McGonagall took a glance and sighed. Only the students never notice it, thankfully. “He’s been through a lot, Professor Moody. Do him a favor and never ask him anything about his past or his family.” She muttered only enough for him to hear.

“Why? Does he have none?”

She looked at him sharply, “Because he doesn’t remember anything at all.”

Barty froze at that. “Doesn’t remember?”

McGonagall looks down, grimly. “Professor Dumbledore found him in a Psychiatric Ward. He said it is likely (Y/n) threw himself there and obliviated himself with leaving only memory of who and what he is. He’s been the Professor for Study of Ancient Runes since then.”

Barty’s heart dropped as he looked at you, devastated. He could practically feel another sword piercing right through his heart.

You remember nothing, not even the memory of your first meet. Not even the first date, first kiss, or first love making. Was it your way of forgetting the pain he caused? Was it your way of punishing him, knowing fully well he’s extremely sensitive regarding memories with you? Was this his consequences for hurting you in the first place?

It should be a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what he wanted after all, to have you as far away from him as possible. Having no memories of spending most of your Hogwarts days with him certainly keeps you away from the dark, right?

But it did fucking hurt, and a big slap to his face.

Did he mean that little to you that you can easily obliviate yourself of those memories? No, he knows he mattered the most to you. You always made him certain of that. Were those moments not important to you as they were to him? No, they were. You told him they kept you alive and happy. They’re the most significant untangible things you’ve ever had. Were you so enraged? Probably, but not really. Were you too much in pain? Probably, but it couldn’t be enough to obliviate your memories.

Now, are you trying to prove something to him? Possibly, but what could it be?

Barty thought, and thought, and thought. Tirelessly everyday, he thought about why you did it while enduring the throbbing pain in his heart, desperately wanting to believe your love for him was not that easy to forget nor let go of. He didn’t stop thinking. Not until he can find answers.

But then, the answer finally came.

In the most brutal and cruel way that made his knees weak and heart shatter to the ground just like how yours did that night. Made his skin pale as devastation, regret, sorrow, disbelief, and utter heartbreak all heavily dropped on his shoulders like a burden.

Eyes glued to your wrist that was carved in the dark mark.

So this is what you wanted to prove — that even without meeting him, you would’ve been in that same path he chose, that driving you away only made you closer to where he didn’t want you to be, that happy ending was never an option in the first place. You proved it to him in a hard way, costing your memories, the most significant thing in the world.

He thought about what would’ve happened if he didn’t choose to abandon you by pushing you away. Maybe everything would’ve been okay, even if you got recruited. Maybe you would be standing with him, the memories still inside your mind, never leaving his side. Maybe you wouldn’t have hurt yourself as much as you hurt him.

But nothing can bring him back to that night.

“There is no happy ending for us, no matter what you do.” Barty echoed what you had wrote in the note that night, and only then did he realize what you meant.

In the end, all of that sacrifice and emotional pain meant nothing — you and him were not destined to have a happy ending, no matter what he did to protect you.

All for nothing.

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[dark-elf-writes]

Tenya watches as his parents discuss assets and boons. Tenya who sees them looking at Harry and Teddy (who are his and whom he loves so much) and knows that the people who should love him yet left him behind don’t see two amazing people. Tenya who stands up and seriously tells them that no, Harry and Teddy won’t be paraded about by the media. No he won’t request they ‘show off’ Teddy’s ‘early Quirk’.

Harry fighting for his soulmate and his friends, fierce and deadly because he can’t lose anyone else. Who screams at Stain that he’s ’nothing more than another villain with empty promises who wants pain’. Their first kiss (Tenya and Harry) being in a hospital as baby Teddy cries because ‘Pap’ is hurt. (His first word was dada and it was Harry. Pap, papa, his second, is for Tenya and oh lord does it make them sob).

Izuku and Ginny trading letters and stories. Ginny coming to UA to finish her schooling because her mark is black and everyone knows. Luna following, Hermione and Ron a step behind. Luna who smiles at the dual haired teen whose mark shines like hers. George coming to, tired, tired, tired. But he slowly smiles again. Molly and Arthur, Percy, Bill, Charlie (all tired and seeing that little is changing. That no one wants to do more then get rid of the laws Voldemort put up. Who see Kingsley frown in anger and can’t do anything) all packing up to move.

They burned and got nothing. Screw England.

(Percy’s mark shines around a man with scars who glares and sneers but who also left his family behind once. Percy isn’t the same as him but he understands feeling as if his family has let him down over and over again.

It’s funny in a way how many marks shine in Japan. As if Fate knew.)

Screaming sobbing barking howling

Tenya who has always allowed himself to be treated like a tool, like a commodity by his parents knowing that was the best he would ever get from them, but refusing to let them do the same to Harry and Teddy. Harry who would have let them use him at least (not Teddy never Teddy) because every moment from the one he received his letter has been honing him I to a tool to be wielded. Harry looking at Tenya with wide, confused eyes when he snaps at his parents and pulls Harry and Teddy from the house because he doesn’t understand. (No one ever stood up for him like that. Not when he was The Chosen One. It takes him far longer than he would care to admit to wrap his mind around it.)

Harry who bares his teeth and fights dirty. Fights like only one person will walk away from the fight and he is fully planning on being the one to do so. Fights like the weapon he was raised to be rather than the heroes those closest to him are. Harry who refuses to lose anyone else so he meets the villains on their level and comes out with more faces and names to haunt his nightmares but alive. With his family alive. He will bear the burden. He has always done so. Ever since his first kill at eleven.

And he comes back to Tenya and Teddy who ground him. Who remind him that he so still human. That he has people to live for and not four ghosts leading him to his death. (He cries after Tenya and Teddy fall asleep in the hospital. Cries so hard he forgets how to breathe. Cries for how close he got to losing this and the man he will have to become to make sure that doesn’t happen. One more fight. One more war. And then he can truly retire. He promises himself. Promises the two sleeping figures in the bed.)

Ginny and Izuku becoming fast friends and even faster allies. Swearing to each other (and eventually to Ochako who joins their little group after Training Camp when her mark only started to shine after a girl with a cruel knife and crueler smile had her pinned to the ground promising to make her red red red) that they would not bow to fates design for them. That they would choose what made them happy rather than the agony they had been saddled with. And of course, comforting each other when the grief of what ifs and shattered bonds become too much to bear on their own.

Luna and Shoto trading theories and conspiracies in a language that almost seems to be entirely their own. Shoto who sees the scars left over from the months Luna spent as a captive in the Malfoy estate and decides he needs both halves of his power to make sure it never happens again. Luna whose eyes go startlingly sharp the first time she sees Endeavor and refuses to let him anywhere near Shoto no matter how much he roars and rages. She puts out his fire with a wave of her hand when he tries to move her and sends him flying into the far wall with barely a thought when he tries to lift a hand to her. Shoto has never been more in love.

Percy who comes early enough to lure Touya away from a path that would only lead to the ruin of both him and his family. Who offers a better way to get his revenge. One that would disgrace his father instead of turning him into a martyr. One that would spare the innocents caught in the middle. And if all else fails he promises to make it look like an accident then leak the damning evidence anyway because really how many fire quirks does Touya really think exist in Japan magic is so much cleaner. Touya who sees that darkness and anger in Percy that he kept hidden even from his own family until it grew fangs and lashed out at them rather than the ones that truly deserved it and understands why this man is his.

George who stopped looking at the name on his arm after Fred died. He has already lost half of his soul he doesn’t need a mark to tell him that there is someone better than his brother. What other relationship could compare? What fate decided romance could possibly make up for the loss of his heart? The loss of Fred is like the loss of a limb and who could possibly replace that? And then he meets Tensei who has a brother he loves just as much as George loves his who doesn’t want to replace Fred but wants to make a life with George anyway if he would allow it. Who honors George’s brothers, dead and alive, just as much as he honors Tenya. And it doesn’t fix it. Doesn’t magically make Fred’s loss okay, but slowly it starts to hurt less to smile, to laugh. He can’t look in a mirror most days, but Tensei doesn’t seem to mind tugging him down to fix his hair or straighten his tie.

Everyone coming in twos and threes until they are all out from under the Ministry’s grasp and finally able to live rather than just survive. To thrive.

[dolceaspidenera]

About Astarion, Cazador, and what it means to be bad.

In Italian the word "bad" is translated as "cattivo", whose etymology derives from the Latin captivus, prisoner. I think our ancestors had profound wisdom when it came to understanding human nature, generally speaking, most people who are considered "bad" often act like that and hurt others because they are prisoners of their own hurt and fears.  This does not mean that they are justified in their actions, of course, at the end of the day we are all responsible for our behaviors, and trying to understand why someone may act a certain way does not equal to justify them. 

Astarion's story revolves around overcoming trauma and hurt to not repeat the cycle of abuse. 

On one hand, there's Ascendant Astarion, who loses himself and his humanity, in favor of his hunger for power. A hunger that is fueled by fear, and the conviction that he can only count on himself and only the ones who have power are safe and free to do whatever they want. 

"One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again. But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

In reality, he becomes shackled to his fears, never truly free to move on, to face his trauma and overcome it. He will forever be watching his back, paranoid and worried about being betrayed. He becomes what he has always feared and hated, he is now the monster that haunted his nightmares, and the cycle repeats.

Before Astarion, there was Cazador, who succumbed to his own hurt and trauma and ended up perpetuating the abuse. He too was tortured by his master, Vellioth, and punished by being impaled for 11 years when he rebelled, not even for the rebellion itself but because he failed. Cazador too was just a victim in the beginning, but eventually turned into a monster himself.

“The boy I was, the man I became, the monster that will not end. I sleep, but cannot rest, I live, but cannot die. I am eternal, and I grieve.”

It's even more telling when you realize that Cazador probably saw himself in Astarion, every time he looked at him he was reminded of his old self, whom he perceived as pitiful, powerless, and detestable, all his unresolved traumas were thus projected onto Astarion, who was made a scapegoat and punished. (NB This is not to pity or humanize Cazador, by the time you get to confront him, he is a full-blown-out psychopath, and he needs to go down).

On the other hand, we have Astarion as a spawn, who was able to reject the ritual. He recognized that the power on offer wasn't going to set him free. 

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

He retains his soul, his humanity, and by facing his fears he is able to let go. He is now able to see that true strength does not come from a dark and twisted power like the one the ritual offers, it does not come from dominating others and from hurting them before they hurt you in an endless cycle of pain and vengeance, but it comes from within. It's the strength to be kind, to be forgiving toward ourselves and others, the strength to hope and be open and vulnerable, to let others in and take the chance to see if there are others out there with a big heart like Tav's. To live again is to care again. He realizes that he is enough, just the way he is, and he can finally start the healing process. The cycle is broken, and he is finally free.

"But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago."

"You saved me from myself and let me walk a path where I can be free. Truly, honestly free. This is a gift, you know. Thank you - I won't forget it."

(I know most of these things were already discussed, but I had to share my thoughts. I love it when even the etymology of words that we usually use without thinking too much makes sense and everything comes full circle.)

Thanks to @myopic-skull for letting me borrow his super cool photo of Astarion being a glorious regal cat

[dreadfutures]

Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan | art by @whoisnotmyname

I commissioned Mumford for a portrait and item collection for my Inquisitor and I highly recommend you do the same! I'm so happy with how my wall of muscle Champion turned out, and her items are rendered better than I could have imagined! Seeing them all laid out on her Champion's Standard makes them feel so real!

Item descriptions under the cut.

Champion's Standard. Behind everything is Ixchel's Standard, which Vivienne designed to reflect her Dalish identity and her presence as the Inquisitor. It features a modified version of the Dirthamen vallaslin, and the Inquisition eye/sword.

Chromatic Greatsword (modified). In my fic, Ixchel discovers a stash of ancient weapons from Andruil's own armory. Among them was a chromatic greatsword, which she modified with schematics from the Sulevin Blade to honor the Dalish warriors who came before her. She can deactivate the glowing blade when not in use.

Longsword. Someday she will lose her arm and no longer be able to wield the heavy greatswords that made her career. Instead, she adapts to one-handed use of more mundane blades. She knows she will lose her arm, so she carries this with her and practices with it in preparation for that day.

Dalish Banner Crown. This was something she's had since day 1 of my Inquisition playthroughs and has become synonymous with her leading troops into battle. She carries the banner with her against their foes, and brings it with her to audiences with human monarchs to make it impossible for them to forget she is a member of a race they tried to subjugate and exterminate.

Hart's Decorated Bridle. The people of Halamshiral's alienage, a mix of elves and impoverished humans, presented a special white hart to her when she arrived for the ball at the Winter Palace. He was given to her with ribbons and paintings on him to symbolize her Dalish roots, but in the traditions of Orlesian alienages. He is a proud and fancy beast and his bridle matches him.

Dorian's Talking Crystal. It no longer works--it's from her first life, in a world and timeline that no longer exist, but she keeps it anyway as a reminder. Even until the day she died, Dorian tried to hold on to her, his dearest friend.

Health Potions. Every good hero needs them!

Flemeth's Gifted (Mask). In my fic, Briala received an Orlesian courtesan's mask from a mysterious witch with directions to give it to Ixchel. The mask helped Ixchel blend in with the human crowd in Wycome on her infiltration mission. Only if one looks very, very closely can you see the subtle carvings of Mythal's own vallaslin, marking Ixchel as Dalish--and, perhaps, marking Flemeth's designs upon her future.

Spilled Deathroot Potion. Ixchel began her story with this potion--but she will not meet that end again.

Ardent Blossoms (Marigold Crown). In my fic, marigolds are an ancient symbol of Champions' dedication to their causes and their lords. Ghilan'nain wore them in honor of Andruil when she was but her honored priestess. The cempasúchil symbolize a bond to, and beyond, death. Cole found these, the Ardent Blossom, and Ixchel has named herself Champion of the People--not Champion of a lord, or a cause, but Champion of all those who need someone to fight for them. They have become a symbol everywhere of fighting for equal rights, and others wear them in their hair to show that they're willing to take the fight to the end.

Gingko Earrings. Ginkgo symbolize hope, and hope for peace, in my continuity. They've become a symbol she wears often in my art.

Halla Horn Comb. Ixchel was actually adopted by the Dalish Clan Lavellan, after growing up as a feral child in the wilderness. One of the dearest memories she has of the Clan is of the First, Terinelan, teaching her how to braid her hair. She has kept the halla horn comb ever since.

Hair Ribbon. Same as the above. In Dalish tradition, she made this ribbon and embroidered it herself.

Puzzle Ring. Given to her in the future of my fic by Solas. It's a puzzle for her ingenuity, but it's also a promise of dedication and return.

Raven Feather. Symbolizing Dirthamen, and her role as "Kin-Finder," a great title given to her upon receiving her vallaslin and acknowledging that she has uncovered, and returned, so many elven secrets lost to history due to the hardships they faced since the fall of Elvhenan.

[lying-on-floors]

In Defense of Lori Grimes...

Listen, I've been rewatching TWD and I can only think of Lori Grimes.

I am a Lori Grimes defender for life and I don't care for your criticisms of her. The beginning of the show established that she was a woman going through marital issues. She already voiced how she felt guilty for the way she talked to Rick earlier that day and then found out her husband had been shot and fell into a coma! I don't know if y'all have ever known the grief of losing a parent and have had to watch how the grief affects your remaining parent, but I have. See, I was 5 when my dad was first arrested. My brother and I stayed with my grandma a lot because my mom was rarely home. She went out with friends as a form of escape from everything going on. Yes, she still loved us and she loves us now and we love her, even if it's really complicated and confusing at times. She just wanted to forget.

Shane wasn't much more than a distraction for Lori, an escape. And I am going to remind y'all that Shane took ADVANTAGE of her and her vulnerability. Everything people like to criticize Lori for is rooted in misogyny, like a lot of hate directed toward female characters.

Now, I am going to go over some of the common criticisms I have seen regarding Lori Grimes and I am going to disprove them.

"Lori Grimes was a bad mother."

No. Just No. She was a wonderful and loving mother. She loved Carl so much and she loved Beth. She would've loved Judith. All the times Carl acted bratty, understandably, she never once hit him or degraded him but reatherscoldde him and told him to do better.

AND I AM NOT PUTTING DOWN MICHONNE! I love Michonne and I love Lori. You can love both women and praise them for their roles as mothers and wives without pitting them against each other and it's sad that it is such a common practice amongst fandoms.

2. "Lori Grimes was a bad wife."

No. She was a loyal, supportive, and loving wife. As soon as she saw Rick was alive, she set immediate boundaries with Shane. She told him it was over. She told him she didn't want him to involve himself with her or her family EVER again. Shane didn't like that. He believed that HE OWNED HER and fucking assulted her! Like she is her own person and doesn't belong to anyone.

She supported Rick up until her death. She was his left hand. He went to her for everything, like he does with Michonne. And I love that he does that.

3. "Lori Grimes is selfish."

Okay? And? She's human. She's going to behave selfishly at times. And don't bring up her not wanting to have Judith at the beginning of her pregancy. She didn't need to tell Rick because it was her choice. She told him because she loved him. Rick even told her he would never make her have a child she didn't want but Rick helped her to look positivly towards the world's future. She had very valid reasons for not wanting to have a baby in the apocolypse and even if she had no reason other than not wanting to go through child birth, especially without medicine readily available, that's STILL VALID.

4. "Lori Grimes was a bitch."

This is the last one I'm going to address. Lori Grimes was not a bitch. She was a strong and powerful woman, who didn't take anyone's shit and set strict boundaries.

All I can say is that fandom hates women. Women of color also get a lot of shit, like I'm not denying that AT ALL and I will defend every last woman throughout the TWD universe, even the villians. Just because a woman wasn't submissive or she was antagonistic DOES NOT MEAN SHE'S DESERVING OF ALL HATE!!

In conclusion, I love Lori Grimes and the women of TWD. They're always overshadowed by the men around them and it's time they have the spotlight and praise they deserve.

Only comment if you want to uplift the women of TWD and the world. If not, die. <3 XOXO <3