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#Y'all if he isn't alive

respectthepetty · 3 months

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Even while he worked in the casino, Non still wore that red bracelet.

He never took it off.

Someone sedate me.

#dead friend forever #The red bracelet #red thread of destiny #He never took it off #Y'all if he isn't alive #the way my heart dropped #I might just cry

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 6 months

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I'm back on my bullshit thinking about the Hawke siblings again and how much I love a "both twins live" AU... but y'know what I love just a little bit more? An AU where all three Hawke siblings are alive, but one of the twins still get attacked by the ogre in Lothering and is presumed dead when they actually survived.

I like to think that since the narrative in DA2 is framed as a story Varric's telling Cassandra, we can play around with the fact that he's an unreliable narrator. Varric wasn't there in Lothering. He only knows what Hawke told him. It makes for a better story if Leandra, Hawke, and the surviving twin get to huddle around the dead twin and say their goodbyes... especially if they didn't actually get to do that. I mean, a lot of us already have that train of thought when it comes to Leandra's death and Hawke getting some closure through her final words telling them how proud she is. Whose to say Varric didn't do that for the lost twin, as well?

All that to ask what if the ogre attack happened, but the group was so overwhelmed by darkspawn they had to flee further and couldn't check the twin who "died?" Flemeth still showed up, but it was too late to go back and say goodbye.... so Hawke made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and they all pushed forward to Kirkwall.

Imagine Bethany, left behind with broken bones and bleeding in the sand, fading in and out of consciousness as the remaining darkspawn surround her. She knows how to heal, how to fight back, but she's weakened. Her staff lays out of reach. Air shakes in her lungs. She tries to call for help, but only wheezes come out. Where's her mother? Her siblings? Did the ogre get them, too?

At this point, we all know what happens to the women darkspawn take, and Bethany could've met that fate; she doesn't have the strength to fight back as they drag her away. But before they can bring her underground, she's saved by another group of survivors. Perhaps they're more soldiers fleeing Ostagar, or townsfolk who recognize her from Lothering. They do what they can to treat her wounds but she needs a healer, so they bring her with them to seek refuge in Redcliffe... except they eventually realize she's an apostate. Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, but they still contact the templars.

Bethany wakes in a warm but unfamiliar bed with skilled healers tending to her. Templars hover by the doorway. First Enchanter Irving greets her, gentle in explaining she's safe inside of Kinloch Hold and that she's going to survive. When Bethany asks about her family, he gives her a sympathetic smile and says they only found her.

Bethany, who never took to embracing her magic the way her older sibling did and always felt like it burdened her family... has lost that very family. Could they survive the ogre and darkspawn? Or did the ogre tear them apart, too? How did she survive... but not them? Did the Maker really have such a sense of humor? How else would she end up in the Circle, a place her family went to great lengths to keep her safe from?

She doesn't want to think about it. She hopes they made it to Kirkwall, but the prickle of dread that crawls up her spine knows how unlikely it is. Bethany finds comfort in speaking with the mages who rotate in to heal and bring her food. Some feel trapped by their magic just as she does, but others remind her of her older sibling in the way they embrace their magic, a gift from the Maker. The younger apprentices who aid the mages ask her questions about what lies beyond the walls. The templars mostly keep their distance, but one is friendlier than others. A man with curly blonde hair and a sympathetic view of the mages bothers to speak to her more than his fellows do.

She's still in recovery when Uldred and his blood mages attack the tower, but she survives. Bethany heals, even as she's haunted by nightmares of the ogre wrapping its tainted hand around her body to crush her, flinging her aside to lay among the limp bodies of her family... haunted by the horrors the blood mages unleashed on the tower. She aids in restoring the tower the best she can, and accepts her new home, her new life. When she's well enough, she lights a candle for each of them; her father, mother, her eldest sibling, her twin... she even lights a candle for the family mabari, and prays to the Maker to give them her love as they stand at His side.

The Blight ends. Years pass. Bethany settles into her new life, becoming a fine example for the younger apprentices she mentors. She witnesses wrong doings against her fellow mages, loses friends to their harrowings or tranquility. She accepts what she is, even if bitterly. The Chantry's teachings about magic scar more than enlighten; she sees it in some of her fellow mages, feels it in herself. Secret meetings. Whispers of escape, of freedom. More escape attempts. Harsher restrictions.

Around this time, back in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain Cullen stands where he always does in the Gallows courtyard. He notices Hawke appear with some of their companions. It hurts to think back to Kinloch Hold, but something occurs to him: he knew of another Hawke who was brought to the Circle while he served there. They only spoke once before... well, before. He wonders if there's any relation. When Hawke wanders over to speak to him, as they always do, Cullen brings it up.

Hawke pales. A beat of silence. Cullen recognizes heartbreak; he sees it unfold in their eyes and swell in their throat as they realize that all this time, their baby sister was alive.

Then the day comes where new whispers float among the mages in the Circle. A visit by a Grey Warden. Most, including Bethany, assume he's here to recruit... until Irving comes to her. He says this warden's requested, though more like insisted, he see her now. But then Irving smiles; the warden in question said his name is Warden Carver. He received an urgent letter that his sister is here, alive, and he demands to know if that's true.

Bethany nearly collapses when she sees him.

While the reunion can't last; she can't leave the Circle and he has his calling; the twins embrace, sobbing out apologies and exclamations that they thought the other was gone. Carver tells her of Kirkwall, the expedition that led him to the Grey Wardens, and their older sibling's status as Champion. With a gentleness she never knew her brother to have, he tells her what happened to their mother, and more tears flow freely. Their sibling learned about her from a templar, though Carver grumbles that the bastard could've said something sooner.

There's the Maker's humor again.

...Now flip the script: imagine Carver being left behind instead.

For as strong and passionate as he is, that ogre still picks him up and slams him to the ground. Bones crack. Black splotches flood his vision, agony exploding across his skin. His sword flies from his hand. The soulless bastard tosses Carver aside like he's nothing, and he's left to lay there. His mother's cries muffle in his ear as though he's stuck underwater, sinking slowly into the dark.

It figured, honestly... that he'd survive Ostagar while his fellow soldiers were cut down all around him, that he and his eldest sibling would flee the field when all hope was lost... that he'd make it home to get his family out of Lothering... only to die protecting his mother. And why not? He is a protector. A warrior. It's a honor to die saving those he loved... so why didn't it give him peace?

Carver eventually wakes in the night among the bodies of fallen darkspawn. Everything aches painfully hot and his thoughts reject coherency. He knows his family is gone; they're dead, or they've fled... either way, he's alone; left behind. Something's broken inside of him, but he has just enough will to pull himself up at the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of survivors find him- funny enough, the same group who aided Bethany in an alternate timeline. Imagine that.

That's how Carver ended up in Redcliffe's Chantry with an overworked healer tending to him. He doesn't even flinch when the mage works their magic on him, knowing all too well the sensation of healing magic seeping into his skin, mending the flesh. He tries not to think of Bethany, or what might've happened to her.

The Chantry's overwhelmed with townspeople hiding from a danger outside that he can only assume is darkspawn... except it's not. He wonders how hard he hit his head when he hears the undead have come from the castle to slaughter what they can of the town every night. But then he sees it with his own eyes when one breaks in, taken down by a templar, and never before has he ever felt so useless.

Then the last two remaining Grey Wardens arrive. They're crucial in the final fight against the undead, swearing to enter the castle to stop the attacks at the source. While Carver couldn't participate in the final fight, something he complained loudly about, he did what he could in his condition to help like sharpening swords and handing out supplies. Mostly to keep his sanity and quite his thoughts throughout his recovery.

When the time came, he took up his sword again in the name of all those he lost.

An archdemon was said to be on the horizon, and the Grey Wardens needed everyone they could get to fight. Carver fights in the battle of Denerim where the Hero of Fereldan defeated the archdemon. He cuts his way through every darkspawn he sees. Ostagar flashes red behind his eyes. Lothering clutches at his heart. So much anger and sorrow built up inside him, flooding out in his tears and screams. Blood everywhere. Fire and smoke.

Then it's over.

In the aftermath of the Blight, like so many others, Carver has no home to return to. No family. He thinks to go back to Lothering to help rebuild, only to hear the lands were too tainted. These tainted creatures took everything from him... That's what eventually brings him to Vigil's Keep, standing before the Hero of Fereldan themself, asking to be made a Grey Warden. He already dedicated nearly two years of his life to killing darkspawn, and he had nothing else. Even when faced with the Joining, holding the chalice of darkspawn blood and being told to drink, he didn't flinch.

Life as a Grey Warden isn't as simple as he assumed it would be, but Carver finds purpose in his calling. Over the years, he grows to view his fellow wardens as family. He travels all over Thedas, venturing down into the Deep Roads to help clear out hoards of the darkspawn. But then comes the day he finds himself in Kirkwall, and it doesn't take long before he hears the name Hawke on the lips of the townspeople. His eldest sibling was not only alive, but they're quite popular among the people. But what about Mother? Bethany? He doesn't have to snoop too far to learn templars took Bethany away to the Gallows, and that Leandra Hawke was the final victim in a string of murders committed by a blood mage.

Carver finds himself standing outside the estate, glaring at the door. Furious. Heartbroken. Bitter. He wants to scream. This entire time, they lived. He's torn between wanting to reunite with his older sibling again, to get the truth from them, and wanting to barge into the estate, demanding answers to how they could let the Circle take Bethany... after what Carver sacrificed, how could they let Mother die like that? Was it all pointless in the end?

He leaves without knocking. He can't bring himself to see them. Not that it mattered. Before he could leave Kirkwall, the tensions with the qunari finally overflowed, and chaos fell upon the city. He's forced face to face with his older sibling again, but he wasn't prepared to watch the recognition slowly bloom on their face, or for all his anger to turn to mush. Carver's the first to speak.

"Somehow, I knew it would be you."

.............So, yeah. I really like this idea.

#da2 #dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #carver hawke #long post #there are so many routes you can take with this too like hawke finds out bethany's alive in fereldan's circle #and they gather all their companions like 'y'all we're doing a heist' 'great what are we stealing?' 'my sister'#'...isn't your sister dead?' 'APPARENTLY NOT'#or carver and anders could know each other from the wardens and one day anders tells hawke that they remind him of another warden he knew #and hawke is like '.............that little shit survived and he didn't tell me?? i'm telling mother'#OR both bethany and carver end up as wardens and happen to run into each other like '????? I thought you were dead?????'#and tbh bethany doesn't have to end up in the circle or carver with the wardens. that's just the paths i explored #maybe they're found by the warden and alistair who have wynne fix them up and they join the dao party #hell this could be backstory for an inquisitor carver or inquisitor bethany in dai #also yes this post is my way of saying that i love this idea but i'll probably never turn it into a fic so let me gush about it this way

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mad-hunts · 4 days

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barton being awkward at first or even completely throughout a whole interaction whenever he's trying to comfort people is so in character for him TBH and let me tell y'all why because i think it's important to his character:

he can fake a lot of things. barton can fake being nice to people, he can fake being innocent, and he can even fake having a much stronger sense of morality around people if he wants to — but whenever it comes to empathizing with someone on an emotional level... barton finds himself often struggling with faking it because of the nature of it. and this is due to it being different than whenever he's trying to feign something easily comprehensible like innocence. but empathy is something that's usually viewed as innate in us as humans and has to do with love, which doesn't depend on logic. it's something that comes from within, so it doesn't have clear parameters as to how you should do it, so whenever barton tries to fake it in the event that he's trying to make someone feel better; he'll stumble. and so although barton can cognitively empathize with someone, his efforts to actually put himself in other people's shoes fall flat, as he just can't physically imagine himself being in someone else's position probably more than half the time.

so if your muse were to ever come to him seeming upset, barton would likely not know what to do / how to comfort them, at least for a bit before referencing back on how he's seen other people do it. because i hate to say it (i don't, in reality, but y'all know what i mean LOL) but barton does actively mimic behaviors that he sees people do whenever he feels the absence of a certain emotion. he especially does this whenever he's trying to appear charming to other people, but like i said, he'll also try to use what he's seen his peers do as a guide as for what he should do in regards to empathy. and sometimes he may even seem a bit flustered before he's able to do this because he knows that it is expected of him to be able to empathize with people and can identify it in other people BUT knowing how to approach faking it has always been sort of hard for him even as an adult.

but yeahhh, that's just my own two cents about how barton sometimes break character that he is quote unquote ' normal, ' though he does try to mask this around people who aren't really familiar with him as simply being social awkwardness. however, it is part of a larger thing with him as despite the fact that he can blend in with the population REALLY well and also is pretty good at manipulating others, i suppose you could say that barton is still not an expert at ' constructing empathy ' because whenever someone is visibly hurt in front of him... he is more liable to act like he isn't sure what to do, than to put on an act immediately since he is likely to feel nothing first before anything else. and i realize that that is a rather unsettling thought, but i think that he is a lot more suspectible to doing this with people he doesn't know well / who he isn't particularly close to, as he's got a lot more practice with being falsely empathetic towards friends and/or sometimes even family members.

#OF MONSTERS AND MEN: musings.#YOUR NEED GREW TEETH: character study.#ANGER'S HELPED ME STAY ALIVE: headcanons.#yeah so i do know that this does bring up some questions because if barton mimics emotions then how do you know whether he's being truly-#genuine or not whenever he's interacting with someone? and wellll that is honestly a rather good question bc i feel like sometimes it IS-#probably hard to tell whether he is actually feeling these things rather than just putting on an act in front of people though i feel as if #it's possible that you'd be able to tell in general if you pay close attention to what his tells are for lying / i think humans just in-#general are able to sense whenever someone is not being 100% authentic and i believe i've mentioned this before BUT barton does sometimes-#give off weird / bad vibes sometimes so that could help another character figure out that he mayyy or may not be being real with them rn.#so yeahhh i know that this isn't the most happy or light thing go talk about at 10:30 in the morning on a Sunday but JSJSJ what can i sayyy #/ j JSJSJ nahhh I'm kidding around with y'all but i did promise you guys that I would post fluff so i still fully intend on doing that #my brain just decided it was time to explain some thing's about barton's behavior / some context behind it bc i always like delving deep-#Into my character like this (':#tw: potentially disturbing content.#tw: discussions of symptoms of a mental illness.#tw: mentions of manipulation.

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anarkhebringer · 1 year

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Man now I'm thinking about Zenos in general, this fucking guy that talks on and on about the hunt every 5 seconds with the WoL while not even believeing in his own words until much later on, because he doesn't want this to be a waste like he feels everything else in his life was.

For the first time in his life he feels SOMETHING and YOU spark that something, you caught his interest, but he doesn't wanna attach himself YET until you prove yourself to be worthy of the praise he gives you (Shinryu fight and how he suddenly backpedals when you say you accept him during his "we can work together as friends" monologue). You're getting there but you're not there yet, so of course he's not gonna fucking believe you until you prove yourself to him, no matter how much he wants to in the moment.

I dunno if this is because I have ASPD and see through this guy even better because of it that I think all this, but Zenos was interested from the start, even if he didn't seem like it. It was a "well you're new. Okay." sort of passive interest at first, you still caught his attention and he wanted to milk whatever information about what you can do and what you'd do to him he could since you stood out to him.

As you kept proving yourself he starts hoping that you're like what he thinks you are and what you can do with each fight. That being why he so suddenly gets all unhinged grinny and the monologues start, you're proving him right in his mind and making him feel something for the first time and he LOVES it.

BUT it's not cause to fully believe and accept yet, because that's how shit crumbles and you get disappointed and bored again, so that's when the final tests start and you pass. You made him happy for the first time in his life, he felt something with you, that's all he could ask for, and that's why he does what he does at the end of Stormblood.

#long post #basically TLDR of this is ''Zenos has good pacing the whole time y'all just don't have the ASPD to see it like I do'' sdjihui #this man is the ONLY character I've come across that I so readily headcanon that onto because I GET why he does things #and why he seemingly ''contradicts'' his words with his actions (he doesn't it just isn't palatable to others)#he and Haurchefant are parallels in this way even if Haurchefant's emptiness had attempts to fill it in kinder ways #he used his to try and fuel his chivalry and kindness unlike Zenos #they're both so fucking empty and try to find SOMETHING to fill the void and keep doing as they do out of disappointment #until you show up and make them feel alive for the first time by standing out and proving their hopes right

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lunarian-anarchist · 2 years

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Johnny Depp fans “supporters of abuse victims”: Amber heard is a slut,WHORE,golddigger,skank,BITCH,liar,manipulator,FAKER

Teehee I’m not a misogynist tho :):):):) I just care so much about abuse victims and I’m totally not a deranged fan who’s fav is a angry drunk who has a long history of violent outbursts

#I didn't even care about this trial at first #i hate celebrities #and I hated that my youtube page got filled with these videos despite me never looking into it #but the sheer amount of misogyny this has brought out in people made me actually look into it #and he's so obviously the abuser #amber heard #depp isn't gonna fuck y'all dumbasses lmfao #depp literally said he wanted to burn her alive and r*pe her corpse y'all are fucking stupid

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a-x-ce · 1 year

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OP is 25 years old and yet we still have dudes in the fandom bitching about Oda not killing characters. Get over it already.

What is with the death wank in manga readers? ‘’It’s not realistic’’ like my dudes, my guys, it’s manga, it’s fictional, there’s already nothing realistic about any of it.

#Sab's random shit #yes this is about the very few leaks out already about Law #talking about how broken his power is and how powerful it makes him #which isn't that the reason he SHOULD be alive???#y'all would complain either way honestly

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

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I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place.

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts.

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay.

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle...

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages.

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue.

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox.

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots.

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom.

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger.

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious.

Why would you say that?

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion.

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass.

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you.

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile.

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur?

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you.

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts.

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly.

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you.

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.”

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears?

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat.

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to…

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels.

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats.

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use.

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want.

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man.

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone.

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out.

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand.

He wants you to guide him to his father.

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years.

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens.

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you.

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is.

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh.

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out.

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely.

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory.

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand.

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission.

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm.

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be.

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.”

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick.

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.”

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #könig #könig cod #konig x you #cod konig

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ventique18 · 5 months

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Lilia: "This voice... Levan?! You, when did you return... No, but those horns are Meleanor's..."

Lilia for a while confuses Malleus for Levan... He only doubted himself because of the horns... Do y'all remember who has a similar build/hair color/skin tone/lip shade as Malleus...

"Those old fools of a senate... How dare they..."

"AND GRANDMOTHER AS WELL! Why have they kept the truth from me all this time?!"

OMG! He didn't know that Lilia hatched him... Lilia tries to calm him down and says that it was him who told them not to say tell. Because if he knew the truth, then he might feel guilty.

At this point Lilia begins to mix up reality and memory. He's questioning why he's calling this person Malleus when Malleus still isn't supposed to know how to walk on two legs. Malleus soothes him, saying that it's alright, Lilia doesn't have to think, and he doesn't have to suffer anymore.

Malleus: "What dream would you like to have? A dream where both father and mother are alive? Or would you prefer a dream where you and your son live peaceful lives?

"I will give you anything and everything you wish for. Now, Lilia, take my..."

Silver: "FATHER---!!!!!"

Lilia is still confused and mixes up things, and Malleus looks at Silver and Sebek exasperatedly, as if they're pests that keep on popping up. That they being awake is bad, and that they should go back to sleep. Silver objects and Sebek tells him that there's no way a man born from so much love should grow up to be villainous and hated by the entire world.

Silver: "And that's why we will definitely defeat you. Lord Malleus... YOUR "BLESSING"!"

Because of that keyword, Lilia finally remembers everything that happened.

Lilia: "Well said. That's my disciples for you."

Lilia: "I must have taken a very long nap. Now you've done it, Malleus!"

Malleus: "Tsk. You've truly woken up, Lilia! But you need not worry. I will tuck you back to bed very soon."

Lilia: "Ha! Did you just say you will tuck me to bed? You've grown cocky, haven't you? Then do your worst!"

Lilia: "Everyone, after me!"

LILIA: "IT'S TIME TO RUN--!!"

OMFG LOL LILIA???? Malleus laughs "Are we playing tag? It's been far too long since we've played like this."

"We have all the time in the world. Why don't we have a bit of fun, Lilia!" *CUE UNHINGED FUCKING LAUGHTER HOLY SHIT THAT WAS CREEPY AS HELL

#EVERY WORD MALLEUS SAYS IS SO FUCKING CREEPY OMFG #I LOVE HIM AND ME SAYING HE'S CREEPY IS A TESTAMENT TO HOW GOOD KAZUKI KATO PORTRAYED HIS UNHINGED FUCKING BRAIN HOLY SHIT #IT'S LIKE HE'S CREEPING BEHIND YOU AND YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE WANTS TO DO TO YOU #HOLY SHIT #twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst book 7 spoilers

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mimblizzy · 11 months

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DP x DC story idea y'all:

So the JL has some big ass problem, like really big, like dimension-destroying-big.

And as a last resort they want to find some entity powerful enough to save them and strike a deal (John Constantine-idea tm)

But where do they find something like that?

The infinite realms. John regrets his idea already. That is a fucking suicide mission. But what other option is there?

The whole JLD works really hard to find a way to the infinite realms and after searching every and all books about death magic they manage to find a portal.

It is decided that the Trinity plus Constantine should go in, try to find a powerful being and strike a deal at any costs.

So they go in. And land somewhere in the middle of nowhere, floating in the Ghost Zone.

They meet a random ghost and ask if they know of a being powerful enough to save a whole ass dimension from destruction. The ghost says the most powerful being is the ghost king who reigns over everything dead, then gestures vaguely in some direction and leaves.

So the the group moves in that direction and on the way encounter all kinds of bizarre beings (demons, ghosts, jinns, alpe and the like) getting in all sorts of trouble (walker's prison, some demon with shares of John's soul etc) and only escaping by a hair's width every time, getting new directions and very concerning and sometimes contradicting information on the ghost king from more amicable beings in between (not every ghost knows of the new king yet). The whole journey to the king's castle is very the wizard of oz like.

And then finally. The castle comes into view. All the heroes (and Constantine) are exhausted and desperate. As they come near the tension is rising. Hopefully the king is merciful like that one ghost said and not a ruthless tyrant like the other said. They've almost reached the castle when -are those disco lights coming from the windows?!?! And can anyone else hear Caramelldansen??

There's a big ass houseparty at the ghost king's fortress.

They can just walk into the courtyard unbothered. There's also a ton of beings partying hard and almost nobody even spares the JL ensemble a glance.

They, once again, ask some random drunk? beings for the Ghost king and, once again, get directed on a wild goose chase across the courtyard several times, to no avail. Finally, they find someone who at least looks human and alive.

It's Jazz. She's just finished with her mid-terms and for once not being the responsible one. She earned this. But now there's a group of weirdly dressed humans? asking for her brother. Yeah, she hasn't seen him in a while, she'll go looking with them. Last she's seen him he was near one of the snack bars.

Together they make their way over. But he isn't there. The Leaugers could fucking scream! They went through hell just for the tiny chance to save their world and now they can't even find the Ghost king!

But then the young red haired woman with them looks around. narrows her eyes. pulls up the table cloth.

And finally there he is! The ghost king! In full regalia! With a flaming crown hovering over his head, a mantle made out of galaxies draped over his shoulders and the ring of rage on his left hand ... and it's a teenager. Passed out drunk.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Idk i just thought: what would a normal teenager do if they had a gigantic castle in another dimension and no parents to reign them in? Houseparty.

"I mean what's the worst that could happen? Death of alcohol poisoning? Not fucking likely" -Danny

#danny phantom #DC #justice league #batman #wonder woman #superman #john constantine #dc x dp #dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #dps headcanons #jazz fenton #ghost king danny

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ask-kimerako-therapycarpool · 2 years

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Anon!KO: *he sighs, takes off sunglasses and gives a look with very tired monochrome eyes* You think I don't get it? I've been in your place Kimera. And I've watched thousands of us also go through this. You're trapped. Alone and afraid. In the depths of your mind. And no one else can get to you. It isn't what you wanted to happen. You tried to stop it. But it's happened... Shadowy won.

But... But it's dark and cold... and scary in here...!

[This makes him feel much worse. He makes a dragged out whine of distress.]

#((y'all kimera isn't gonna die alright))#((he's not gonna pull a pt and burn himself alive smh))#ask-kimerako #ask #anon #my-names-kris #double asks #kimera ko #kimera ko's subconscious #kimera ko au #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #aftermath of carl episode event #angst

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solaireverie · 7 months

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cl16 | salute to me, i'm your american queen

pairing: charles leclerc x f!sargeant!reader

summary: [ social media au ] what the fuck is a kilometer?!?! or: charles and his girlfriend's adventures

warnings: language

faceclaim: elle fanning + pinterest

author's note: i can't explain this except that it was funny in my head. i should probably be working on the next part of deep blue but ehhhhhh. enjoy!

liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant, vogue and 763,913 others

yourusername Overjoyed with becoming an official @.tiffanyandco ambassador 🩵 Shop the Formula 1 Commemorative Grand Prix collection on their website, now available worldwide.

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charles_leclerc so this is why you couldn't come to monza? 😨

↪ yourusername sorry babe it was scheduled in advance 🥲

user damn tiffany's marketing department really popped off with choosing THE y/n sargeant to rep this line 💅

↪ user like if you think about it it's really smart, y/n isn't just one of the most popular models rn, she's also directly connected to the sport bc of logan and charles

↪ user she is literally all i want to be in the best way 😤

logansargeant where's my charger y/n? i know you have it

↪ yourusername this could've been a text message logie boy

↪ logansargeant wtf don't call me that

↪ logansargeant also you haven't unblocked me yet from that time i stole your life-size cardboard cutout of charles and brought it to williams hospitality

↪ yourusername you're not helping your case here 😒

↪ carlossainz55 silvia was looking for that y/n 😱

charles_leclerc has added to their story

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f1wagupdate @.yourusername is in the paddock today for the US GP after being spotted yesterday in a hotel near the track! She has been seen in the Ferrari garage.

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user uhhh why isn't she in the williams garage???

↪ user uhhh probably cause she's dating a ferrari driver???

↪ user chill 😭 i'm sure she'll drop by

↪ user just say you're a hater and move on bro

charles_leclerc has added to their story

seen by yourusername, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,392,106 others

yourusername has added to their story

seen by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 1,985,274 others

logansargeant replied to your story

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 4,128,293 others

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charles_leclerc Happy birthday my love 🥳❤️ I'm glad you had fun at your party 😉

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yourusername DELETE THE THIRD PICTURE

yourusername HOW COULD YOU

yourusername WHAT IS THIS BETRAYAL

yourusername count your days, charles leclerc

↪ logansargeant she just left the restaurant, i think you need to take her threats seriously dude

user charles is just like all the other sassy boyfriends out there 😂

user damn the road's looking real comfy tonight (i want what they have)

↪ yourusername oh dear don't do anything rash please 😭

↪ user this is why i love y/n lmao even when she's pissed at her bf she finds time to be the nicest human being ever

liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant, yourbestfriend and 6,129,320 others

yourusername just a bit older 🤟

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gigihadid happy birthday darling 🥰

↪ yourusername thank you gigi!

logansargeant happy bday sis :)

↪ yourusername AWWWW LOGAN 🥹

user is charles still alive??? 😭😭😭

↪ yourusername who knows? 🤷‍♀️

↪ charles_leclerc i already said i'm sorry!!!

↪ yourusername do y'all hear something?

↪ charles_leclerc we're literally on instagram y/n... 😐

carlossainz55 y/n, charles says that he'll do anything if you'll talk to him again...

↪ yourusername he knows what i want 😪

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charles_leclerc Thank you for making my life so much better just by existing in it. I love you more than words can express. At the end of the day, you're who I want by my side. I'm so glad that I'll get to call you my wife for the rest of my life 🤍

💍 11.11.23

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