#Praise the immortal rat king

[nunesbytko]

Corinthian- Headcannon that no-one asked for.........

His favourite time of year,

  Summer, - Corinthian can go to the beach and look at at the different types of bodies, From bikinis to trunks, to people draped in shawls. He imagines the sun against his knife as he carves it into flesh. Sometimes, he just relax on a deck chair just to gawk at hotties. It depends on the day.

His favourite book- King Rat

Favourite way to waste time- Sewing. It's relaxing,

  Favourite type of Landscape. - Blood coated Countryside

Favourite type of music- It varies, he likes a little of everything,

  Corinthian's hobbies outside of killing, camping and being the occasional  Youth Sport coach. Jed gave him that idea.

  Embarrassing moments- When Dream found out that he wasn't straight.Everyone in the dreaming knew expect for Dream. When he finally found out, it wasn't pretty.

Best friend moment- any moment with Desire.

  An awkward moment- when he drank too much and puked in a random dog bowl that was in a randoms bedroom,

Blemishes- Corinthian does have the odd mole and freckles on the back of his legs,

  Nervous tics- Putting his fingers in his eye teeth.

  Calming techinques- Steaming hot Yoga

Last Argument he had- With Matthew over the best Martin Scorsese film.

  How- does he cope with nightmares-  Even nightmares have nightmares. He just has to reassure himself that he's the scariest of them all,

  Corinthian's most prized possession- His sanity. Which was shaky after living in the dreaming for all those years,

  Things thing he can't live without. - Lucienne reigning him in every now and again. Keys, nice clothes, different bodies and praise.

What kind of keep sakes that he has- Body parts,

  Corinthian's most importance sense. - Sight, Believe it or not.

  Corinthian and Languages- He knows Eight. By the end of the year he wants to make it to double figures. Right now he's learning Samoan.

  Good luck charm- The first heart of the guy who told him he loved him.

  How does he spend raining days - Combat training with friends on his bed.

  Does he doodle or write- He doodles comic strips,

  Hoe/How does he sleep? - Corinthian really likes space.

  He'll roll on the bed, sleep on his back with his his arms wide open. He loves being by himself in bed. Most mornings he'll get up and bounce on it. He's see so many kids in commercials do it. He tried it once and was amazing at how cool bouncing on a four poster bed is.

  Nobody can ever find out about that though.

  A skill he'd love to have- Re-incarnation- without Dream birthing him.

  Cornithians Genie wishes-

 One- Victims,

  Two- For Dream to be hanging out with Hob, walking and fall flat on his face,

  Three- More Beige Merino Cashmere sweaters, he's running out!

  If offered immortality, sure he'd take it. And like Hob, he wouldn't want to age either.

  Spirit Animal- Cheetah.

  Corinthian Crossover shows,

  West world, Supernatural, Teen wolf, Psycho, Warrior.

  His worst fear- His Daddy Dream, of course.........

[atamascolily]

blue-mint-winter:

Good points about Hohenheim in Xerxes, HOW did he not know what was going to happen if he was such a great alchemist and carried the Homunculus everywhere?

I will say that the scene where the homunculus tells the king of Xerxes the secret to immortality is the only one where Hohenheim is not present.... and Hohenheim clearly fits the Naive Genius archetype and the homunculus is a skilled liar, so... I can kinda buy he didn’t notice anything. The scene in the marketplace where Hohenheim is listening to all the rumors of state-sponsored murder (and the homunculus being all “hmm, interesting”) illustrates that nicely. 

It’s also weird to me that his master just...leaves this dumbass alone in his laboratory with the homunculus after summoning/creating it in the first place so they can have that initial conversation. Like, the master doesn’t even show up until the time skip, when he praises Hohenheim’s skills at alchemy (which.... the homunculus taught actually Hohenheim? Because the master clearly hadn’t bothered to give Hohenheim a name, let alone trust him with Alchemical Secrets prior to the homunculus’s arrival).

ngl: I was expecting the homunculus and Hohenheim to rise up against their enslavers, and for Hohenheim to have an attack of conscience once he realized the price of his freedom/that the homunculus was using him for its own sinister ends. That.... did not happen.

But overall, the whole thing just smacks of Contrived Coincidence to me from start to finish, designed to make Hohenheim an Innocent Victim of Circumstances, so the audience will sympathize with him (after setting it up to make him appear like the villain from the very beginning). And considering that Hohenheim has literally done nothing constructive up to this point* except sit around moping and abandon his family, saying “oh, well, it’s understandable because he had a traumatic backstory” does not sit well with me.

*Healing Izumi at the end of ep. 40 is the first time so far in the show since at least ep. 15 that Hohenheim has done anything that positively impacts someone else. And yes, I’m counting.

Also, I feel like there are a lot of worldbuilding questions left open, such as:

Was “Slave 23″ always a lab rat for his master? 

Why did his master use Hohenheim’s blood as opposed to anybody else’s for this particular task? Was there something special about Hohenheim or was it just convenient?

Why was his master trying to create a homunculus in the first place? Was it an accident or was he after immortality? Either way, how did he manage it without a philosopher’s stone first? (All of the other homunculi thus far in the show have a stone inside them--but not this one.)

And if it is a different kind of “homunculus,” then why not make that clear?  It bugs me that so far we’ve seen several different methods for creating homunculi (a failed Gate, stuffing the Philosopher’s stone into a living human body and having them fight it out for control) without any explanation as to what makes them the same. Are they just using the term for any artificial/created non-human person here?

I hope the show will eventually explain some or all of this, but I have the distinct feeling that was all the flashback we’re ever going to get on this, so I’m not holding my breath.

[batmandarknightrisise-blog]

The Dark Knight Rises: Film Review

The real world threats of terrorism, political anarchy and economic instability make deep incursions into the cinematic comic book domain in The Dark Knight Rises. Big-time Hollywood filmmaking at its most massively accomplished, this last installment of Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy makes everything in the rival Marvel universe look thoroughly silly and childish. Entirely enveloping and at times unnerving in a relevant way one would never have imagined, as a cohesive whole this ranks as the best of Nolan's trio, even if it lacks -- how could it not? -- an element as unique as Heath Ledger's immortal turn in The Dark Knight. It's a blockbuster by any standard.

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The director daringly pushes the credibility of a Gotham City besieged by nuclear-armed revolutionaries to such an extent that it momentarily seems absurd that a guy in a costume who refuses to kill people could conceivably show up to save the day. This is especially true since Nolan, probably more than any other filmmaker who's ever gotten seriously involved with a superhero character, has gone so far to unmask and debilitate such a figure. But he gets away with it and, unlike some interludes in the previous films, everything here is lucid, to the point and on the mark, richly filling out (especially when seen in the Imax format) every moment of the 164-minute running time.

the dark knight rises full movie in hindi filmyzilla

In a curtain raiser James Bond would kill for, a CIA aircraft transporting terrorists is sensationally hijacked in midair by Bane (Tom Hardy), an intimidating hulk whose nose and mouth are encumbered by a tubular, grill-like metal mask which gives his voice an artificial quality not unlike that of Darth Vader. What Bane is up to is not entirely clear, but it can't be good.

Batman’s Onscreen Villains: 10 Greats From The Joker to Bane

Although it's only been four years since the last Batman film, eight years of dramatic time have elapsed since the climactic events depicted in The Dark Knight. Batman and Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) have been in suspiciously simultaneous total seclusion, much to the consternation of loyal valet Alfred (Michael Caine), who, upbraiding his boss for inaction, accuses him of “just waiting for things to get bad again.” They do, in a hurry. But in the interim, Gotham has scarcely missed him, as he's publicly blamed for the death of D.A. Harvey Dent and hasn't needed him anyway since organized crime has virtually disappeared.

Bruce begins being dragged back into the limelight by slinky Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway), a spirited cat burglar who lifts his fingerprints and a necklace from his safe while pulling a job at his mansion. It was always a question how this ambiguous feline character (never called Catwoman herein) would be worked into the fabric of this Batman series, but co-screenwriters Jonathan and Christopher Nolan, working from a story by the director and David S. Goyer, have cannily threaded her through the tale as an alluring gadfly and tease who engages in an ongoing game of one-upmanship with Batman and whose selfishness prevents her from making anything beyond opportunistic alliances.

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Commandeering the city's sewers with his fellow mercenaries, Bane begins his onslaught, first with an attempted kidnapping of Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman), then with a brazen attack on the Stock Exchange, which, at the film's 45-minute mark, has the double effect of luring Batman out of hiding and bankrupting Bruce Wayne. The latter catastrophe forces the fallen tycoon to ask wealthy, amorously inclined board member Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard) to assume control of his company to squeeze out Daggett (Ben Mendelsohn), who's in cahoots with Bane.

Nolan has thus boldly rooted his film in what are arguably the two big worries of the age, terrorism and economic collapse, the result of which can only be chaos. So when virtually the entire Gotham police force is lured underground to try to flush out Bane, the latter has the lawmen just where he wants them, trapped like animals in a pen waiting for slaughter. And the fact that Gotham City has, for the first time, realistically used New York City for most of its urban locations merely adds to the topical resonance of Bane's brilliantly engineered plot, in which he eventually takes the entire population of Manhattan hostage. Nolan has always been a very serious, even remorseless filmmaker, and never more so than he is here.

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Inducing Selina to take him to Bane, Batman gets more than he bargained for; physically, he's no match for the mountainously muscled warrior, who sends the legendary crime fighter off to a literal hellhole of a prison, with the parting promise of reducing Gotham to ashes. Seemingly located in the Middle East, the dungeon resembles a huge well and has been escaped from only once, by none other than Bane, who is said to have been born there and got out as a child.

Here, as elsewhere, there are complex ties leading back to the comic books that link characters and motivations together; with Bruce and Bane, it is with the League of Shadows, which occasions the brief return of Liam Neeson's Ra's Al Ghul, last seen in Batman Begins (in 2005). A solid new character, Joseph Gordon-Levitt's resourceful street cop John Blake, is a grateful product of one of the Wayne Foundation's orphanages. Many of the characters wear masks, either literal or figurative; provocatively, Batman's mask hides his entire face except for his mouth, the very part of Bane which is covered. This is just one of the motifs the Nolans have used to ingeniously plot out the resolution to their three-part saga, which involves at least one major, superbly hidden surprise.

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While Bruce Wayne languishes in the pit rebuilding his strength for an escape attempt, Bane spectacularly and mercilessly reverses the entire social order of Gotham City: 1,000 dangerous criminals are released from prison, the rich are tossed out of their uptown homes, the remaining police hide out like rats underground, and a “people's court” (presided over by Cillian Murphy's Scarecrow) dispenses death sentences willy-nilly. With virtually all bridges and tunnels destroyed, no one can leave the island, which is threatened by a fusion device, initially developed by Bruce and his longtime tech genius Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) as a clean energy source but now transformed at Bane's behest into a nuke, which he promises to use.

Some of the action scenes, such as multiple chases involving the armed motorcycle Bat-Pod (mostly ridden by Selina) and the cool new one-man jet chopper-like aircraft called The Bat that zooms through the city's caverns like something out of the early Star Wars, have something of a familiar feel. But the opening skyjacking, the Stock Exchange melee and especially the multiple explosions that bring the city to its knees -- underground, on bridges and, most strikingly, in a football stadium -- are fresh and brilliantly rendered, as are all the other effects. The film reportedly cost $250 million, but it would be easy to believe that the figure was quite a bit more, so elaborate is everything about the production.

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But the fact that all the money has been put to the use of making the severe dramatic events feel so realistic -- there's not a hint of cheesiness or the cartoonlike -- ratchets up the suspense and pervasive feeling of unease. One knows going in that this film will mark the end of Batman, at least for now and as rendered by Bale and Nolan, but for the first time there is the sense that it could also really be the end for Batman, that he might be sacrificed, or sacrifice himself, for the greater good.

Needing to portray both his characters as vulnerable, even perishable, Bale is at his series best in this film. At times in the past his voice seemed too artificially deepened and transformed; there's a bit of that here, but far less, and, as Bruce becomes impoverished and Batman incapacitated, the actor's nuances increase. Caine has a couple of surprisingly emotional scenes to play and handles them with lovely restraint, while other returnees Oldman and Freeman deliver as expected.

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Bane is a fearsome figure, fascinating in his physicality and blithely confident approach to amoral anarchy. With the mask strapped to his head at all times and his voice altered, Hardy is obliged to express himself mostly through body language, which he does powerfully, and at a couple of key moments his eyes speak volumes. All the same, the facial and verbal restrictions provide emotive limitations, and his final moments onscreen feel almost thrown away; one feels a bit cheated of a proper sendoff.

Hathaway invests her catlike woman with verve and impudence, while Cotillard is a warm and welcome addition to this often forbidding world. Even though Nolan and Bale have made it clear that The Dark Knight Rises marks their farewell to Bruce Wayne and Batman, the final shot clearly indicates the direction a follow-up offshoot series by Warner Bros. likely will take.

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As before, the production values are opulent and sensational; nothing short of the highest praise can be lavished on the work of production designers Nathan Crowley and Kevin Kavanaugh, cinematogtapher Wally Pfister, costume designer Lindy Hemming, visual effects supervisor Paul Franklin, special effects supervisor Chris Corbould, editor Lee Smith, composer Hans Zimmer and sound designer Richard King, just for starters.

The only conspicuous faux pas is a big continuity gaffe that has the raid on the Stock Exchange take place during the day but the subsequent getaway chase unfold at night.

Nearly half the film, including all the big action scenes, was shot with large-format Imax cameras and, with both versions having been previewed, the 70mm Imax presentation that will be shown in 102 locations worldwide is markedly more vivid visually and powerful as a dramatic experience; the normal 35mm prints, while beautiful, are somewhat less sharp.

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Despite all the advanced technology deployed to make The Dark Knight Rises everything it is, Nolan remains proudly and defiantly old school (as only the most successful directors can get away with being these days) when it comes to his filmmaking aesthetic, an approach indicated in a note at the end of the long final credits: “This motion picture was shot and finished on film.”

[supremeuppityone]

Written for @klarosummerbingo Klarosummer Bingo Prompt: “So, can we turn this into a Weekend at Bernie’s situation?”

Please review here.

              The werewolf didn’t look that intimidating. Of course, that’s probably because he was missing his head now. With a long-suffering sigh, Caroline stepped over the decapitated body, careful not to get any blood on her new boots. As she hopped up on a barstool, she flexed her toes in irritation, mentally weighing several scenarios to determine the best course of action.

           “Nice boots, love,” Klaus teased, deepening his accent on purpose because he knew what it did to her.

           “Thanks. A gift from Kat for making a rat problem go away,” she said flatly, refusing to get pulled into his usual flirtations when she was pissed at him for potentially derailing the negotiations she’d worked for months to set up.

           “Python skin? I thought you were a pacifist.”

           She straightened her spine, an edge to her tone as she corrected, “They’re faux snakeskin — I’m a vegetarian. And do you seriously think I could stomach this job if I was a pacifist?” She thought back to some of the sick shit she’d helped cover up over the years and would’ve shuddered if she felt anything other than general disgust for the whole of humanity.      

           She’d grown up in politics, the Forbes family steeped in government shenanigans since the Eisenhower Administration. It’s what made her a brilliant fixer, something that even members of the supernatural community had noticed. It had been quite a shock with Kat approached her for help, revealing that she was a 500-year old vampire in the middle of a touchy situation with the Originals and a voracious werewolf pack. Caroline was still proud of how quickly she’d adapted to the knowledge that there was a completely hidden supernatural world. A world with vampires and even older ones called Originals and werewolves and who knew what the hell else.

           Once she set aside the shock of immortal creatures, she viewed the situation just like any other political mess she needed to untangle and she expertly negotiated Kat’s freedom and secured all of the properties Kat had abandoned over the centuries she spent on the run. While she’d been surprised to get a loyal friendship out of Kat, it never occurred to her that anyone else in the supernatural community was paying attention.

           “So, can we turn this into a Weekend at Bernie’s situation?” She rolled her eyes at Klaus’ downcast eyes. Feigning remorse was not one of his strong suits. “You know, you hired me to help you with your image problem as a ruthless hybrid dictator. It would help if you didn’t keep acting like a ruthless hybrid dictator, you asshat.”

           That sexy smirk should come with a warning label. “He was a useless wolf unfit to be alpha of that troublesome pack. They should thank me for my thoughtfulness.” Draping his muscular form across the bar top, he leaned in close as he said in amusement, “And how, pray tell, do you advise we turn this mishap into that dreadful movie?”

           She rolled her eyes at his blatant attempts to flirt, wanting to stay focused on the potentially explosive political fallout bleeding onto the oak floor. “The upcoming conclave I negotiated between the factions never specified the location. Logistics and agenda items were on my to-do list this week.”

           She pulled out her iPad, scrolling through her contacts until she found the right one. “So, we’re now declaring the venue to be a video conference. These wolves are so prideful, they’ll jump all over themselves trying to prove how they’re just as in-demand and jet setting as the hybrid king is, and therefore couldn’t possibly make time for an in-person meeting. We’ll spread the word that their alpha has joined you here to work on pre-meeting agenda items and will appear beside you on the video call. And the best special effects team in the country owes me a huge favor after some unfortunate tentacle porn surfaced right before Oscar nominations were announced.”

           Klaus looked impressed, but tried to quickly hide it so he could poke and prod at her well-constructed plan. “Marvelous — so we’ll pop back on his head and store him in a freezer when we’re not trotting him out for public appearances? Seems a bit shaky for a long-term solution, sweetheart.”

           “Seriously?!” She playfully nudged his leg with the pointed toe of her boot in mock anger. “Even after you’ve seen me in action for the past three months, you still doubt my unshakable planning skills? If I had feelings, they’d definitely be hurt.”

           Glancing through her calendar, she considered the supernatural landscape for the next few months, weighing potential fallout scenarios. “The alpha suddenly will get a severe case of wanderlust, and at some point during his well-documented globetrotting, an unfortunate scandal will surface, complete with irrefutable social media posts that will cause him to renounce his title and membership within the pack.”

           His gray eyes darkened, fiery wolf gold flickering momentarily as he appraised her. “I absolutely adore your clever mind; your brilliance was wasted on human politics. This actually would put us in a favorable position to sway that irksome pack into selecting an alpha of our choosing. Bravo, sweetheart.”

           Caroline didn’t like to admit what that rumbling praise did to her. Clearing her throat, she said, “Agreed. In fact, I pre-vetted potential candidates back when this pack first came on our radar. I sent you a slide deck earlier today that you should review. It contains brief bios and pertinent stats such as number of kills, relationship diagrams, susceptibility to compulsion or subtle bribery...” She trailed off when she realized that his face was entirely too close, breath ghosting over her lips.

           “When are you going to give in, Caroline?”

           She pushed back slightly, needing to get a grip on her emotions before she did something unprofessional. “I did give in, remember? Right before I signed a contract with you.”

           “If you think one deliciously decadent night with you was enough to sate my curiosity, you’ve greatly underestimated my wolf, love,” he purred in her ear, nearly causing her to combust as she recalled flashes of that unbelievable night.

           She cleared her throat again, hopping off the barstool to wander closer to the decapitated alpha. “The timing was on purpose, Klaus. I told you I’m not a boss-banger.” Gesturing toward the bloodstains seeping into the floor, she said breezily, “If we’re putting my plan into motion, we need to get started.”

           Klaus stalked toward her, a seductive sway to his hips to accompany the predatory gleam in his eyes that left her breathless. “Of course sweetheart. Let’s begin.”  

[jamgetsbred]

The King and The Bull

Got bored, wrote a kinky re-imagining of Theseus and The Minotaur. Comments are welcome but bear in mind I'm not going to edit this to hell since it's for fun! I write academic papers enough so my hee hee porn writing isn't going to be held up to the same scrutiny. Thanks!

SUMMARY: Theseus is a young prince of Athens tasked with the impossible: achieve immortality by writing himself into the stars through his heroic deeds to cement his name, the one thing he ever chose for himself, in song forever. His first task after establishing his connection to his father's bloodline?

Slay the Minotaur, a monster of Crete that devours fourteen young people every year.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Transphobia mention (very brief beginning confrontation, trans identity is a central theme of this story), Blood, Viscera (mentioned in Labyrinth fight), Physical harm, Death mention, lice (mentioned on the ship), rats (also on the ship), all sex is consensual

KINKS: Monster fucking, breeding kink, biting, blood, rough fucking, pregnancy risk, praise kink

Chapter II here

My son.

Theseus’s heart nearly stopped as he heard his mother call his name. 

“Theseus, my son, please.” 

His anger felt like Prometheus clawing his way through his chest with flaming hands. Every inhibition in his body burned in the face of his rage. He turned and met her tears with a smile that spread to his eyes. 

“Please? Please? You beg me now, of all times to grovel?” His laugh was the bark of a hound. Aethra recoiled as if he’d slapped her. 

“You will die, Theseus. You will die if you go to Crete, you foolish boy!” 

“Boy! Ha! I am only valuable to you in death. Yes, all of a sudden when my fate is assured you’re losing a son. Would you have begged Clymene not to go to Crete?” 

“And I’m sure you feel like a man in this moment. Abusing your mother! Taking my only child from me!” 

“Taking your child? I am a son of Poseidon born to a mortal woman. I am your only tie to Olympus personified. I am not taking your child; I am taking your pride.” Even Achilles, a man gifted with the speed of Hermes, could not have struck Theseus quicker. Aethra’s hand trembled as her son kept his eyes fixed on the pillar he now faced. His cheek felt like molten lead; the same melting rage set his jaw and raised his voice. The person that spoke was unfamiliar to both of them. 

“You,” He took a step forward. There was no need to touch her. “Are a wretched woman, who made my childhood a torturous existence. A half life. What did you raise me to be? Nothing more than a bride. You did not raise the son you claim to lose now, the son that marches to Crete, the son that will kill the Minotaur. Where will you be when my name is written into the heavens? You will be an afterthought. My glory will be my own. You, Aethra, will be forgotten to ash and dust.” 

Her hands and shoulders shook as she wept, her coughing and spluttering making her body double over. She grasped his hand, then his ankle as he tried to step away. 

“You will go to Crete.” 

“I will.” 

Theseus left the house with a sword and a scroll strapped to his belt. Bound for Athens, and a ship with black sails. 

Chapter I

Even with his father’s gifts Theseus couldn’t help but be faced with his many miseries. The chains clamped around his wrists and ankles dug weeping blisters into his skin. Blazing sun fried his nose, cheeks and scalp; his fiery hair didn’t offer much protection for the young hero. Worse still, even with his skin flaking off around him that didn’t compare much to the rats. Wretched vermin that fucked, ate, birthed and died all around the brig. For weeks he listened to this cacophony of sounds: rats, coughing, weeping. He was somewhat sure by day three he could hear his bones creak from the cold. 

By the second week he was caked in his own sweat and filth, gasping for any breath from the air holes he could find. His body felt like it was being pulled apart. The tunic he wore was certainly a mess; his breasts were raw from how little protection it offered from the splintering hack job of a floor. Yet he still grinned; because there were children here: sacrifices to the Minotaur as young as ten. Theseus braided hair, spun handmade tops, and taught them songs. Other older sacrifices like himself in their early 20’s joined him. The littlest one, Penelope, reached for his hair as he tried to pick the lice out of her scalp. 

“Are you going to save the Minotaur?”

He chuckled, smoothing her hair. “No, I’m going to save us. I have to kill the minotaur, Penelope.” 

Penelope’s face scrunched as he flicked a bug into the darkness. She huffed, crossing her arms. 

“What if he’s nice? His Papa put him in there. What if he didn’t hurt people? What if he’s just sad?” 

Theseus smiled around the hairpin between his lips. “The minotaur is a beast. Killing him will end his pain. I’m helping him by helping us.” 

It was quiet at first; but the prince of Athens could hear the waters slow and the ship's low, droning groans as it began to lose speed. He was the first person to shout “BRACE!” as the ship’s abrupt halt nearly sent them flying. Penelope clung to his neck while he grabbed onto Orion’s wrist to keep him from breaking his spine against the steel bars of their cell.

 Finally, the ship settled. 

Only one or two soldiers came to collect them. Two men that looked like prisoners in uniform spat at their feet, huffing as they opened the cell. 

“Rise, oh children of Athens. To your deaths you go. March, march.” Theseus carried the two youngest; poor Adrian couldn’t lift his head, and Priscilla barely opened her eyes. The guard didn’t bother to re-chain them, simply allowing them to shuffle along to the deck to meet their killers. 

Sure, maybe he hadn’t expected fanfare, but maybe..a little pomp for the sacrifices that fed their monster would’ve been appreciated. Instead, Theseus looked upon (really, squinted at; the sun cast everything in a white curtain) a silent crowd. Three figures stood on the dock awaiting them. King Minos he knew of from his father. A tyrant of a man who demanded an endless flow of Athenian blood in exchange for the single split skull of his son. He knew less of Ariadne or her sister. Of course he’d only been told by the sailors what most men would probably want to know: only tall tales of beautiful eyes and firm bosoms. One soldier was obsessed with Ariadne’s ankles, so much so that Theseus at one point wished he’d worn the longest dress possible himself. 

Minos was an ugly man. His smile as Theseus was pushed forward off of the gangplank was like an open suture.  

“Ah, the Prince of Athens. Welcome, Son of Aegus.” Son was spat at him like a gauntlet was thrown. All of Crete held its breath. 

Theseus simply grinned and bowed. “King Minos. Yes, a prince of Athens is no greater in value than her people.” 

“Yes. So it seems you aren’t of great value at all. Die well, Princeling.” Some of the peasants gasped, some of the men roared with laughter. Theseus’s smile remained plastered onto his face, painting himself with pleasantness. Most would look for his smile- but only one person in all of Crete followed his eyes.

Princess Ariadne’s gaze had been fixed on him since he exited the boat, but now he saw her plainly. She was delightfully pretty- the same way he’d been groomed to be when he was younger. Fit to fade into the decoration of a room. But Ariadne’s personality was easy to see for those who saw her earrings in the shape of stars, the pendant of Daedalus around her neck. Her dancing skirt. Her worn sandals. He searched for what he needed: the slight bump on her right finger. 

She can write. She can read. She probably learned under Daedalus, master of the labyrinth himself. Theseus tucked that into the back of his mind. Right now it was difficult to think as he made the long walk to the palace carrying two children with no sandals on hot stone. So instead his mind wandered to other things as buildings passed, and the people’s faces watching the death march blurred together. He thought of glory, of men- women- men? At his every beck and call. Crowds would roar his name, babies would bear the name he’d made for himself in attempts to capture his glory. His father Poseidon in the heavens would make him immortal among the stars. Only when he reached the palace did he stop to take in his surroundings; which were mainly white marble. Every so often he’d see columns with beautiful golden veins, but for the most part Minos kept a plain home. The real prize could be heard throughout the palace, and felt in his feet. At first Theseus thought it was the earth shaking; but then, Penelope whispered as she trembled.

“He’s screaming.”

“What?”

“Big bull man.”

Theseus listened closer now; she was right. Anguished moans echoed off of the walls. It felt like the sound crawled up his spine and over his skin. 

Horrid creature, he thought. Soon he and the other sacrifices were piled into their new accommodations: plush beds with high columns and pressed silk clothes prepared for them sitting on top of the covers. Combs were left in the bathroom along with fresh olive oil soap along with various beauty tools to scrub under nails and cut hair. 

“Do with this what you will. Enjoy.” The guard who had escorted them exited, leaving Theseus and the others to prepare themselves. By the time he’d scrubbed all of the dirt, sweat and grime out of his skin and fixed his hair up into something remotely respectable (he’d just snipped until it looked right) and pinned his tunic into place with his fibula the sun had descended to sit just above the horizon. Of course, he could also tell it was time for the feast by the way everyone had started to lift their nose to the smell of meat. But Theseus didn’t bother moving from where he sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at the blank wall across from him- imagining the minotaur. Half bull, half man; how could he kill the living personification of a god’s wrath? He couldn’t even kill the hatred that festered in his own heart. 

But emotion could not be killed. Flesh could. The minotaur was half man- and that was man enough. 

Now I just have to find a sword. 

He’d wished for a bow and arrow, but shooting into pitch black would be a waste. Moreover, he needed to know he hit his target if he could not rely on sight. Morbid as it was he needed to feel the flesh rend to steel; arrows would not be heard over a roaring monster. 

“Athenians, please join us at the feast in your honor.” A more polished guard stood in their doorway with a lumbering stature and broad chest. Theseus rose, being the first to follow. He needed to get the internal map of these halls in his head; look for landmarks. A chill came over him when he passed the third hallway with little to no adornment. 

He has purposefully left us with nothing to remember. 

Finally Theseus saw the gentle dancing of various lamps and was hit with a wall of smell; people chatted as many flitted about the banquet table to get their fill. Lords and their wives, Minos’s court, and very few wealthy peasants all took turns gawking at the new elephants in the room. They were all made to sit directly beside the King, who spread his arms wide in his chair carved with images of his monster. His son. 

“Welcome to Crete. Feast upon our good will to you; as you have provided for us your lives, we provide you with one last meal. Feast well. Drink well.” He raised a goblet, to which most of Theseus’s comrades answered except for the littler ones or those too bitter about their own destruction to look up from their untouched plates. Theseus himself did not toast, instead turning to Penelope, who fidgeted with her plate of beef. 

“Look at him, Penelope,” Theseus whispered, smirking. “He’s so prideful he needs a dinner throne.” 

“I bet he has a bathroom throne!” 

“Oh, I’m sure his chamber is gilded.” Across from him, Eleni snorted. She was his age and had shared the burden of taking care of the others on the ship. Even she couldn’t be bothered with Minos’s merriment- mocking him was much more fun. Her lip quirked just a bit. Enough for Theseus to catch it as he brought his cup of wine to his lips.

“Eleni, there’s a joke in you somewhere.” 

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, red rising to her cheeks. “I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do. A prideful King sits in the most ornately carved wooden chair that he’s currently soaking with gravy. You could take up hours on the Agora with that material.” 

Just as she was about to speak, it was Orion who ceased his giggling fit to shout “MINOS SMELLS!” 

For a moment you could hear the sound of the distant wind. All of the previous faux pleasantness had been sucked out of the room like a vacuum; all eyes on Minos. That was, until Theseus’s laugh boomed like a lightning strike. He patted Orion on the head. Maybe it was the wine he’d been sipping that brought the humour back to his cheeks. Not a single Athenian eye was dry- of all the wit and cleverness their people were renowned for, Orion had killed a King where he sat by calling him stinky. 

“To the smelly King Minos, who demands more than he ever lost!” Theseus hollered, raising his cup. 

“To King Minos, tyrant and pissant!” 

Laughter now roared from every corner of the hall. Minos was floundering in a sea of insults, which as a host he was expected to take as good natured fun. But his cheeks were aflame, and it looked like he was ripping Theseus apart several times over in his minds eye. Gone was the awful smile that greeted them on the dock. 

Searching the room, Theseus caught Ariadne’s gaze with the ghost of his smirk still on his face. He winked at her before he stood. 

“I’m afraid I must rest. A long journey and a short feast makes for a pleasant sleep. Excuse me, gentlefolk, to my dreams.” He only broke contact with the Princess when he turned on his heel, moving now just assuredly enough that a guard did not try to escort him. A captain stepped forward as he crossed the threshold. 

“Sir,”

“I know the way. Thank you, Captain. I would like one last moment to myself before my demise, if you can find it agreeable.” 

He huffed. Theseus continued to walk and found that the man did not follow. Instead, as he rounded a few corners he heard lighter steps. If he hadn’t hunted in his youth as much as he had to he would not have heard them at all. 

“Prince of Athens.” 

Her voice was like a melody. So the Princess had followed him.

“Princess of Crete.” Theseus turned and bowed low; his nose almost kissing the marble beneath him. “I am Theseus, son-”

“Son of Aegus. Son of Poseidon. Your mother is Aethra. I know of you, Prince of Athens.” Ariadne’s gaze warmed the back of his neck and ears. “Rise. Really, I’d like to see you without wine on your upper lip.” 

Theseus rose, taking her hand in his. It was soft except for the callous on her middle finger where she placed a pen. “A pleasure, Princess.” He kissed the freckle on the top of her knuckle. 

“What I speak to you about it..Not all pleasurable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“You mean to kill my little brother.” 

A passerby would’ve thought Demeter had cursed the very hall they stood in. Suddenly the marble which had been a pleasant coolness on his burnt heels turned to ice. His skin prickled. No one had spoken of the minotaur as a person; only a beast. To kill someone’s little brother was different than slaughtering a wretch. In this case they were one in the same. 

“I..I do.” 

“You have no weapon.” The honey in her eyes had turned to a calculating blaze of fire. “And you did not come here to die. You came here for him.”

“I came here to stop the killings. Your brother’s life is not worth the hundreds of souls he will consume as he ages.” 

“Certainly not.” She looked at him from his toes to the crown of his head. “He is not a verse in your song. He is a living thing.” 

“I-”

“You will hear me. Princes are notoriously deaf to the pleas of women, but you will hear this, Theseus Aegemedes. If you want to kill my brother, you must first know his name. His name is Asterion. He is twenty years old, like you, and he loved to play when he was a child. He would pretend he was a hero, Heracles. He is now older, meaner, and blind in one eye after one of our soldiers struck him with a spear when he was still small.” 

“Why do you tell me this?” 

Ariadne bit her lip. From the way she flinched he could tell she’d drawn blood. Her nails dug into her palms. 

“Because…I love him.” 

“If you loved him, you would not have told me his weaknesses.” 

“I love you, too. Or maybe I love your courage. Glory didn’t bring you here, to Crete. To your death. You came with barely a plan, and your name.”

He laughed; it was honestly half of a sigh. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Princess. Glory did bring me here.”

“Then you are a dull witted man for an Athenian King.”

“Prince,” He corrected. “And yes. I...Have had to earn my name, in more ways than one. This would cement me as who I am. Theseus. It is all I want people to remember.” 

“And in all the ages of Greece, not a single Prince or King would want to be remembered for his kindness? Would you scorch all of Crete for your name too, or just those you find monstrous? Justifiable to kill?” She stepped forward, looking up at him. He could’ve sworn the lanterns burned brighter now. “Where does that stop, Theseus?”

“I-” 

“It doesn’t. Memory is a living thing. You would always need another monster. And eventually, it will become you.” Her shadow seemed like its own beast as it curled in the firelight. He felt like she could consume him whole. Her words alone flayed his flesh from his bones, down to his core. He hadn’t realized he was weeping until she brushed the tears away from his cheek, smoothing over his tan skin with her thumb. She found the scar on his lip and held her attention there. 

“You’re not a monster, Theseus. Has anyone told you that, in all of your labors? You were never different. You were never accepted, either. Just as you are.” His heart began to race. There was no way she could know- no- he’d kill her before she told anyone else. He could so easily grasp her throat and squeeze. Squeeze until she stopped, until all of this went away. 

“What do you know of me? What do you know of the things I’ve felt?” He could kill her. She would take his secret to her grave. 

“Because I was always a Princess. But only when I grew did they call me Ariadne.” The fire inside of him that threatened to consume them both in its wake died with her admission. She knew more of his experience than he ever thought. Gently, she kissed the scar on his lip. “I know you are good, Theseus. You’ve lost yourself in what it means to be a hero, what it means to be a man. Sometimes the most heroic thing a man can be is kind. You will go to the labyrinth.” She opened his tunic and he didn’t stop her. From under her skirts she produced a gladius and thread which she pressed against his chest. 

“You- you give me my life?”

“I give you your life. Because I know yours is worth the hundreds you will save; and my brother's life was over once he entered that wretched hole. He is more of a ghost than man. Save him, Prince of Athens, and you will make a fine King. Here is my gift to you; go tomorrow not a lamb, but a lion, Theseus of Athens.” 

He wished he could live in her arms forever as she kissed him once more. Theseus tried to remember the sweetness of her lips and the taste of fresh figs. Eventually they broke from each other, with Ariadne cradling his face in her hands with such tenderness you could’ve mistaken them for a couple. 

“Go, Theseus.” 

“I’ll come back for you.”

“I know.” And so the Prince of Athens turned from her, Ariadne, Princess of Crete, to walk to his chambers. He left her standing there in all of her radiance; from the beautiful plaits in her brown hair to the gold on her fingers. Because he would come back. She would wait for him. 

When Theseus eventually found his quarters, he slowly slid down the wall with the gladius and red thread in his hands. His lips pulled back against his teeth as he wept. 

Must a man be cruel? Does brutality make a King? Or can I be kind, but where has kindness gotten me among my fellow men? Mocked. Chided. He’d attempted to hug his father once and had been struck. Yet, his heart also tugged when he thought of how much better he could’ve grown up in a world that was gentler. How many times had he been harassed by men at the market growing up? Ariadne was right. He stared at himself in the reflection of his sword. Eventually he would run out of monsters; he would grow old and ornery. He would grow selfish and stupid and prideful. 

He did not know how to be a man without all of the machismo that came with it. But he could learn. He could try. 

Theseus had been lion and lamb both, in his lifetime. Now he wondered who sat in front of him; what sort of hero he could call himself. 

Only one way to find out. 

A final gift, this time from himself to Asterion. Theseus spent the rest of the night crafting a burial shroud. The least he could do was kill him with kindness. 

Chapter II