#we have prometheus for fire

[hellenhighwater]

Okay if I'm going to enter this whole clay sculpting thing into ArtPrize--because why the hell not--it's going to be all three parts of the minotaur series, plus Prometheus and Icarus. I think I want a third single-figure sculpt, also from greek mythology, and I was leaning towards Medusa but I'm not fully decided. It would have to be a relatively well known one. Suggestions?

[apicelladonna]

Vinda, barges in the dungeon room: What did you do? Gellert, hiding Albus' body: Gellert: I'm going to need you to be more specific.

[sugaroto]

Thought for The day: Why don't we consider ourselves animals, even though we technically are? - @thoughtforthedaysolitaire

Because we're all plants

What it says here long story short-:

Is that all alive beings were made inside the earth

And the ancient greeks kinda believed that each race grew out of the ground of wherever they were from

But here,

It refers to all beings as animals

But it differentiates animals from humans by calling them άλογα (α+λόγος) =un-logic/logic-less

(BTW άλογα In greek means horses but in ancient greek all animals were άλογα(logic-less) so I now go to people who don't study ancient greek and say all animals are horses and I'm technically right. It's ridiculous funny)

So yeah. We're all plants and animals. Just some have logic and some are horses logic-less

....

Also now that I think about it... ζώα (animals) looks like it might be connected to ζωή (life) ... chances are those two are connected and we've been calling animals alivebeings in greek my whole life and I'm realizing it on Tumblr...

[youaremysunshine-court]

Do you want to read an iwaoi fic that will rewrite your brain chemistry??

[thanatoseyes]

I've had only goddesses reach out to me about practicing magic.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Omens

Arkasha Stevenson: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the first omen Stevenson: it's about a plot to breed the antichrist King: wait this sounds familiar Stevenson: yeah it's based on The Omen King: no that's not it

King: wait! i've got it! King: this is totally ripping off Good Omens! King: it's the same set up! Lovecraft: you're right! even the name is similar! Barker: wow, i hope someone gets fired for THAT blunder

King: neil! Neil! did you know that the omen is ripping off your book? Neil Gaiman: steve, good omens is a parody of the omen King: King: what Gaiman: i mean, even the name is similar Gaiman: that should have been a clue

Gaiman: you must understand, steve, that once the omen was the biggest thing in horror Gaiman: we believed its grip on man's imagination would last the ages! But alas... it is forgotten! Gaiman: forgotten like the fading filaments of a dream in the morning light! King: oh ok

Gaiman: now, like the great ozymandias,king of kings, memory of the omen has scattered to the howling winds of the glittering desert of oblivion Gaiman: and like prometheus the titan of old my torment knows no bounds Koontz: neil! did you know the first omen ripped off your book?

Gaiman: no young dean for you see the omen actually predates good omens Koontz: huh? but it just came out! Gaiman: no see the original omen came our before the good omens book Koontz: original omen? book? Koontz: i don't understand

Mary Shelley: sup fuckers Shelley: so neil i hear they ripped off your book Gaiman: no i Shelley: i'd be real pissed if someone ripped off my book Gaiman: they didn't Shelley: i'd give em one of these [pantomimes shivving]

Gaiman: please! no one ripped off good omens Barker: oh they definitely ripped off good omens Poe: seems pretty obvious, yeah Gaiman: edgar! he's just stirring up shit! Gaiman: you know that! Gaiman: why are you believing him now? Poe: no he's right, it's an open and shut case

Neil Gaiman: it's not a rip off! good omens was literally an omen parody! Gaiman: if you won't believe me, ask terry! Terry Pratchett: hey is anyone hungry? i could really go for some soup right now

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[celestialprincesse]

🎀🍼

What time is it?! More single mom!reader time!

Someone dropped into my inbox asking for Single mom! getting upset at her daughter and yelling at her and then crying about it. I needed a minute to cook but I'm here now.

"Come on, Lottie." You huff desperately, covered to your elbows in suds and applesauce as you try and fail to get your daughter into the bubble filled tub. "If you take a bath, I'll let you watch Bluey before bed." Has the three year old perking up, albeit barely, still stroppy about some trivial thing or another. She's probably still sour about you saying no to having cake for dinner, despite the fact that you'd relented this morning and allowed cake for breakfast, on the condition that she also had some strawberries to 'cancel the sugar out'.

"I wan' see Riley!" She pouts, stomping a tiny, chubby foot against the tiled bathroom floor. Ever since you'd dog sat for Simon on his latest deployment, Charlotte had decided that Riley was more her dog than his, and despite the fact that you too, absolutely adore Riley, the thought of bothering Simon any more makes you physically wince. "We can see Riley tomorrow." You attempt to bargain, growing more frustrated the longer you sit on the edge of the bath with your daughter looking at you like you're unreasonable. You never thought you'd see the day where you could get genuinely upset at a three year old covered in apple sauce and glitter glue. You've already had to fish a clip on earring from her mess of hair, and now you're at the end of your very, very long, single mother special edition, extra strength rope. "Wan' see him now!" Has you practically on the verge of tears. Today has been one of those impossible days where all you can think of as you're working out how much you have to spend for the month and whether you need to call a plumber out for the kitchen sink, is whether it's all worth it. Sure, going back and grovelling would be shameful, gut wrenchingly so, but at least then you wouldn't be alone.

"Charlotte, get in the bath or I'll put you to bed with no TV time." The unrelenting growl of your own voice feels foreign as it echoes around the tiny bathroom. You hate playing the bad cop, that was never your role, you'd always been the one to pick Lottie up after her dad laid down the law, take her for ice cream in the park or to feed the ducks. Now you're forced to do both. Charlotte, being three and having no care for the fact that she's making your life more difficult than it needs to be, simply sticks out her bottom lip and quivers her chin a little. Which, under normal circumstances, would make you give in and try to chase her down with a wet wipe, or coax her with the mermaid barbie doll that 'lives' in the bath. "Charlotte. Bath. Now." Of course, she'd had to have your spirited nature and unwillingness to give in passed on to her like a flaming torch, like you were Prometheus, being punished for giving fire to man. "No!" She shrieks, and that's enough to tip you over the edge. "Fine, bed then! Go on! Go and get in bed all dirty and see if I care." You snap, fingers pinching frustratedly at the bridge of your nose, trying to hold back the angry tears threatening to spill.

You're too consumed by hurt and endlessly roiling frustration to see where she storms off to, allowing yourself just a moment to sit on the edge of your shitty bathtub and let it all out. It was hardly ever that you got angry at Lottie. It was practically impossible given your situation. She doesn't understand where her daddy is or why you needed to go without him, nor why she can't always go and play with Simon and Riley whenever she wants.

"Charlotte?" Simon is confused and more than a little concerned at the snotty three year old currently stood at his door, cheeks ruddy with tears and little fists balled as she walks past him into his flat. "Wan' play wif Riley." She babbles, toddling through his entrance hall to the living rim, where the K9 gladly greets her with licks to her cheeks, making her giggle. "Where's mummy, Lottie?" Riley is called to heel, told to calm down so that Simon can understand why he's currently got your three year old crying in his lounge. "Baffroom." The toddler mumbles, seemingly perfectly content to get comfortable on his couch with Riley, burying her little face in the fluffy golden scruff of his neck. "What do you mean, bathroom, poppet? Is mummy alright?" "Mummy cryin'." "Did something happen?" In her usual way, Charlotte completely zones out from his line of questioning, too engaged with snuggling his dog.

The toddler wails and kicks when she's hoisted up onto his hip and carried back through the concerningly open door of your apartment, still swinging slightly on its hinges from where Lottie had thrown it open. "Love?" Simon calls into the seemingly empty house, your daughter on his hip and Riley waiting at his feet, wet nose twitching for any smell of the familiar woman who feeds him treats and scratches behind his ears. In seconds, Riley is tearing into the dimly lit bathroom, jolting you from your meltdown, followed rapidly by Simon and a tired looking toddler. "Love? Darling, what happened?" He's crouching at your bare feet as you sit defeatedly on the rim of the tub, your chin in his hands, tilted this way and that as though to make sure you're not hurt.

"Charlotte wouldn't get in the bath and - and" You can barely get your words out before you're wailing into your hands again, hiccuping pathetically at your situation and the fact that such a simple thing has the strength to derail you entirely. "Ah. Wondered why she came round mine all huffy and puffy." "Oh my God, I'm so sorry - You must think I'm awful." "I don' think you're awful. I think you're fuc-fudging amazing. Look at you, are you jokin'? Raisin a kid all alone, startin' a new life just the two of you. You're a trooper, yeah? I've seen soldiers weaker than you." "You don't really think that." You sniffle, inadvertently leaning your cheek into his palm when he reaches up to wipe your tears. "Course I do. You're brave and kind and beautiful. You've done a hell of a job with the little spitfire over there. Don't think I've ever come across a woman I admire the way I do you."

The way his words, aloof, distant Simon Riley's words make butterflies flutter in your stomach should be illegal. The way his eyes are so warm and dark like the comfort of a warm bed after a long day makes your heart pound and your breath catch. You know you shouldn't feel like this, for Charlotte's sake, and his, and yours, and yet you can't stop yourself. For the first time, you're falling, hard. Not for danger or the lure of the unknown. No. You're falling for the safe, gentle domesticity that Simon offers you in the waiting palm of his hand, like feeding a frightened animal in the hopes of coaxing them into the safe warmth of a home.

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

I didn't mean for this to be 1.2k oops I got totally carried away 😚

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[the-cybersmith]

So, about this whole "AI" thing...

A response to an ask (for some reason, tumblr won't let me blaze normal responsicles)

Like the Titan, Prometheus, Man Has Stolen Fire From the Gods. We can now make minds in our own image, elevating crude matter to the level of self-awareness. So... What next?

The first thing I would like to make clear is that, in some respects, my opinion here is irrelevant. So is yours. So are the opinions of the people reading this.

No matter what we do, no matter what we believe, something remains inviolably clear and true:

BAD ACTORS WILL EXPLOIT GENUINELY USEFUL TECHNOLOGIES TO BENEFIT THEMSELVES

This is an axiom of human behaviour that cannot be escaped. Nuclear power is amongst the most regulated technologies that have ever existed... and right now, rogue states are attacking their neighbours, protected from intervention by the threat of nuclear annihilation.

Nuclear Weapons (their own, and Red China's) are what allows the North Korean government to continue oppressing its population.

Nuclear Weapons enable The Land Of The Bear to invade The Ukraine.

Despite this, nuclear power has otherwise been mostly regulated out of existence. It is cheap, safe, and abundant, yet various laws make it either artificially expensive or outright illegal to heat your home with it, light your rooms, power your transportation, trim your hedges.

Regulations and anti-technology hysteria can prevent ordinary people from benefitting from innovation, but they cannot prevent the worst people in the world from abusing it.

So, whatever worst-case scenario you've imagined? Accept the fact that it's going to happen no matter what you do.

Legions of nanobots reconfiguring us into paperclips, a la Eliezar Yudkowski's bizarrely specific fever dreams? If you think it is possible, accept that it is inevitable.

Intelligent machines with glowing red eyes malevolently hunting us through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, a la James Cameron/The Wachowskis? If you think it is possible, accept that it is inevitable.

Lying governments using deepfaked videos to create un-debunkable false-flags and cheaply manufacture consent for wars to further their adrenochrome-harvesting operations? Let's face it, they don't even need AI for that, most people will just take their claims at face value.

But what if we all agree to stop using it?

Technologies are sometimes lost, yes, but this happens gradually, over the course of decades if not centuries. Civilisations can decline and lose access to technologies, but that's not likely to happen for AI within our lifetimes.

If it works, if it is genuinely useful, it WILL be used.

We have seen this play out time and time again, throughout history.

So, we can either do what we did for nuclear power, and regulate it so heavily that it serves no useful purpose to the Just and the Kind, whilst availing the Corrupt and the Wicked...

Or we can accept Evil shall be done, and try with all our might to counter it with Good.

We can strive to Magnanimous heights of Faustian greatness, using AI to create untold works of beauty, so that Human Grandeur at least rivals Human Depravity.

In summary:

We have stolen Fire from the Gods. The more noble-minded amongst us might as well do something worthwhile with it.

[hauntingsunshine14]

SPOILERS FOR ALIEN ROMULUS

no seriously like spoilers for the ending not just a bit in the middle

It's just a funny (hilarious) bit of foreshadowing but still spoilers

I'm driving home from watching this movie with my mother, and we're both just yapping about how we liked it, and I was suddenly reminded of what I noticed about Isabela Merced's character Kay!

Early on in the movie, we get a shot of her in bed after she tells Rain that she's pregnant, with a flat oval necklace clearly displayed.

This isn't the exact scene, but example:

you can kinda see the necklace once you zoom in

This medal is easily identifiable even from the distance/lack of detail thanks to Catholic guilt! yay! This is a Miraculous Medal (pictured below)

This is a necklace that centers Mary with a whole bunch of lore attached that details how St. Catherine Labouré saw Mary in a vision (twice technically) and the second time was instructed to

 “Have a medal struck upon this model. Those who wear it will receive great graces, especially if they wear it around the neck. Those who repeat this prayer with devotion will be, in a special manner, under the protection of the Mother of God. Graces will be abundantly bestowed upon those who have confidence.”

tldr: it's a very common and recognizable representation of Mary, they often have these medals at catholic churches as back when I worked at mine they were literally just sitting in the lobby.

What made me laugh so profusely in my car ride home is that Mary is considered literally THE mother in Christan lore and Kay does in fact give birth at the end of the movie... to what is essentially Weyland-Yutani Jesus.

Technically she took David's goo injection and produced the 'Offspring' (apparently what the horrifying human/xenomorph is called) (I prefer W-Y Jesus)

This is a wonderful bit of foreshadowing for the ending sequence, coupled with the engraving of Romulus and Remus and the Capitoline wolf, as well as the painting that was zoomed in on right before of a mother and child. And kinda as well to the whole thing about Weyland-Yutani trying to 'play God' with humanity's evolution.

But, on a larger more franchise-wide scale, this foreshadowing continues on with some of the themes from the previous two movies concerning origins and beginnings, as the whole Mary/Jesus thing is technically speaking, the 'origin/beginning' part of the New Testament. This is shown very plainly in the titles (Prometheus, Covenant, Romulus) which are all pulled from various origin stories - Greek, Abrahamic, and Roman. Prometheus stole fire, the covenants in the Torah/Pentateuch, and the founding of Rome. All different stories about the growth of humanity, ranging from how to live all the way up to founding empires. These ideas somewhat parallel the actual events of the movies.

B/c we watch David - and therefore Weyland-Yutani - discover the goo, experiment on it, learn how to interact with it, and then attempt to build a new empire with it.

It's a very messy analogy and kinda? does not fit with the Mary thing in Romulus, but in very broad strokes it ties in well enough, which for the whole confusing Prometheus/Covenant situation is par for the course.

Overall, Alien: Romulus is an amazing addition to the franchise and at the risk of sounding cheesy is literally a breath of fresh air. Right down to the pacing of the movie, it's classic Alien. I loved it, and even if you haven't seen any of the alien movies or even if you've only seen the first, and even if you have these spoilers, it's a fantastic experience!

(and for all the alien: isolation lovers there's such a cute nod to the game in the movie)

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Order as Antagonist in TDP

So how about that trailer, eh? I was so excited I didn't notice this text up top on TDP's tweet for like. An hour.

We haven't heard anything about this Cosmic Order before. Is it a specific group? Is it a vibe? Is it a Startouch thing? Hard to say, yet. But there are some vibes from the Starscraper shots we've gotten in the trailer and teaser that may point us in the right direction:

This place has eight pillars, each with a recess that holds a relic staff seemingly identical to the one Viren's been toting around. It's not unique, and Aaravos didn't craft it. He stole it.

This is the Prometheus part of Aaravos' character. This is the fire that he stole for humans, from the gods. The relic staff. A relic staff, one of many.

Why did he, a godlike elf himself, feel the need to commit this act, for which he was cast down, exiled, and stripped of much of his power? Why?

Hard to say yet, but knowing all that he is capable of, I think it comes down to one thing: stealing it was the only way to get it. Nothing else he could think of would work. And he's pretty imaginative. But the system, the Cosmic Order, had him, too. He's a magic elf, bound by the same forces as everyone else up there. Breaking the rules was his only remaining option.

Aaravos chose Chaos over Order and put his money where his mouth is. He did get exiled and cast out, but humans have magic now. Somehow, that's not a thing the Order can take back from them, once it's out - rather like Pandora's Box.

But I want to look at this Order, and how pervasive it must be. How else would a powerful elf like Aaravos be reduced to petty thievery to accomplish his ends? Surely he tried other ways, other options, other persuasions. Why didn't they get him anywhere? Why did he have to take such a - for lack of a better term - human approach to the problem?

Let's back up a second and look at a seemingly random list of likes for one specific elf: Runaan. (no of course it isn't random, this is why this theory post exists. but shh, it'll make sense I promise)

Runaan likes four things in this list. Two of them are his immediate family. One is his favorite food. And the last item on the list?

Order.

I used to think this was just a bit of a wink to him being autistic-coded and liking his patterns. And I still do think that's accurate. But my third eye got pried open by the Cosmic Order text, and I think it's more than that now.

Runaan is a tiny cog in the grand engine that is the Cosmic Order. He goes where he is told, he kills who he is told to kill, he obeys without question, no matter how heinous his acts would be - he would have killed Ezran without blinking, because that's what the Dragon Queen told him to do.

Runaan is the most Moonshadow Moonshadow, according to the Deluxe Elf Interview. He's the epitome of what it means to be a Moonshadow elf. His devotion, sacrifice, and adherence to the rules are what makes him a good Moonshadow elf.

How convenient for the Order.

Runaan is still an individual, inside his own rules. He chose to become an assassin, and he did it to spare others from having to take lives and live with the weight of those acts. But that does imply that if he hadn't chosen this path, someone else would have, and people would still be dying.

And I think he's right. Maybe his love of order actually lets him perceive the great gears grinding over his head, up in the stars, turning the wheels of fate for everyone they control. Maybe he knows full well that he's part of a grand system - but there's nothing he can do about it except stay alive or die, because he is trapped inside it. He cannot change his fate because he is locked into it, just like everyone around him.

The Book 1 novelization tells us Runaan always expected to die on a mission, and that he meets that fate with a calm resignation on the balcony. He surrenders to his fate, because he cannot fight it.

What could lock Runaan into a fate that ends with him dying on a mission?

His own choices? Think bigger.

His society, then. Obligation, honor, guilt. Hmm, bigger than that.

It's been there the whole time - something that all the elves and dragons possess, but humans don't. Something which caused the imbalance in the first place.

Magic.

Magic is the Cosmic Order.

yes it has eight points and yes I'm back on my bullshit

Quick aside: The Cosmic Order is turning out to be the big magic version of King Harrow's Narrative of Strength, which he contrasted with the Narrative of Love - and we'll get back to that at the end of the post.

Alrighty, back to magic: The worst offenders seem to be the primal magics, which have locked the elves and dragons into very tight little boxes as far as what they can and cannot do, think, and imagine. An elf with a single arcanum can only think in terms of that primal source. It's as bad as an irl human who only knows one language, and so their brain literally cannot conceive of concepts that exist in other languages. (Learn more languages, guys, it's genuinely good for your brain, I am not kidding)

This helps explain why Aaravos was able to think a little bit outside his box and consider giving magic to humans when the Order said they didn't deserve any. He is an archmage, and he speaks many magical languages. He knows all six primal magics, as well as the ancient blood magic and dark magic. That's eight different ways of looking at a problem.

(is this why elves only have 8 fingers, because they literally cannot grasp anything outside of magic?)

From his multifaceted viewpoint, Aaravos can see the inherent unfairness in humans being forced to abide by the Order without getting any magic for their trouble. It's basically taxation without representation.

The Americans among us can attest to how well that went over in our own history.

Aaravos: Prometheus, Lucifer... Che Guevara... Guy Fawkes?

Aaravos really does love revolution.

Further thought: this post about Ethari's design has reminded me again about his lower-than-average magical ability and how that has manifested in his unique design and in his character. And I'm looking directly at how Ethari's lesser magic power may be the reason he's so mentally flexible. If he can challenge Runaan directly about how Rayla is not ready for that mission when everyone else is going along with it, isn't that lack of narrow-mindedness the thing that sets him apart?

What else might that freedom of thought do for him? Is this the reason he is actually able to invent at all? Because he is capable of envisioning that which does not yet exist? How rare that must be among Moonshadow elves!

tldr: Ethari is actually bad at being a Moonshadow elf, and that could very well be what saves him.

Contrast Ethari with Karim, who is a powerful Sunfire mage, and very much locked into his traditional views of elf vs human. He's willing to go to war in order to impose his views on all of the Sunfire elves if he can, because he genuinely believes he can see the Order of things better than anyone else can.

He believes in the superiority of the elven ways, while Janai has let her heart change her mind. Janai fell in love with a human, and it broke the Order's hold on her. She makes history now - it does not make her.

Side note: Is this... is this the formula, then? Is this how enduring ships work in TDP? An elf with a normal arcanum, paired with either a human or an elf with a "flawed" connection to the Order inside them? One who can anchor, and one who can imagine?

Let me make a quick list:

Claudia+Terry

Ethari+Runaan

Callum+Rayla

Amaya+Janai

Well. How bout that.

Ironically, this is a different path to what was going to be my final point in the first place: Order may be the default for elves and dragons and the way they are supposed to follow the rules of the universe, but love still exists, and they can always choose to embrace it. They can all be saved by love, in the end. It's their choice. In fact, choosing Love over Order is an act of defiance in itself.

Terry chose Claudia over fear. Janai chose Amaya over war. Rayla chose Callum over vengeance. And Runaan, my poster boy for stubbornness and suffering, chose Ethari over Order itself.

Saved by love.

[theoldoor]

DR RATIO DAY

i hate mischaracterization of dr ratio bc as dr ratio #1 hater at least hate dr ratio FOR WHAT HE IS not for WHAT U THINK HE IS YOU AINT HATING ON THE SAME LEVEL AS I AM RAAGGGH IFUCKIGN HATE DR RATIO (more doodles below JUST BEAR WITH THE RAMBLINGS)

“he’s so mean as a teacher/egotistical/narcissism and shit” NOOO WHAT IF HE JUST HAD A LITTLE SUPERIORITY COMPLEX TO COVER FOR HIS INSECURITY OF NOT BEING RECOGNIZED BY NOUS NO MATTER HOW HARD HE WORKED?? WHAT IF HE’S A LITTLE GIFTED KID WHO SHINE WITH THE DESIRE TO BE SEEN?? WHAT IF HE WANTED THAT VALIDATION OF HIS GREATNESS BUT NEVER RECEIVED IT NO MATTER HOW HARDED HE WORKED AND HE NEVER HAD AN ANSWER FOR IT??? WHAT IF HE’S JUST AUTISTIC AND HIS FORWARDNESS IS SEEN AS ‘MEAN’??? hate dr ratio BUT HATE HIM RIGHT

i hate dr ratio

THEORY THING

i like to believe in the theory that dr ratio is the worm, despite it saying that the worm actually died. or at least, worm jr.

so maybe, dr ratio is the “second” worm, like the rerun. the second attempt to fuck around with nous because now it’s more convincing cuz he’s his attractive looking professor yk. second time’s the charm and aha never back down from a good laugh.

= veritas is also the roman goddess of truth, sometimes argued to be the creation of prometheus - the trickster who defied the other olympians and gave humanity (something seen as insignificant) fire (yk spreading knowledge, tech, civilization, etc)

= aha, is an aeon of trickery, a trickster, who gave unfathomable knowledge to a worm , something seen as insignificant.

= aha likes silly things, what gives a good laugh every now and then? Irony. What’s Ironic? someone who doesn’t take bullshit and silly things like dr ratio to be a follower of elation. someone whose name is “truth” but lies every time we’ve seen him.

—- If the theory is true

As any gifted kids do, they strive to be recognized, for their talents to be used and seen. But his purpose of being recognized by Nous failed, so what all his giftedness do? He can’t even turn back to Aha either, Aha discarded the worm the moment THEY found out that the worm failed to get recognized and left that poor thing to dead - the Aeon that created him for this sole purpose, discarded him.

So what? What does he have? What greatness he has if his duty can’t even be completed given his power? Other people has been recognized with less capabilities than him, yet he’s recognized by none of the Aeons. Imagine the insecurity and guilt that must’ve fell upon an overachiever like him.

To act with superiority, to pretend that you’re above others - to hide the fact that you’re actually achieving less than you actually supposed to. Dr Ratio… i hate you…

*funny thing: since the masked fools, followers of elation, was rejected by aventurine. do u think dr ratio is the second attempt in trying to get aventurine to join masked fools lol

OC TIME:

Dr ratio has a 3% completion rates on his course. I think people drop out pretty often and he would usually have empty classes. well not until fenrir came, we all know how desperate fenrir is for that validation and he never let a task be unfinished.

as harsh as dr ratio was and as unbearable it was for fenrir, he still showed up to every class, even if he doesn’t do well and if he overworked. but soon, they both caught on their unhealthy habits for one another and kinda got it shimmered down.

fenrir has hermia, his little sister with heavily implied ASD, he can pick out similar patterns with Dr Ratio and learn to deal with his little ‘tempter’ at times and Dr Ratio finds it easier to work with Fenrir (cuz the man is awfully patient) so they were a well off pair and fenrir became the second person who can hold a proper conversation with dr ratio.

(maybe aventurine knew how to deal with hermia because he dealt with dr ratio lol)

We cannot forget the vashrir content

Aventurine passes by his office sometimes, picking up a few papers to read for fun because he’s literally Fenrir’s research subject. i like to think that aventurine finds it funny in how analytical and structural fenrir was when it came to avgin-sigonian - he was writing a dissertation for it after all.

fenrir really remembered everything aventurine said, studying its phonology from the way aventurine spoke the words and recording them down even when aventurine wasn’t paying attention. such a silly freak lol.

topaz and fenrir coming tmr mayhaps AHAHA

[burningvelvet]

a post in honor of lord byron's 200th death anniversary —

the greeks were very fond of byron, who when he died in 1824 was a military commander and notable influence in their war of independence. as one of the most (if not the most) famous members of the philhellenist movement, byron used his poetic platform to try to remind people of greece's reputation as the source of western traditions in art and culture. the greeks then honored byron by decorating his coffin with a laurel wreath (below). they also erected statues for him, like this one below in athens depicting him being crowned with a laurel wreath (a symbol of greatness, especially in poetry/music [which historically overlapped]) by a female personification of greece. to this day, some statues of byron are annually wreathed in tradition, and the names byron/vyron/vyronas are still used in greece for roads, towns, and people in his honor.

"’Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one’s laurels,

By blood or ink; ’tis sweet to put an end

To strife; ’tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,

Particularly with a tiresome friend:

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;

Dear is the helpless creature we defend

Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot

We ne’er forget, though there we are forgot.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,

Is first and passionate love — it stands alone,

Like Adam’s recollection of his fall;

The tree of knowledge has been pluck’d — all ’s known —

And life yields nothing further to recall

Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

Fire which Prometheus filch’d for us from heaven."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the First (writ 1818, pub. 1819).

"The mountains look on Marathon –

And Marathon looks on the sea;

And musing there an hour alone,

I dreamed that Greece might still be free;

For standing on the Persians' grave,

I could not deem myself a slave."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the Third (writ 1819, pub 1821) — this stanza is part of a section often published on its own under the title "The Isles of Greece."

"Byron was at once a romantic dreamer, who wanted life to square up to his illusions, and a satirical realist, who saw what was before him with unusual clarity and found its contradictoriness amusing. The clash between the two Byrons is nowhere more noticeable than in his last writings, done on Cephalonia and at Missolonghi during the months before his death. There we see the Greece he dreams of, and the Greece which, in different ways, destroys him."

— excerpt from Peter Cochran's "Byron's Writings in Greece, 1823-4."

"Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;

The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled.

Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory!

Oh FAME! - if I e'er took delight in thy praises,

'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;

Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory."

— Lord Byron's "Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa" (November, 1821). What is illustrated here, and what I try to illustrate all throughout this assortment, is Byron's conflation of love and glory, and the idea that poetry and politics are both ways to deserve and achieve — not fame, but what fame seems to promise — love.

"But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here

Such thoughts should shake my Soul, nor now,

Where Glory decks the hero's bier,

Or binds his brow.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,

Glory and Greece around us see!

The Spartan borne upon his shield

Was not more free.

Awake (not Greece—she is awake!)

Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom

Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake

And then strike home!"

— excerpt from Lord Byron's "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" (1824).

"What are to me those honours and renown

Past or to come, a new-born people's cry

Albeit for such I could despise a crown

Of aught save Laurel, or for such could die;

I am the fool of passion, and a frown

Of thine to me is as an Adder's eye

To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down

Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high –

Such is this maddening fascination grown –

So strong thy Magic - or so weak am I."

— although the much more popular and published "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" is often believed to be Byron's last poem, the above is likely Byron's actual last poem. Like the former, it wasn't solely written for Greece, but for his page Lukas Chalandritsanos who he was in unrequited love (or lust) with. It is sometimes titled "Last Words on Greece" (named so by his friend and sometimes-editor Hobhouse).

[sugar-grigri]

Like Prometheus, the heart will be bruised

When Fujimoto makes a revelation, it's important to remember that this revelation never comes out of nowhere; there are always clues to it in the previous chapters. These clues don't serve to make you want to know what happens next (which is difficult with CSM), they serve above all to make your experience as a reader more gratifying, especially on rereading.

Well then, let's get started! In chapter 146 Fujimoto introduces an exceptional new demon, the Fire Devil.

What I find particularly interesting is the extent to which his power and this chapter are based on the same way a fire works

Barem's statement to his contractors alone makes sense, because to take the form you desire is to escape your condition in the same way that humans in prehistoric times began to use fire, moving away from their ape-like status.

In the same way, the fact that the fire demon gains in power as the number of its followers increases makes perfect sense. It works like a kind of fire that goes up in flames.

Now let's take a step back. It was while I was rereading the last few chapters that I realised a number of things...

Let's start with the fact that the fire demon was right under our noses, as shown by the presence of fire every time Fujimoto placed this false demon of justice, whether with the class president literally pulverised by Yoru or Yuko burning her neighbour's body.

But above all it's clear how the fire demon fulfilled the expectations of these two contractors

The President wanted to be seen by Mr Tanaka, hence the plurality of heads.

As for Yuko, she was an intrusive person (although I like this character) who wanted to know Asa's secrets, their exchange of secrets being for her the proof that they had become best friends.

Yuko seemed like an isolated person who was desperate to get into people's heads, hence her mind-reading powers.

This also works with the old man from the church who also contracted the false demon of justice, his thesis was that he could fight demons by becoming a demon... which he did.

The other point I want to make is that Fami's plan is bound to have flaws, not only because it would be more interesting from a narrative point of view, but also because we sense that she's trying to find the right tactics.

Her first tactic was to starve Yoru to get complete control of the war demon, but that didn't work.

Every time she tried to starve Yoru, Chainsaw Man or Denji were around, which gave Fami the idea of a possible partnership between the two, rather than fighting each other.

Hence the fact that she explains to Yoru that cooperating with Chainsaw Man wouldn't prevent him (or at least the black Chainsaw Man) from being killed, as this cooperation is more than necessary.

I'm also intrigued by this line because, in the light of the last revelation, it only implies even more that Chainsaw Man must become this super-powerful champion.

The church is really trying to help him, in other words the church is really trying to restore his power and even increase it.

But what I find even more incredible is the fact that Asa and Denji are in the same position

They're both at the heart of Fami's plan, but they're also both host to one of those demons that can kill the Death Demon.

But their situations were different; Asa fell into the trap by tying up with the church, while the passivity that could be taken from Denji was in reality a form of resistance.

This is particularly striking in several chapters

Denji had not succumbed to the temptation of becoming a divine being with the church, whereas Miri Sugo could despise him for only wanting to remain a chair, to act like a chair - this act of depreciation goes completely against the veneration of the church.

The fact that Denji belittles Chainsaw Man by acting in a humiliating way is in itself an act of protest against the fact that he is becoming a hero incarnate in whom the church will project itself.

I'm well aware that Denji wasn't aware of all this, but it's precisely his personality and deep-seated nature that allow him to go against this plan.

The fact that Denji wants people to find out he's Chainsaw Man defeats the whole purpose, because giving this mechanical monster an identity, a human head, makes it impossible to identify with him.

Yes, the impostor is pretending to be Chainsaw Man, but this generic character with his abstract and broad speech means that everyone can admire him and continue to project themselves as Chainsaw Man.

What Fujimoto has done from the start is underline Denji's flaws, his deep humanity and his own self-deprecation, he's too strong a character and so far removed from the imaginary Chainsaw Man that it would make any admiration and identification collapse.

Above all, Denji and Asa are cannon fodder for their own demons, Pochita is subject to Denji's dreams and wills, which are always in pursuit of integration among humans and literal contact, and when the heart isn't split in two, the brain is, Asa with her moral dilemmas, her intellectual capacities that escape the law of retaliation how advocated by the war demon

That's why the rest of the plan is as follows: Fami knew that the public hunters would fight back, so she deliberately let them.

The public demons immediately set about neutralising Chainsaw Man, so she wanted to kill two birds with one stone, Asa, i.e. bring back as many followers as possible with a new figure. But above all to draw the attention of the public hunters to Asa. Wouldn't Fami take advantage of the fact that Asa could be massacred by Yoshida to force Yoru to change host...... to Yoshida?

Just like the fact that Barem is quite close to Denji.

Remember when Fumiko said she was a fan of Denji, Barem intervened and said he preferred Chainsaw Man?

Time to separate

Barem propagated the fact of becoming Chainsaw Man like a fire that would spread, this time the punishment was not for Zeus to make humans mortal but rather immortal and monstrous demons.

But the fact remains that the rule will continue to apply and, like Prometheus, a heart will be sacrificed and bitten by the birds

A heart bitten by a bird

[writterracoon]

Hades 2

Lately, I've been a bit obsessed about Hades 2, I've been watching people play the test run , listening to compilations of interactions and scouring theories.

While doing all of that, I noticed something of a pattern, a theme that often came back and I think I may have found out one of the MAIN theme and conflict of the game and I've seen nobody talk about it yet, so here we go.

More under if you're not against being possibly spoiled.

I think one of the major themes of Hades 2 is going to be about Humanity and its complex relationship with the Gods, the way the gods treat mortals and the way mortals treat the gods.

here are my evidences

The interactions

the first thing that put me on this path was this interaction between Melinoe and Nemesis.

In this conversation, Nemesis and Melinoe are talking about Retribution and Justice and how Nemesis believes that Kronos taking over the underworld and challenging the Olympians may be what they deserve. Notice how Nemesis specifically mentions mortals and the Golden Age.

For those who don't know, in greek mythology the Golden Age was the first Era of Humanity and when Chronos was the ruler of the heavens. It was a time of peace and harmony for humanity where there existed no plague or famine, there was no need to work as they could simply pick their food from nature itself. They lived long lives, remaining youthful and died peacefully in their sleep.

Nemesis is I think trying to hint to Melinoe that maybe the situation is not exactly as black and white as it first seems and that humanity may have a bigger role in this than first thought.

A second interaction i want to bring to mind is about Moros and his relationship with mortals.

Here Moros admits that sometimes he because of was simply bored he would knowingly bring doom and pain to Mortals ending their lives painfully.

Archnea's interactions are also the strongest contenders for that theory, as they bring back that theme of divine cruelty, the gods view of mankind and how they callously treat them.

She has been wronged by the gods for the simple reason that she was better than them at something and they naturally couldn't stand it so they cursed her to live as a spider. She is filled with resentment for them and even warns Mel not to trust them. Also, note how she admits she fears the gods more than she fears Chronos.

2. Dora

Now Dora is a bit particular because we don't know much about her, but I have seen a theory and some interaction with Moros seem to be pointing toward it, which is that she might be Pandora, the original sinner of Greek mythology.

the myth of Pandora goes a bit like this: During the Golden Age, after Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gifted it to humanity, the gods decided to punish Prometheus by punishing humanity. They built Pandora, a woman beautiful beyond compare, and gave her a box full of the evils of the world. They then send her to seduce Epimetheus Prometheus's brother, who despite his brother's warning is promptly seduced by Pandora's beauty and welcomes her into his home. She then opened the box and released the evil of the world upon mankind, thus ending the Golden Age. Only hope stays inside the box.

Again if this is indeed true, it would follow the theme of the gods inflicting pain and suffering upon mankind for petty reasons, uncaring about the consequences of those actions.

3. Hades I

During the first game, many interactions points toward the gods general uncaring attitudes about mortals. Demeter thinks it was a mortal who stole her daughter away, so she decides that she will punish them all by starving them with an eternal winter. The other gods make almost mention of it only to say how much it annoys them.

4. Speculation

This part is not so much about evidences and more about speculations about the story of Hades 2 based upon my theory that mankind is going to be central in this tale.

The reason how Chronos is so powerfull, powerfull enough to free himself from Tartarus and claim the Underworld for himself, is that mortal were tired of being the gods' playthings and prayed to him, they prayed for his return, for the return of the golden age, where pain and suffering were unknown to them and the gods weren't using them for their own amusement.

The gods are going to have to deal with the fact that their poor treatment of humanity has consequences and those consequences are the return of Chronos and a second titonomachy.

Melinoe will propably have to face the fact that Chronos is wrong in challenging the gods and that the current status quo cannot be sustained any longer. The Olympian gods will have to change how they treat mankind if they wish to even have a stand a chance against chronos.

(TLDR, The Olympian gods have treated mankind like shit for a long time and now they are dealing with the consequences of those actions when the mortals are praying to Chronos to come back and restore back the golden Age where their lives weren't even half as awful. Melinoe will have to deal with the fact that her family might very well deserve what is happening to them and if she wishes to save them, the gods will have to change.)