#Weak Prometheus

[allycat75]

Since you agreed to this, Boston Dumb Fuck, and feel the need to bring down your entire family (I don't want to hear "they made me do it" horseshit), all the while we are forced to watch...

I figured until that little black hearted Succubus is out of our lives for good, I will remind you (or your handlers, or your handlers' interns, or Lisa, or Elijah Eros, or whomever is lurking on your behalf) what an obtuse clown you have become.

All I wanted to do yesterday was watch some of the Oscar coverage and behind the scenes stories, but what did I see when I settled in after a hard days work (see, BDF, in the real world, people actual earn money by doing things that are productive and contribute to society and don't require you and your family to sign over your likeness rights, integrity and deep seated generational values, but I know you can't relate, you soulless sack of programmable plasma)? What I saw was obsequious coverage of you and your half Teutonic twit making your loving red carpet debut, showing off your chivalry by offering her a solo moment and her not wanting to leave your side. 🤢🤮!!!! It couldn't have anything to do with the fact no one would know who she was if not at your side (hell, even at your side, some of the general public just thought you were a little too comfortable with your niece). No one asked why you were there with nothing to promote except a skin-of-your-teeth loss at the Razzies the night before. You are like a Make-a-Wish charity case, but unfortunately there is no cure for your form of obliviousness and lack of coping skills.

It did make me think, once inside, how did that little prize schmooze with the Hollywood gentry? What could such a shy princess discuss to get the next big role and put her on the map? Afterall, isn't that what this obligation was meant to accomplish? So this talentless, entitled tantrum-waiting-to-happen can skip the line ahead of more deserving actresses?

I have some thoughts of how that may have gone:

Showed off her encyclopedic knowledge of Liberia

Discussed how to get the perfect eyebrow shape, from tip, peak, arch and tail

After asking about her hubby's bold fashion choice for the night she responded, "Oh, it was tribute to my mother and her homeland. The real homeland. Since his mother adores me, and always has, he wanted to do something that showed his loyalty and allegiance to my bloodline"

During lulls in the conversation, stood with her mouth half open as she discovered others found it intriguing

Talked about her humanitarian work in 2019, spending a week in Cambodia

Kept telling particularly powerful party goers, "You know, you are one of the good ones. So clean and well kempt. You can hardly tell".

Touched upon the levels demon possession and how it is more nuanced than you think

Is that about how it went? Or were you so high and entrenched in your cyclical sadness to even notice?

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

ROTTMNT Headcanons: This one is long as shit so buckle up

The boys being able to mind-meld is a genuinely interesting concept 

But all I can picture is them fucking with each other 

Like can you imagine Donnie doing something really important and Leo drops a sick knock-knock joke 

Or the boys trying to sleep and Mikey goes “who wants to go to the grocery store with me?” at like 3 AM

I was also thinking “what would the group’s favorite season be?” 

April: fall

She loves cold weather and the colors and flavors of fall 

Raph: winter 

He also loves cold weather 

He handles it the best out of the boys and he adores Christmas 

Leo: summer 

He loves warm weather, he loves swimming, ice cream, and relaxing in the sun 

He hates cold weather (but he does love Christmas and Halloween) 

He gets cold so easily and the family scrambles to warm him up cause he goes into brumation easiest 

Donnie: fall 

One of the first things that April and Donnie bonded over was their love for fall

He also loves the weather and pumpkin-spiced lattes (cause me to bitch)

April Donnie and Leo will take little trips to a cafe in the hidden city order pumpkin-spiced lattes and talk shit 

Mikey: spring 

He’s the only one in the family without allergies 

The twins are allergic to bees 

And April and Raph have pollen allergies 

So they’re all suffering 

Mikey is thriving he loves the colors and the weather 

The twins can read each other easily 

Donnie has a natural poker face and monotone voice so the group has a really hard time getting a read on him

Leo has spent the past decade training his voice and face to be neutral when he’s upset 

There are times when the group pisses him off and they can’t even tell because he’s got his emotions under lock and key

But because the twins are so crazy similar they’re able to tell what the other is feeling

Donnie says it’s as easy as reading a children’s book

And Leo says it’s like looking in a mirror 

(They’ve bonded over being the most emotionally constipated bitches in a room (cause same))

I don’t know how this thought process came to be but I was thinking: who sleeps the lightest and heaviest 

April: is right in the middle 

She won’t wake up if there’s a small noise in the lair but she won’t sleep through an apocalypse either 

Raph: is the lightest sleeper 

And the loudest snorer 

Like no seriously is a miracle that the humans haven’t discovered them because you can hear Raph’s snoring from the surface 

But god forbid they walk near his room cause suddenly “IM UP IM UP” is being screamed 15 times

Like a sick twisted alarm clock

Leo: was a deep sleeper before the Kraang 

He could sleep through just about everything before the “almost end of the world” as the crew dubbed it 

He’s a close second to Raph but when he wakes up he’s alert and quiet whereas Raph is loud and drowsy 

Donnie: can sleep through just about anything 

He’s used to very loud sudden noises 

But if you touch him while he’s sleeping he’ll spring up like a Jack in the box 

Mikey: could sleep through an apocalypse

You can shake him, scream in his ear, rock the subway car he’s sleeping in, change his normal lights with strobe lights 

Nothing will wake this kid up before he’s ready 

This a trait he’s had since he was a tot and on more than one occasion Splinter thought he was dead 

I was also thinking who texts and who calls?

April: is the perfect mix between texting and calling 

She’ll text when she needs to and calls when she needs to

No one ignored her texts or calls cause most of the time it’s important information 

(and then sometimes she’ll call just to piss them off)

Raph: exclusively calls 

The group could text him “hey” and he will call them immediately 

It’s the most infuriating thing in the whole wide world 

Cause most of the time, all he says is “hey” and asks how they are and it results in a 30-second phone call 

It pisses off the twins 

Leo: only texts unless it’s crucial then he’ll call 

He hates phone calls with a burning passion 

And he’s one of those people who will respond to texts immediately 

When he calls his siblings they answer immediately cause they know it’s life or death 

Donnie: never calls

He’ll answer phone calls if he thinks they’re important 

And he answers texts pretty fast 

Unless he’s working then they’ll get a text back in 2-5 business days 

Mikey: mostly texts but will call his siblings for no goddamn reason 

He’ll call them to ask shit like “what kind of cereal do you think I am?” or “if someone held you at gunpoint and said ‘tap dance or die’ would you live?”

Which is why Donnie stopped answering his calls years ago

I have a gut feeling that Leo was a Greek Mythology nerd (cause I’m a Greek Mythology nerd)

And he came up with nicknames for his siblings

April is Arachne

Raph is Atlas

Donnie is Daedalus 

And Mikey is Achilles  

Donnie used to ask why Leo didn’t have one for himself

And Leo gave him the answer Prometheus “cause I’m a god amongst mortals” was he reasoning 

And when he tried to point out that Achilles, Altas, and Arachne arent mortal Leo told him to shut up

It wasn’t until the twins turned 18 that Donnie accidentally found out his real nickname 

Icarus

[slow-clap-processors]

Artemis

Chell said nothing.

And that was her choice.

But if she had the last word, she’d say:

“Yes.”

“You didn’t ask,

If I wanted to go;

Not that I’m going to correct you.

Because if I had a voice it would be screaming,

I deserve better.

"It’s no wonder the portals are orange and blue,

One behind my eyes and one inside you;

Gateways leading to different parts of the same room

We both know how this puzzle is solved;

Just look away,

A click of the gun and it’s finished.

The sound of the radio echoing after my footsteps.

"I am a predator and these tests are my prey-

That’s what you said. I don’t know what to say.

A huntress? oh please,

You make me sputter in outrage and weak in the knees-

I always knew the cake was a lie.

Don’t worry.

No one was fooled by my act either.

"I am the moon, and I am not.

They banished me there and I have turned it against them.

I love it like a crow loves it’s nest,

High in a maple tree,

Fabricated from plastics and pure poison.

What I mean is, I’m used to bad dreams,

Limited breath, and things which are not as they seem.

"I don't sleep, which is fine

I don't prefer my nights to be restful;

Maybe I should.

But maybe instead,

You could turn off the emancipation grill,

And we could grow seedlings in the companion cubes

So they'll always have someone to sing to them.

"Don’t scrape the floors

Of the vines and trees,

Don’t wash away your scars for me.

I will banish the crows, but don’t ask me

To sing for you.

Don’t look at me like they do,

Like i’m some slice of delicious

Vanilla,

Crazy,

Cake-

I promise, I don’t taste nice.

"Notice how you never use my name?

Look me in the eyes,

Coward, Titan, I know

Your cameras will never let you forget.

A girl could never dream of a prettier headstone."

GLaDOS’s sister poem: Prometheus

[hauntingblue]

NAMI NEEDS TO GO UP THERE AND FIGHT BIG MOM I AM SO SERIOUS!!! THIS IS A BATTLE FOR THE ROMANCE DOWN TRIO!! SANJI DO NOT DARE TAKE HER SPOT!!!

[cefonteyn]

Coordinates in 1899

42.4 N, 44.57 W (promotional materials)

42.04 N, 44.57 W (1x1, on the deck)

42.43230 N, 44.375760 W (1x1, in the bridge)

42.043240 N, 44.37560 W (1x8)

The coordinates form a quadrangle in the North Atlantic, about 850 km (528 mi) away from the coast in Newfoundland, and 2400 km (1491 mi) away from New York City.

[the-irreverend]

I absolutely love the direction they decided to go with the black goo from Prometheus and how it ties into the themes of the film and the franchise.

Rook and Weyland wanted to use the black goo to make humanity better at colonization by ridding humanity of its weaknesses and limitations. But as a result, it creates a human without any humanity.

You even see that same theme in the chip that Andy used to "upgrade" himself with. He wanted to use it to better help the people he cared about, and yet in doing so he lost the care he had for them and tragically ended up becoming more like the cold machine that Weyland-Yutani wanted him to be.

Both the chip and the black goo are perfect metaphors for how people try to obtain, use, or embrace certain things to make themselves "more perfect" or gain more status and power in the system or society they're a part of. And yet by doing so, they lose the things that make us human and become more like mindless machines that think of nothing but serving a system that doesn't care about anything or anyone except those who benefit from it the most.

[blood-starved-beast]

I've read this line before actually getting it in my game but it's still so insane to hear/see for oneself like. Just how little Melinoe cares for them I mean. It's straight up bigotry, and frankly I'm not surprised at all that Melinoe thinks this of them.

Think about it. Melinoe is a child soldier raised to kill Chronos. Failure is not an option, the titan has to die, or otherwise what purpose does she have? We see how intertwine this view of herself is with her purpose in her Book of Shadows entry - she blames herself for the fall of the House

In her Mind, Melinoe has to "redeem" herself, prove her worth to exist. So she cannot fail. And most importantly, she cannot be weak.

To a god, mortals are insignificant. They live short lives full of survival. They fear death and what comes after, so they cannot live to fulfill a purpose or cause as it could mean their death. So they avoid that. To Melinoe who whole life for a purpose, that is weak of character, and also lacking sense. And any that do have influence, it is short lived, and usually forgotten, their influence ends there. What is life, if not to live for a cause of sorts? For a singular purpose? That is alien to Melinoe, whose whole life she has lived in the company of gods and shades during a war whose stakes go as high as to threaten the very nature of godhood itself.

So when she sees someone who sides with Chronos, Chronos who represents the "Golden Age" for mortals, she sees a traitor. This is antithetical to her purpose, her existence. Melinoe groups people into two kinds: those who fight for Chronos's demise, and those who wish to help him succeed. She cannot entertain the nuance of the side that wishes to see him succeed - cause that means her purpose - to right the wrong to her family and the error of her existence - will be for nothing. They are wrong, the mortals who support him are wrong. And they are weak. For supporting survival over the Cause of defeating Chronos. Why do they fear death? When being a shade means no longer worrying for death and can thus work to defeat Chronos cause the lack of fear for it? Hearing Nemesis or Prometheus out - that would mean that what she's been raised for her whole life: that is wrong. And if that is wrong, that defeating Chronos is wrong, then what is she good for?

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[gigizetz]

Okay I’ve never read the Circe book but I’m obsessed with your Warrior animatic and I’ve been trying to guess the plot from it so here it is:

Circe meets Hermes when she’s a kid and he’s getting punished for something, but she’s kind and gives him something to drink. She’s mocked by her siblings for being weak, and then one day she finds out she’s actually super good at witchcraft. So she tries to do magic on this one dude and she fucks him up pretty bad. She is cast out of her home and brought to an island to be alone at. Circe begins training to use her powers and connect with nature, and she gets very good at surviving on her own. Hermes comes down to visit at some point as thanks for when she was nice as a kid. Circe tames the animals on the island and is THRIVING like the queen she is all by herself.

Am I close? 💀

You're actually pretty close! Only thing is that the man she helps at the beggining is not Hermes, it's Prometheus.

[sepublic]

Dana’s doing some Luz at the Olympics doodles on Patreon called TOHlympics and now I wanna imagine the Boiling Isles Olympics are called the Ow-Limp-Picks. Luz misinterprets it as OWLympics and repeats this, looking up at Eda hopefully? Eda corrects her kid, OW-LIMP-PICKS, because that’s what participating athletes find themselves doing, in that order; Get hurt, limp, and then have winners (and losers…) chosen by how much who gets hurt!!! It’s like how Grom is actually short for Grometheus, a monster that must be fought (which makes me imagine a universe where Prom is about Prometheus’ daily disembowelment); While the original draft of that pun was PROM, a Perennial Ritual Offering Maiden… to a monster.

I could see Ow-Limp-Picks being a S1 plot where Luz signs up only to learn the actual dangerous meaning, but then commits anyway. And the resolution comes from Eda reminding Luz that she doesn’t have to prove how tough she is by withstanding pain, contributing to both her arc about letting go of the fear of being a weak burden, as well as the show’s critique towards the Christian concept of quiet, noble suffering (something that ties into TOH’s disability aspect).

[igotanidea]

Not trying: Dick Grayson x reader

She was not trying to get his attention.

And anyone who would even come as close as to suggest that, was being scoffed at, almost laughed at, and brushed off using the classic argument of her being too busy to deal with stupid gossip.

But people were not stupid.

And definitely not the GCPD detectives and officers, of which Y/N had the pleasure to be one.

There was no way to miss the days when she was dressing differently, trying to look pretty. Days that happened to be the ones when Dick was having an office duty and wasn’t on field.

Days when she was sad and internally calling herself off when it turned out he took an unexpected day off or something kept him outside the precinct.

Days when she was faking a smile just so he wouldn’t think she was weak or something.

She was not weak.

She was human.

And in this particular case, being human came with falling in love out of the blue with the guy that couldn't care less, because –spoiler alert!- you cannot possibly plan love.

So she was hurting and cursing that part of her that made her keep on trying over and over again.

Spending days at work, full of energy not trying to get his attention, and evenings in front of TV wishing and praying for this hope to just go away and never come back. It was simply heartbreaking to have it regrow every morning just to tear it away at the end of the day.

Like freaking Prometheus with his liver.

But there was one thing similar between them.

They both suffered because of love for humanity – or in her case – one particular human.

***

It was like that for months now, and finally, all those self-doubts and sadness took over her completely.

So at work, she was avoiding people. She closed herself in her office, deciding to put that teary attitude to use to do some cleaning and remove old files.

Clean space, clean head right?

And those tears that finally started falling down her cheeks were definitely going to be helpful with dusting.

She was crying at work.

How pathetic was that?

But it was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

But now that she'd finally let her tears out, she couldn't stop, as though it was a build-up of all the times she'd held the tears in and her body just wasn't having it anymore.

And since life has a tendency to play mean tricks on people, the moment when she looked like a panda with smudged mascara and red nose that would put Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer to shame was the exact moment her office door opened with a loud thud and the Chief walked inside.

“Y/L/N. You good?” he muttered, torn between his boss-like attitude and sudden awkwardness upon seeing one of his best detectives in such a state.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m perfect. Why?”

“Um…” the man looked at her dirty, teary face that was speaking for itself. “No reason at all. At all.”

“Is there anything I can do for you,” she inquired as she grabbed some tissues and wiped the stains away – or so she thought – actually making it worse.

“We got a crime scene. You’re going.”

Little did she know, her boss was having second and third and even fourth thoughts about putting her into investigation in this state, but no one else was available. And – to add to his desperation – the first clues were pointing to the crime of vengeance which were her specialty.

“Great. I’m coming.” She instinctively grabbed her gun from the shelf, but before it ended in her holster the boss capably took it from her, shaking his head.

“No.”

“But-“

“Y/L/N this is an order. You are not to take it.”

“But how am I supposed to-?”

“You can take Grayson.”

“WHAT!?”

“In fact, you both will be assigned to this case. This boy needs to get his head out of his ass. Maybe you’ll be the one to teach him some humility.”

“Huh. Yeah…” she stuttered with the greatest amount of sarcasm in her head. Because the woman who was In love with a man was definitely not going to add to his ego, even if only subconsciously. 

***

“Y/N!” Dick grinned, which would probably be a little less weird if he was not standing in front of a dead body.

“Grayson,” she muttered, sticking hands in her pockets, putting on the most indifferent face expression possible.

“You look different” he looked at her with an insightful look.

“Now that’s quite an observation, detective.” She mocked back. Anyone would notice her make-up less state, bloodshot eyes, disheveled clothes,  and messy hair.

“Were you busy in that little office of yours?”

“The hell, Grayson?!” Y/N instinctively reached for the gun, but obviously did not find it and sighed in frustration. Screw her boss.

“Whoa! No need to get defensive. You just look a little – I don’t know – left high and dry?”

“I swear to God, if you don’t cut that bullshit, you’ll be the next one ending up in a body bag.”

“You wanna come at me, detective?” he smirked.

“Why am I being punished with working with you…” She grabbed the bridge of her nose, squeezing it, sensing the massive migraine coming.

“Cause you’re clearly the only one who can make me get my head out of my ass.”

“Nice. Chief told you that too?”

“Nah, I just bugged your office.”

“You do realize that’s illegal, right?”

“I’ve been authorized.”

“Oh yeah? By who?”

“By my human instincts and care for my friend.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “You’ve been sad lately and –” the brush of his hand on hers made her shiver and – despite everything she did not want to do – take a step back.

“Let’s focus on work shall we?” She moved to talk to the CSI and technicians to get details about the traces and the technicalities.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged “But you are boring!”

She was not boring, merely trying to save herself from any more possible heartbreak – or worse – ridicule.

***

A few weeks later, with the investigation still on, they were both buried to their necks in paperwork, searching for dots and connections and any possible explanations and seemingly invisible tracks their culprit may have left.

And working together involved late nights spent together at the precinct, countless nights of Chinese takeout and getting closer, which was both a curse and a blessing.

Blessing because she learned a lot of little details about him. Like for example that he wasn’t just the son of a billionaire who was playing a cop. Like how he actually wanted to separate himself, make a name for himself and not be only known as “the adoptive alumni of Bruce Wayne.” Like underneath all that goofy act he was actually deeply caring and involved in his work, in helping people and making the city a safer place. Like his eyes were sparkling every time he mentioned his siblings or how his mouth twitched in restrained laughter when she said something that was sarcastically funny.

And a curse, because all those little details only made her fall for him harder. And even if she skipped on that not-trying-to-look-pretty act, because investigation took much more of her time and effort, the longing was still there.

“So, what is that big brain of yours telling you about this?” he asked, throwing her off her thought that at the moment had little to do with the crime.

“About what?” she muttered, trying to figure out what he was talking about for the last couple minutes before she spaced out.

“The newest evidence obviously!” Dick laughed, rummaging through his box of beef Chinese, putting his feet on the desk.

“Hey, watch out!” Her first reaction was rushing to save the documents from the inevitable sweet and sour sauce stains.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I’m going to mess anything up here.” The chopsticks were thrown up with undeniable capability, swirled in the air and landed back in his hand without any damages done to the files. “See?”

“Show off.”

“And yet, this show off made you distracted, didn’t he,” Dick asked as he leaned forward, meeting her eyes.

Too close!

“For the record—” she started and then her eyes grew wide as a sudden realization hit her. A second later, she was throwing the papers away in a haste to get to something.

“Hey! Whoa! Y/N! What-?”

“Shut up, Grayson!”

“Shit, I really have to set you up with my brother Jason. He needs a girl in his life and you two will bound hard over the love of telling me to cut on the talking and-“

“I said shut up, Grayson!” a bunch of papers hit his face. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that the man she was in love with wanted to set her up with his brother. She just figured out the entire case. All hecause of a pair of chopsticks having been thrown into the air.

“What are you looking for?”

“Here!” she exclaimed happily pointing at some pictures from the crime scenes and an alleged instrument of crime.  “See? We were wrong all along! From the very beginning. This is why he never left any traces!”

“What are you talking about? I don’t-“

“Hush. You don’t need to understand a single thing. Just grab your gun and badge and follow me. Come on, pretty boy, we don’t have much time and I know exactly where we’ll get the perpetrator.”

Dick could only stand there in his feet rooted to the ground, watching Y/N figuring the whole case out, the wheels in her brains turning faster than a race car, face flushing from excitement, pupils dilating.

Pretty and smart, even with her hair in a messy bun and plain clothes on. Or maybe – especially because of that, since jeans and t-shirts could never suppress her natural beauty?

“Grayson! Come on! Don’t freeze on me!”

“Coming,” he replied as her voice slowly reached his ears. He realized there was no way he was going to let her go anywhere alone. Even if he couldn’t understand a single thing from her rambling and running around, the least he could do was to keep her safe.

***

“Are you absolutely sure about it?”

“Are you chickening out?”

“Your hands are shaking, Y/N.”

“That’s why you are the one with a gun.”

“And killer fighting skills.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“That tone of sarcasm is completely unnecessary, you know. And after we are done please do remind me to introduce you to Jason—”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Don’t you know the answer to that by now?”

Y/N sighed deeply in frustration, fighting the urge to curse at him with the strongest cursing words known to humans. And maybe even inventing a few by herself.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you sure that-?”

“Hush!” she put a palm to his mouth, noticing some movement in front of the house they were currently observing from the camouflaged car. “See that? Told you I was fucking right!”

“There’s no need to brag, you know.” He muttered, his voice muffled due to her hand still on his face.

“Admit it.”

“Admit what?” He looked at her with an incredulous look.

“That I was right.”

“Well for the record, I was the one who made you come into a conclusion-“

“Un-fucking-believable.”

She swiftly left the car, abandoning her need to hear the praise from him to the benefit of catching the culprit that has been invading her waking and sleeping hours alike. She was not going to beg for attention, this time for real, sneaking to the house the criminal ring was clearly having some sort of meeting.

And then, there was the one. Looking like a regular person, even if he was exceptionally handsome, but rotten to the core.

“See? That’s the one who-. Dick?” Y/N turned around, but not spotting her partner anywhere. Fuck! Really?! He was leaving her now?! Of all the times and places?! Now?! Was he really so jealous and self-conceited to not help her finish their joint case?

And here she was, thinking she saw something special in him. Something hidden under the surface.

Stupid heart. After all this time they spent together, seemingly building something, she was right back to the beginning, when she was not trying.

And what was she supposed to do now?

Coming inside alone? Reckless.

Calling for freaking SWAT teams? Before they would get here, the meeting of criminals would be over.

Wait till it was over and chase the leader alone?

Listen to their plan and use it later on?

She was a detective with skills, but not a spy!

And she made that one rookie mistake when leaning too much upwards she was seen.

“Hey! There’s someone outside the window!”

“Oh great…” she muttered and only a quick duck saved her head from being hurt from all the glass shattering due to the bullet fired in her direction.

“Get her! She could be a cop!”

The four men broke from the table, grabber whatever weapons they possibly could and rushed right after her.

“Fuck!” She took off running because despite her agility, speed, and quick thinking she physically was no match to the tank-like men. “Fuck you, boss for taking away my gun permissions!” She hissed to herself, running away. “Fuck you Grayson for leaving me alone! I can’t believe I fell for you!”

“You fell for me?” a familiar teasing voice echoed somewhere from behind, but nowhere to be seen.

And it made her stop.

“Dick?” She turned around to search for him.

And it was another mistake.

An iron grip on her arm and sudden harsh yank back serving as a perfect example of her stupidity.

“I got our little bird.” One of the men laughed maliciously.

“Well, I am not exactly little,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Her only chance was to tread carefully and hope that stupid fucking Grayson will figure out a way out of this mess. Stupid fucking hope that got her in said mess in the first place.

“Huh?” the goon frowned.

“I said-“

“Let the lady go.” Y/N’s words were cut off abruptly by something that seemed like Dick’s voice, but a little more… distorted?

The hell was going on here?

“I really do advise you to let the lady go.” The same voice said again.

“Oh yeah? And who’s asking me to do so? Show your face unless you are all talk.”

“Seeing me only comes once for certain people. And believe me when I say that most of those encounters end up bad when you cross paths with me.”

A man’s silhouette emerged from a few meters ahead, covered by the darkness of the night. At least at first. But as he moved closer, both Y/N and the goon froze, though either of them for a different reason.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Nightwing,” the goon hissed, tightening the grip on Y/N.

“Hello to you both. Wonderful night we are having, aren’t we?”

“I could argue with that-“ Y/N rolled her eyes. She was definitely going to have bruises tomorrow. That was, if the most talkative of the city's vigilantes wouldn’t actually cause her to end up dead. 

“Congratulations Nightwing, you got me. But there are much more of us in-“

“In that little hiding spot that’s not even properly hidden? Not sorry to break it to you, but Robin and Red Hood are currently dealing with them.”

“Huh?”

“Not very smart, are you?”

“Hey!”

As the goon was getting distracted, Nightwing (?) sent Y/N a very familiar, discreet look and she nodded almost immediately, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle formed one clear picture.

“He’s right, you know. You are not very smart,” she picked up the tone immediately.

“Hey!”

“She is a cop,” Nightwing pointed out.

“She is?”

“Yeah, I am. And since I saw your face, I can absolutely guarantee you, I won’t stop until you are behind bars. Unless-“

“Unless obviously you surrender willingly. Maybe then she can strike a bargain for you?”

“That might actually be a possibility,” Y/N teased. “But I’m not sure. Do you think our fella here deserves to be treated lightly, Nightwing?”

“I’m not sure. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“Can’t lie that my arm is getting a little sore here. If he keeps holding me like this we might also charge him with violation of physical integrity. That’s 3 to 5 years, I believe?”

“And in this case we’re dealing with assault on a public official. Quite an incriminating circumstance.”

“So what do you think, maximum penalty?”

“And the conspiring charges too.”

“And the murder involvement.”

“I say 15 if not more.”

“I’d say more.”

“You wanna bet?” Nightwing smirked.

“I had nothing to do with the murder!” The goon got a little overwhelmed by the quick-paced exchange of words, of which he couldn’t comprehend half of them, loosening the grip on Y/N. And she was quick to use it against him, finding her leverage in using four sensitive spots to knock the man down.

Half an hour later all four men involved were handcuffed and escorted to the police station. 

And after Y/N made her official oral deposition with a promise to submit a written report first thing in the morning, she was finally left alone for a moment of peace.

“Did you really use that Miss Agent trick?”

“It worked didn’t it?” she crossed arms on her chest, looking at Nightwing in a mocking way, without any sympathy at all.

“You know, most of the ladies I know would be at least a little grateful for me saving them.”

“Mhm. That would actually involve the saving part.”

“Let’s check. You are breathing. You are intact. Clearly neither your tongue nor your brain got damaged. Looks quite saved to me.”

“You left me!”  

“For five minutes! Not my fault you are so terrible at self-defense!”

“Not my fault you are terrible at being open with such secrets!”

“It was to protect you!”

“Dick…” she sighed heavily, daring to whisper his name.

“Y/N…” he responded, taking a few steps forward, taking her hand in the same gesture he did all those weeks ago when they started working this case together.

“I thought we were partners? At work” she added quickly

“You fell for me,” he asks, the left corner of his mouth traveling up.

“Oh, now you have a good memory?”

“Did you?”

“NO!”

“Really? No? That's your final answer. Or maybe it’s not,” he pulled her closer and wrapped arms around her waist, preventing her from running away again.

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean- damn it…”

“So, if I were to commit the act of violating the physical integrity of a public official...” he leaned forwards. “what would you say Y/N?”

“What happened to me meeting your brother?”

“I said you have to meet him. Never said why.”

“Oh? And why?” she smirked looking from above his arm to check if they were alone.

“To make him jealous, obviously.”

She chuckled softly, checking the surroundings once more, before slowly reaching to remove his mask and meeting those pretty blue eyes and familiar face.

“Hello there.”

“Hello to you too.”

Their lips were now inches away from each other.

“Which brother are we talking about? Red Hood? Heard he’s hot…”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dick grinned before leaning forward and finally capturing those lips he’s been dreaming about for weeks now.

And kissing her was effortless.

Like he was not trying at all.

[allycat75]

This is the face of a man that screams "I am so completely fucked!!"

And yes. Yes you are.

Did you just read the reaction of your Nazi walk with the little wifey, thinking "Why did I not consider this color combination could be a bad choice? Oh yeah, all the weed. And the fact I am an insensitive prick who doesn't think about the micro world because it gives me cyclical unhappiness."

I guess you have graduated to primary unhappiness. Hope it was worth it! 👋

[pynkhues]

I would LOVE to read your analysis of louis as byronic hero as apposed to his reading as gothic heroine. lots of the latter and zero of the former in the fandom.

Sure! Mmm, okay, so –

What are we talking about when we talk about Gothic Heroes?  

When we talk about gothic heroes, we’re really talking about three pretty different character archetypes. All three are vital to the genre, but some are more popular in certain subgenres i.e. your Prometheus Hero may be more common in gothic horror, whereas your Byronic Hero might be more likely to be found in gothic romance. That’s not to say they’re exclusive to those subgenres at all, and there is an argument that these archetypes themselves are gendered (in many ways, I think people confuse Anne being an author of the female gothic with Louis being a gothic heroine, but I’ll get into that later), but this is also not necessarily something that’s exclusive.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself, haha, so the three gothic hero archetypes are:

Milton’s Satan who is the classic gothic hero-villain. You can probably guess from the name, but he was originated in John Milton’s 1667 poem, Paradise Lost. He is God’s favourite angel, but God is forced to cast him out of heaven when he rebels against him. As an archetype, he’s a man pretty much defined by his pride, vanity and self-love, usually fucks his way through whatever book or poem he’s in, has a perverted, incestuous family, and a desire to corrupt other people. He’s also defined as being “too weak to choose what is moral and right, and instead chooses what is pleasurable only to him” and his greatest character flaw, in spite of all The Horrors, is that he’s usually easily misguided or led astray. (I would argue that Lestat fits into this archetype pretty neatly, but that’s a whole other post.)

Prometheus who was established as a gothic archetype by Mary Shelley with Frankenstein in 1818. Your Prometheus Hero is basically represented by the quest for knowledge and the overreach of that quest to bring on unintended consequences. He’s tied, of course, to the Prometheus of Greek myth, so you can get elements of that in this character design too in that he can be devious or a trickster, but the most important part of him is that he is split between his extreme intelligence and his sense of rebellion, and that his sense of rebellion and boundary pushing overtakes his intelligence and basically leads to All The Gothic Horrors.

And the Byronic Hero, who as the name implies, was both created by and inspired by the romantic poet, Lord Byron in his semi-autobiographical poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage which was published between 1812-1818. The archetype is kind of an idealized version of himself, and as historian and critic Lord Macaulay wrote, the character is “a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection.” Adding to that, he’s often called ‘the gloomy egoist’ as a protagonist type, hates society, is often self-destructive and lives either exiled or in a self-exile, and is a stalwart of gothic literature, but especially gothic romance. Interestingly too, in his most iconic depictions he’s often a) darkly featured and/or not white (Heathcliff being the most obvious example of this given Emily Bronte clearly writes him as either Black or South Asian), and b) is often used to explore queer identity, with Byron himself having been bisexual.

Okay, but what about the Gothic Heroine?

Gothic heroines are less delineated and have had more of an evolution over time, which makes sense, given women have consistently been the main audience of gothic literature and have frequently been the most influential writers of the genre too. The gothic genre sort of ‘officially’ started with Horace Walpole’s 1764 novel, The Castle of Otranto and Isabella is largely regarded as the first gothic heroine and the foundation of the archetype, and the book opens even with one of the key defining traits – an innocent, chaste woman without the protection of a family being pursued and persecuted by a man on the rampage.

The gothic heroine was, for years, defined by her lack of agency. She was innocent, chaste, beautiful, curious, plagued by tragedy and often, ultimately, tragic. Isabella survives in The Castle of Otranto, but she’s one of the lucky ones – Cathy dies in Wuthering Heights, Sybil dies in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Justine and Elizabeth both die in Frankenstein, Mina survives in Dracula, but Lucy doesn’t. There’s an argument frequently posited that the gothic genre was, and is, about dead women and the men who mourn them, and Interview with the Vampire certainly lends itself to that pretty neatly.

Of course, the genre has evolved, and in particular by the late 1800s, there was a notable shift in how the Gothic Heroine was depicted. The house became a place of imprisonment where they were further constrained and disempowered, she was infantilized and pathologized and diagnosed as hysterical, and as Avril Horner puts it in her excellent paper, Women, Power and Conflict: the Gothic heroine and ‘Chocolate-box Gothic’, gothic literature of this era “explores “the constraints enforced [by] a patriarchal society that is becoming increasingly nervous about the demands of the ‘New Woman’.”

This was an era where marriage was increasingly understood in feminist circles to be a civil death where women were further subjugated and became the property of their husbands. This was explored through gothic literature as the domestic space evolved into a symbol of patriarchal control in the Female Gothic.

Female Gothic vs Male Gothic

Because here’s the thing – the female gothic and the male gothic are generally understood to be two different subgenres of gothic literature.

While there are plenty of arguments as to what this entails, the basics is that the male gothic is written by men, and usually features graphic horror, rape and the masculine domination of women and often utilises the invasion of women’s spaces as a symbol of further penetrating their bodies, while the female gothic is written by women, and usually features graphic terror, as opposed to horror, while delving more specifically into gender politics. More than that though, its heroines are usually victimized, virginial and powerless while being pursued by villainous men.

The Female Gothic as a genre is also specifically interested in the passage from girlhood to female maturity, and does view the house as a place of entrapment, but she is usually suddenly “threatened with imprisonment in a castle or a great house under the control of a powerful male figure who gave her no chance to escape.”

That’s not Louis’ arc, that’s Claudia’s arc twice over, first with the house at Rue Royale, then with the Paris Coven, and Lestat and Armand aren’t the only powerful male figures who imprison her.

Claudia as the Gothic Heroine

Claudia in many ways is the absolute embodiment of the classic gothic heroine. Even the moment of their meeting is a product of Louis’ Byronic heroism – his act of implacable revenge against the Alderman Fenwick which prompts the rioting that almost kills her. She’s a victim of Louis’ monstrousness before they’ve even met, and while he saves her, he arguably does something worse in trapping her in the house with both himself and Lestat, holding her in an ever-virginal, ever-chaste eternal girlhood, playing into Lestat’s Milton-Satan by enhancing the perversion of family and ultimately infantilizing her out of his own desire for familial closeness.

Claudia has no family protection before Louis and Lestat – a staple of the gothic heroine – she is completely dependent on them in her actual girlhood, and again in adulthood, never developing the strength to be able to turn a companion, to say nothing about the sly lines here and there that further diminish and pathologise her (Lestat calling her histrionic, Louis making her out to be a burden, etc.). This is all further compounded again with the Coven, and when the tragedy of her life ultimately leads to the tragedy of her death.  

Louis as the Byronic Hero

Not to start with a quote, but here’s one from The Literary Icon of the Byronic Hero and its Reincarnation in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights:

“Generally speaking, the Byronic hero exhibits several particular characteristics. He does not possess heroic virtues in the usual, traditional sense. He is a well-educated, intelligent and sophisticated young man, sometimes a nobleman by birth, who at the same time manifests signs of rebellion against all fundamental values and moral codes of the society. Despite his obvious charm and attractiveness, the Byronic hero often shows a great deal of disrespect for any figure of authority. He was considered "the supreme embodiment [...] standing not only against a dehumanized system of labor but also against traditionally repressive religious, social, and familial institutions" (Moglen, 1976: 28).

The Byronic hero is usually a social outcast, a wanderer, or is in exile of some kind, one imposed upon him by some external forces or self-imposed. He also shows an obvious tendency to be arrogant, cunning, cynical, and unrepentant for his faults. He often indulges himself in self destructive activities that bring him to the point of nihilism resulting in his rebellion against life itself. He is hypersensitive, melancholic, introspective, emotionally conflicted, but at the same time mysterious, charismatic, seductive and sexually attractive.”

Louis as he exists in the show to me is pretty much all of those things, and I think to argue that he’s a gothic heroine not only diminishes Claudia’s arc, but robs Louis of his agency within his own story. Louis chooses Lestat, over and over again, he’s not imprisoned by the monster in the domestic sphere, he is one of the monsters who’s controlling the household, including making decisions of when they bring a child into it and when Lestat gets to live in it – he wanted to be turned, he wanted to live with Lestat in Rue Royale, and while there are certainly arguments to be made about their power dynamic within the household in the NOLA era, importantly Louis actually gained social power through his marriage to Lestat, particularly through The Azaelia, he didn’t lose it in the way that’s vital to the story of the gothic heroine.

Daniel Hart even said it in a recent twitter thread about Long Face, but there is an element of Lestat and Louis’ relationship that is transactional, and to me, for that to exist, they both have to have a degree of control over their circumstances and choices in order to negotiate those transactions. Claudia is the one who can’t, she’s the one who’s treated effectively as property, and she’s the one who lacks control over her circumstances.

While you could perhaps argue the constraints of the apartment in Dubai lend more to the gothic heroine archetype, I’d argue it as furthering the Byronic trope again by being representative both of Louis’ self-destruction and self-imposed exile. As Jacob has said a few times, Louis does seem to have known to a degree that Armand was involved in Claudia’s death on some level, and it’s that guilt and misery that has him allowing Armand his degree of control. The fact that Louis was able to leave Armand as easily and as definitively as he was I think demonstrates that distinction too – after all, to compare that ending to Claudia’s multiple attempts to leave the confines of the patriarchal house, both in Rue Royale and Paris, which were punished at every turn – first by her rape, then by Lestat dragging her back off the train, and then by the Coven orchestrating her murder.

Louis gets to leave because Louis can leave, he has both the social and narrative power to, and the fact that he does is, to me, completely at odds with the gothic heroine. Louis can, and does advocate for himself, Louis is proud, moody, cynical. Defiance is a key part of his character, just as his exile from NOLA society due to his race, and his chosen rejection of vampire society in Paris, is. He’s intelligent and sophisticated, travels the world, and has misery in his heart, guilt that eats him up, and self-destructive tendencies. That’s a Byronic Hero, baby!  

[hauntingblue]

BIG MOM ELECTROCUTED!!! NAMI REALLY IS THE MOST POWERFUL EVER

[frosteee]

"Benevolent Lord Uncle Zeus" my arse - On Prometheus and Epimetheus and Pandora

I've been following the development of Hades 2's story and, like everyone, become absolutely infatuated by Prometheus (my GOD). It also got me thinking about his myth, and that of his brother Epimetheus and Pandora.

And, very VERY happily, it reunited me with a retelling of Pandora's Box that I haven't listened to since the early 2000s - a tape of several stories by Storyteller, of which Pandora's Box is one. It's wonderfully told, very immersive and emotional. I highly recommend a listen!

Anyway, in anticipation of Epimetheus's debut in the Hades series, I've been hyperfixating obsessing thinking about how his character might be interpreted.

[Mythology splurge ahead]

Epimetheus's name means "hindsight".

THE CREATION OF MANKIND

One version of the story goes that Zeus gave he and Prometheus the task of creating life on earth. Prometheus created mankind from clay, in the image of the gods, and Epimetheus created the animals. Epimetheus was also tasked with bestowing traits of the gods upon earth's creatures, to help them survive. So Epimetheus gave claws to one creature, scales another, and so on. But when he came to give a gift to mankind, he had no traits left to give them.

This was exactly as Zeus planned. Epimetheus did not have his brother's foresight, so he did not think to prepare for such an outcome. Zeus was satisfied with mankind's eternal dependence on the gods, weak despite being moulded in their divine image.

It was in this same spirit that he gave Prometheus the task of showing mortals how to properly sacrifice to the gods - in short, reserve the best parts for the gods and leave the offal for themselves - Prometheus defied him so that mankind would not suffer for the gods to stroke their egos.

After this incident, Zeus hid fire from humanity, so that they would be cold and hungry. And because Epimetheus had not given any traits from the gods, mankind was doomed to extinction. So Prometheus took it upon himself to steal fire back, as well as teach them on all kinds of subjects (mathematics, architecture, etc.) so they could advance and build civilisations.

And we all know how well Zeus took that.

TL;DR: Zeus sentenced Prometheus to daily, eternal torture because he did not let all humanity die like Zeus had condemned them to do, out of pure spite and ego.

Now back to Epimetheus. Many tellings of the myth of creation say it was his foolishness that caused everything to go wrong for mankind, as well as dooming his elder brother to his agonising fate.

But I don't personally see stupidity in his actions. Naivete, perhaps, in trusting Zeus to give him enough godly traits to bestow on all creatures, but then, what reason did he have at that point to think otherwise? He and Prometheus had sided with the gods in the war against the Titans. The Titan brothers did not live on Olympus, choosing to live on earth, but they visited and were on friendly terms. Should Epimetheus bear the blame for everything because he did not have the power to see the future? Again, Zeus chose Epimetheus specifically because he did not have that ability.

PANDORA

Then comes Pandora. Some time prior to her creation, before his final punishment, Prometheus had warned Epimetheus not to accept any gifts from the gods. He knew that Zeus was not yet done punishing humanity for his actions. After he was chained to the rock to be tortured for eternity, Epimetheus continued to live on earth among people.

Zeus ordered Haphaestus to create a woman from the earth, a "beautiful evil" whose descendents would punish humanity forever. After she was made, Athena and various other gods dressed her and gave her speech and other attributes before placing her on earth. She charmed any man she came upon. She took with her a jar containing "countless plagues" and evils. Her target was Epimetheus, and he accepted her and took her as his wife.

What could Epimetheus do? He knew what his brother had warned, but his brother was also the prime example of what happened to those who defied the gods. If Epimetheus rejected her, the gods could take the oppornity to make Prometheus's punishment even worse. And even if they chose to punish Epimetheus directly, the people his brother had made and loved would have no-one to champion them, and would likely be punished in his absence. He had stayed among men to help them like his brother had.

Epimetheus knew from hindsight - defiance meant suffering.

Unfortunately, compliance also meant suffering. Pandora had been made by the gods for the express purpose of punishing all mankind and ensuring their subservience. Despite Epimetheus's warnings, Pandora opens the box and releases the evil, while also allowing Hope to escape as well. Hesiod closes the tale with the moral "there is no way to escape the will of Zeus".

It's clear to me that Epimetheus was damned no matter what he did. The gods were set on punishing Prometheus's beloved people either way. It was more fitting to use his brother to do it, so they gave him Pandora, knowing he would refuse at his peril. Pandora opened the box because that is what she was made to do.

Hesiod may paint her as a wicked temptress, the woman who infected mankind to cause misery for generations, but she had just been born. She could only do what she was meant to do. She likely did not know what the box contained more than Epimetheus did, she was only compelled to open it. I'm sure Supergiant would agree that she was as much a pawn and victim of the gods machinations as her husband and brother-in-law.

That's another thing about this. Pre-Pandora, humans were composed entirely of men. There was no illness or hunger, everyone got along well, there was prosperity and wisdom, all thanks to Prometheus. It was a paradise because of Prometheus. Zeus made a woman specifically to destroy all of that, and ensure successive generations would be born into a corrupted world.

I somehow very much doubt Supergiant will integrate this part of the myth in their story, but regardless of the makeup of humanity at the time, it was paradise on earth, and the evils Pandora released upon them brought misery, pain and a death.

TORMENT

Epimetheus was set up to fail no matter what he did. His feelings on all that transpired can only be seen in some accounts, where he has another daughter named Metameleia, whose name means "regret of what has occurred".

The fact that he only had hindsight to work with only makes his tragedy worse. Looking back at what you could have done better is good if managed properly. But the human mind likes to ruminate on the past, and people are so often their own worst critics. Oftentimes hindsight distorts the past and we learn the wrong lessons, if any at all.

But how can one do better against the gods? No matter what Epimetheus learned, the gods were determined to get their way. His brother had paid a terrible price for tricking them to benefit humanity. Epimetheus tried to avoid disaster by appeasing them, but there is no way to escape the will of Zeus.

But despite being placed in an impossible position, made to lose no matter what, Epimetheus still feels regret. He believes it was his own choices, lacking the traits his brother had, that led to things turning out as they did. He blames himself for everything - his brother's fate, humanity's fate. Mankind was his brother's legacy, and it was their prosperity that made Prometheus's sacrifice meaningful, bearable. And under Epimetheus's watch, all of that was taken away.

In Epimetheus's mind, he took it away. His hindsight paints him as the ultimate fool, and he cannot forget it. If he had only done this...if he had only done that...

Wracked with guilt, Epimetheus is faced with the decay of humanity, Pandora's death. Whether he blames her at all or not, ultimately he blame himself most of all.

EPIMETHEUS IN HADES 2 (THE SPECULATION BEGINS)

So what next? Well, Heracles released Prometheus from his torture, allowing him to align with Chronos. Epimetheus would return to his brother's side carrying the weight of humanity's woes, a failure in every way. He failed his brother, he failed humanity.

Perhaps, in his younger years, Epimetheus was able to be carefree and forgetful because Prometheus was there to cover for him. Perhaps because his brother was wise, it was OK to be a fool once in a while, until it wasn't. But even if it had been forgetfulness and lack of preparation that made him neglect humanity, why was the price to pay so heavy?

Did humanity deserve to DIE because he forgot to check the number of gifts he had, did they deserve to DIE because his brother would not let them give their valuables to the gods, did they deserve to SUFFER AND DIE because Epimetheus, knowing how the gods punish defiance, accept the gift they gave him?

When Epimetheus does appear, I have little doubt he will be as handsome as his brother. They are, after all, twins, Epimetheus being the younger of the two. However, I imagine the psychological toll of everything he has endured, and continues to endure, would show upon him as well, as well as in his behaviour. Broken and desperate to make up for his past "failures".

Prometheus likely forsaw everything that was to happen. It seems he can see multiple versions of the future. But he himself states that while he does not know the "why" of his many premonitions.

He may bear resentment towards Epimetheus because of this, or perhaps, knowing his brother's good heart, and knowing the mercilessness of the gods, he would know why Epimetheus did what he did, without his little brother needing to say a word. Their relationship in present time may mirror Moros's feelings about the Fates: "Maybe they knew always that I would fail them, and loved me anyway".

This may only make Epimetheus feel worse rather than better. Perhaps he would want his brother to hate him as much as he hates himself. This could be a subplot between the two of them as the story progresses.

All he would want now is to atone, to help his brother in any way he can. All he has left is Hope, which Pandora released into the world to temper the evils. He has no belief in himself, only a desperate, obsessive desire to make up for his past passivity by fighting the gods head on, for his brother. Perhaps even by his brother's side. He has given himself entirely to his brother, and trusts his foresight. Perhaps he is the only one Prometheus entrusts his premonitions with, and whatever goals he has, Epimetheus knows.

Epimetheus created the animals, and gave them their special traits, so it would make sense for him to be dressed accordingly, and maybe have some animal friends to help him. Honestly, just thinking about that gives me all the fuzzy feelings.

I hope to see him soon, though I'll try not to get too caught up with my own imaginings. I'm sure whatever Supergiant do will be awesome, as always. Prometheus is already delivering.

Oh, and Zeus is a bastard.

[RAMBLE OVER, HAVE A GREAT DAY!]

[nethhiri]

Chapter 56: Prometheus

Warnings: Torture, murder, violence, body horror, references to rape

It was deeply satisfying to watch dullness enter Warthin's eye, the one that you hadn't blown through his head. It wasn't enough. You needed to kill him in the worst ways a hundred times over before it would be enough. Warthin's brains slid back into place, followed by the fragments of his skull that had shattered into the wall behind him as your devil fruit pulled him back from hell. The livid state you were in didn't allow for failure. He would be coming back to face his well-deserved punishment. A yellow glow made a veil over his abdomen as his intestines knit themselves back together, and the skin over them. Warthin was still for entirely too long. You slapped his face until his hand twitched and he inhaled a loud, gasping breath as his consciousness returned. Confusion clouded his expression.

You laughed. "Oh you thought that was it?" You landed a solid punch across his face. "You stupid fuck." You punched him again, hard enough that he drooled blood. You spit onto your fingers and smeared it across his dry, bloodshot eyes. "That's better, isn't it? I need you to be able to see everything that's coming to you." 

He started to say something and you hit him across the face.

"Shut the fuck up." You spat at him. "You'll speak when I tell you to speak." You punctuated it with a kick into his stomach. 

You wanted to do so much more to him. The energy it took to heal him had taken a lot out of you and you weren't so sure that you could do it again today. So you could either fuck him up to the brink of death without killing him, or play with one of the other prisoners. There was always the option of doing both. You also didn't want him to accidentally die on you, since you weren't sure if there was a time limit to reviving him. Not enough of your anger was alleviated by your quick killing of Warthin. You weren't ready to leave this room, not ready to face any of the crew. 

You walked up and down the wall of tools, running your hands over the options. Something painfully slow would be best, but you also needed something that allowed you to vent. Most people were afraid of the larger tools. Those were the least frightening in your opinion. They usually killed quickly. The worst ones were the tiny tools. Those could make torture last for weeks. That must have been why they were your favorite. You selected some needles of varying sizes, along with nails and a hammer.

You walked back to Warthin tossing the hammer in your hand and catching it. He appeared as if he was going to be sick. "After everything you've done, you're afraid of a hammer?" You set it down, along with the nails. "The hammer is for later. You can stop being so dramatic." You held the needles up in your hand. "These are for now."

Taking one of his hands, you chose a finger at random. He tried to wrestle it from your grip though he was too weak to do so. You placed the needle under his fingernail and slowly pushed it as far as it would go. Warthin managed to hold it together for the first few. As you jammed another under the same nail, he was crying and begging for you to stop. 

"If I recall, I don't believe you showed me kindness like that at any time. I'm very much into the whole 'eye for an eye' thing." 

You moved on and did the same thing to his other fingers until you were out of needles. Shame. You had wanted to do his toenails, too. You paused to think before yanking some of the needles out of his fingers, ripping a scream from him. You would simply spread the love with the needles from there. The toenails he tolerated far less well. He tried kicking and screaming and begging. He was going to run out of voice soon and this wasn't even the worst of what you had planned. 

Blood dripped from his feet and the tips of his fingers. Should have saved one for his cock. Oh well. There was plenty of time for that later. You picked up the hammer and some of the nails. You held the nails between your teeth casually, as if you were putting up a picture frame. You were hanging up a masterpiece... of sorts. Your lip curled as you tasted metal on your tongue. It reminded you of Kid, reigniting your anger towards him. Flipping a nail around between your fingers, you decided hands and feet first. That would force him to be still. You centered a nail on his hand and pressed it flat against the wall. When you brought the hammer down, the fleshy crunch of the metal separating bone and connective tissue was almost completely drowned out by Warthin's screaming. The next hand was the same. The feet were harder to nail down because of their shape, naturally. The problem solver that you were, you broke his ankles with the hammer so you could bend the feet to your liking. Then you nailed those down, too. 

Next, you meticulously placed nails so that they were just under the skin, nailing them along his arms and any place that was flush with the wall. The idea wasn't to hold him in place with these. It was so that he would be forced to hold still. If he didn't, the nails would rip through the thin layer of skin. The evenly spaced drips of crimson running down his body really did look like some sort of macabre art. You stood back to admire it before taking the hammer to his kneecaps. The sick crunch that they made gave you goosebumps. At this point, Warthin was sobbing.

"Just kill me... please."

"Oh I will, you fucking worm." You licked your lips and got into his face. "I will kill you over and over again, until I'm satisfied. And every single thing that you did to me, and I mean every single thing, will be repaid." You pulled another needle from his hand and held it in front of his face. You dragged the point of it over his cheek before putting it at the entrance of his nostril. "Plus interest." Pushing the needle in, Warthin started shrieking again, his voice cracking with fatigue. You didn't stop until you felt the tip hit bone, just before tickling his brain.

You sighed, feeling a bit better. Still, not enough to sate you. Your eyes bounced among the remaining prisoners that were staring blankly in fear back at you. You mushed your hand against your cheek and grumbled in thought.

"Mini, I can't choose." The boar had been patiently guarding the door. "You pick."

The boar rose from her sitting position and her hooves made distinctive footsteps across the flooring. Her broad, pink-tinted nose glittered in the low light and you could see it twitch. The boar's head hung with intent and she sniffed each prisoner. You whole-heartedly believed that animals could smell fear, and that animals took after their owners. Although you considered Mini to be a partner, not a pet, she still adopted some of your personality. Minerva came to a stop in front of one of the men chained to the wall. Her head turned slowly towards him and her ears flicked forward. The man instantly pissed himself, further solidifying your beliefs.

"Him, huh?" You sat on one of the torture racks. "Hmm. You start. I'm tired."

Minerva bit down on one of the man's legs and pulled. Unfortunately for the man, he was still chained to the wall. Once the chains pulled tight, Minerva shook her head like a dog. Underneath the rattling of the chains, you could hear wet pops and cracks as joints tore. 

"My mistake. Let me help you with that." You touched the chains and they unlocked with your devil fruit, returning to your seat afterward.

The man was free. He tried with all his remaining strength to get to you, knees and ankles bending unnaturally. Minerva went after him, but you put your hand up to stop her. You wanted to watch him crawl so desperately across the floor. Chuckling, you called after him, like a dog. 

"C'mon. You can do it, Fido." You clapped your hands. "You dumb fucking mutt."

He continued to move towards you, sweat rolling down his forehead with pain and effort. When he got within arm's reach of you, you waved Minerva to continue. The boar grabbed his foot in her mouth, jerking him backwards. She tossed her head and threw him up in the air. The ceiling wasn't very high, so the poor sap hit the wood and fell back to the floor. In a very excited way, she flung him in the air again and caught him with the business end of her tusks, impaling him. Dark red blood ran down her snout, soaking into the fur and dripping from her chin. She shook him around like a rag doll and warm blood spatter hit you. It was like watching a puppy play with a dead squirrel. The iron taste hit your tongue as you laughed. So cute. The boar dragged him against the wall to slide his body off her tusks. The she grabbed his leg again and hit him against the ground and the wall. The man had stopped screaming a few minutes after he was gored. He bled out. 

There was a pile of barely recognizable humanoid flesh at Mini's feet. You rose from your seat to select one of the cleaver type blades. What kind of host would you be if you didn't feed the prisoners? With one solid whack, the blade severed the lower leg. That didn't have enough meat on it for your liking. A few more good hits and the thigh was freed. If not for Mini breaking the femur, it would have been a lot more difficult to get through. It was a lot heavier than it appeared. You tucked the cut of meat under your arm and left the rest for Mini to dispose of. 

You dripped blood all the way to the kitchen. You had no idea what time it was and thankfully the it was not in use at the moment. One, you didn't want to see Killer and two, you had to play chef. Placing the meat down on a cutting board, you pulled out a big pot. You left bloody fingerprints on just about every surface as you boiled the partial leg. Killer would be pissed and that made you smirk. It smelled a lot like pork, and looked a lot like pork, and it probably tasted like pork, too. You wouldn't be indulging in the delicacy, however. You shredded the meat off the bone and piled it on a plate. 

When you returned to the dungeon, Mini had finished off the prisoner. There was nothing left but a red stain on the floor. Soon they would all be red stains on the floor. You were eagerly hoping to force feed Warthin the same way he did to you. What you weren't accounting for was his ravenous hunger after several days of starving. You pushed handfuls of his comrade into his mouth and held your hand in place until he swallowed. This was fine, too. You didn't think that any of them had caught on yet, too focused on their bellies clawing from within. You went around the room, like the good little waitress you were and gave everyone their share before coming back to Warthin and giving him the rest. 

"Did you like that? You may speak." A smug grin made its way to your lips. 

"Yes." He didn't look you in the eye.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Captain L/N."

"Be grateful that I even cooked it for you. You could have had it raw, like Mini here." 

The man in front of you turned green, and his living comrades that understood did as well. "W-what do you mean?"

"Uh uh." You tutted. "You better keep it all in. It's good for you."

"W-what is it?!" His tone was more panicked.

"Don't you mean 'who'?" 

You heard vomiting behind you as you watched Warthin struggle to keep from heaving. 

"If you throw it up, I'll make you eat it from the floor." 

He started crying again. "I didn't do this to you!"

"I said I would repay you plus interest. This is interest."

"You fucking bitch!"

You put your hand behind your ear. "That's what I like to hear. Writhe for me, worm!" 

Unfortunately he was able to keep everything down, so you couldn't make him eat his puke. You left with Mini, completely spent. You wanted to keep going, but your powers needed to refresh. At least you were courteous enough to return the plate you borrowed. When you returned to the kitchen, it had been cleaned up of your mess. You climbed on the counter to get to the top cabinets, where the good liquor was kept. The best liquor was kept in Kid's room. You weren't about to go in there no matter how much you wanted to get shitfaced though. You grabbed two bottles and made your way to the deck. 

Leaning on the rail at the bow, you pounded one of the bottles and chucked the empty glass into the sea. The other one you nursed as you watched the dark waves. It was sometime at night, probably not long after everyone tucked in. There was no moon tonight. No light reflected from the waves, only blackness. It seemed fitting for your mood. Your legs felt tingly and warm as the liquor kicked in, followed by the rest of your body not long after. 

"That doesn't count as dinner." A soft voice behind you said. "Let me make you something."

You ignored him and took a long drink from the bottle. 

"Y/N..."

"Don't pretend to care now. Fuck off, Massacre Soldier." 

It hurt his feelings that you wouldn't even call him by his name. "I do care!"

"You won't be fooling me again." You finished the rest of that bottle, too, and walked past him without even giving a glance in his direction. 

Killer didn't say anything else. Whatever he said while you were like this would be used against him somehow. He hated seeing you hurting, especially because it was at his own hands. 

You wanted to be alone. There was no where for you to go but the infirmary. You didn't want to be there and you hoped the door between the infirmary and Kid's workshop was closed. In fact, you were going to get rid of it. No need for it anymore. You didn't want to see Kid's face at any point in the near future. The lights were off when you went in and the door was shut, as you had hoped. You placed your hands against the door to the workshop, testing to see if you could muster enough power to transform it back into a plain wooden wall. The hairs on the back of your neck rose a half-second before you felt a presence behind you. 

"What do ya think yer doing, bunny?" 

"Getting rid of this." 

"No the fuck ya aren't." The smell of alcohol overtook you as Kid hovered over you from behind. 

"Watch me."

Kid roughly grabbed your shoulder, spun you around, and shoved your back to the door, pinning your hands above your head in his metal hand. "I'M THE CAPTAIN. WHAT I SAY IS LAW. AND I SAID YA AREN'T!"

"I was blind, not deaf."

Kid grabbed your cheeks with his flesh hand. "Always such a smart mouth. That mouth can be hurtful ya know." 

"Like I said to Killer, FUCK OFF." 

"See that's exactly what I'm talkin about. Talk nice to yer captain." Kid's hand shifted until his thumb toyed with your lower lip.

"Not in the mood, Eustass." 

"I see." Kid laughed. "I'll play along." He bent down to kiss your neck. 

"What? No! I'm being serious. Get off me!" You tried to tug your hands out of his grip. When that failed, you pulled your legs up and kicked him square in the chest. "I fucking mean it!"

Kid dropped you and staggered backwards. "Fuck! Okay!" Kid held his hands up, still stumbling a little, either from being drunk or from your kick. "I don't know why yer so upset anyway. We only did what we thought best for ya." Kid reached out to touch your cheek and you flinched.

"Because I thought you wouldn't- I thought you wouldn't- " You couldn't say it, not even half-toasted.

"Want ya anymore?" 

You nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Kid laughed and pulled you in for a rough hug. "Don't be sad, my wee bunny. We wouldn't give a fat damn if yassstayed blind," Kid slurred.

That was their way of showing they cared even if it wasn't how you would have liked. Deep down, you knew that. The superficial trauma that was lurking preventing you from seeing that clearly. There was more than one person in this relationship, which meant there were three points of view to see things from. You thought about forgiving him in the moment, at least before he fucked it up in the worst way possible, classic Kid. 

"Who cares if yagot eyes? Yasstill have a cunt, aye?" Kid howled with laughter at his joke. 

Something that was meant to lighten the mood, snapped the last heartstrings holding you together. He always seemed to say the wrong thing. In spite of the fact that he didn't mean to, he confirmed your worst worries. You were only valuable for one thing. It was hard to discern if he was truly joking. What if those were his true thoughts coming out while he was drunk? The way you were right now, in this fragile mental state, reality and your perception of reality converged and diverged at random intersections. It didn't help that you had also been drinking. This was part of the reason you didn't want to talk to either of them until you calmed down, though you thought you would be the one to say something you regretted in your anger. 

You pushed him away from you, looking up at him with wet lashes. "Why would you say that?" 

He was still laughing when he noticed your wet eyes. "Hah? Whass wrong?" 

"Is that what you really think?" 

Kid had forgotten the last bit of what he said, only referring to the first. "Course, doll."

You swallowed thickly and turned away from him before you could shed a tear. 

Kid ruffled your hair as he left. "M'na go find Killer."

You slid down the door and hugged your knees to you. There was anger and sadness, and you were so sick of feeling those things. Instead, you chose to feel nothing. Tears spilled over but you didn't even know what you were crying for anymore. Because you would consider staying and living as an object just to feel like a part of something? Because you were mourning the loss of someone other than yourself giving a shit about you? Or was it that you were mourning your past self, someone you could never go back to being? You were irreversibly changed will no option to go back. You would have to move forward. 

You woke up on the floor, feeling like shit. It was time to stop wallowing in your feelings. You weren't going to let your emotions take control of you. You were the Sea Snake, the Marine Killer. You were not some lovesick little girl. And you had marines to kill.

Your eye was glazed over as you went back to the dungeon with Mini. There was one thing on your mind and it was violence. That always made you feel better. As you did the day prior, you sealed the door. You were not to be interrupted. The smell in this room was enough to fell a horse. It reeked of decomposition and death, a sickly sweet, sulfurous stench. By the time you were done, the rookies would have a hell of a time cleaning up. 

"Good morning, fuckwads." 

You knew exactly what you wanted to do today. Going straight for the knives, you picked out some of the smaller ones. Warthin was first. He would always be first. First, you ripped out the needles from underneath his nail beds. You may have missed a few. Who cares? Next, you made a move to take the nails out of him, but you stopped. Instead, you removed his shackles so he was only attached to the wall by the nails. 

"Come on. Come get me. You're free," you taunted. "Here. I'll even give you this." You curled his fingers around one of the knives. "Come on then."

False hope rose in his features. He really thought he had a chance. With a roar, he pulled himself from the wall, some nails staying embedded in it and ripping his skin off. Others were still in him. He took a step toward you and fell immediately. There was no strength in his muscles. You stepped on his wrist until he let go of the knife. You picked it up and kicked him so that he was face up. You stepped on the nails that remained in his flesh, pushing them further in. In a matter of minutes, you had him hung from the ceiling. 

Picking all the nails out of him and throwing them on the floor, you circled him. "I'd like to start with a fresh canvas." You paused. "One moment." Before you healed his injuries, you needed to see him die again. You strategically placed small cuts all over his body, watching the blood create intricate designs as it poured down his skin. The rhythmic pattering of his blood trickling onto the floor was soothing. As the flow slowed, you focused your attention to his eyes, watching the life fade out of them again. After using your devil fruit to heal him, he gasped back to life. He looked healthy as ever. It was a warm feeling, knowing that you would give him a brief moment of relief before you would rip it all away again. 

Grabbing one of the small knives, you began the painstaking process of skinning him. The first cuts were always the most satisfying, watching the bright orange-yellow fat poke through as you separated the layers. You grabbed the skin layer and began to cut it away, the silvery fascia, like a spider web sewing the skin down, gave way to your blade with a sound like peeling a sticker off glass. It was music to your ears, the chorus of which was Warthin screaming and sobbing.

"Too bad you don't have any tattoos. It would be fun to send your skin to marine HQ." You blew air out of your nose. "It's no good if there's no way for them to recognize that it's yours. You get it. You did send my eye after all." You briefly stopped what you were doing. "Actually... yeah let's go ahead and take care of that." 

"N-no. No. No. NO!" He screamed louder and louder as you approached his eye with your blade. 

"Shhhh. Don't worry. I'll put it back tomorrow and we can start again. This devil fruit power is really great, isn't it?"

You dragged your knife under his eye, marring him the same way that you were marred. It was unnecessary to do that to remove the globe, but he needed to match. You slipped your thumb into the socket and popped it out, blunt dissecting the muscles off so that it was free. You dangled it in front of his other eye before tossing it in Mini's mouth. Then you went back to what you were doing. You sighed. Skinning was very therapeutic. 

Hours had gone by before you were done. There was no light down here, so there was no sense of time passing. It was more for the prisoners, though it was true for you too. Because of your focus, you didn't really get thirsty or feel hunger. All you cared about was doling out punishment. 

"Oh, fuck." You were on the last portion of Warthin's skin when you buttonholed it. You made a noise of disapproval. "Well, we're gonna have to start all over again." 

Warthin took a break from screaming to glance at you, horrified. You smiled back at him.

His skin looked like a discarded leather jacket on the floor. After putting it all back on him, a few hours more and you had re-skinned him perfectly. In fact, maybe you would turn it into a leather jacket. Was that too far? To wear human skin? You looked at the remaining prisoners. This opportunity shouldn't be wasted on destruction. There was creation to explore. 

You pulled two prisoners off the wall. They were still shackled to it, but had room to walk. Ever since the day with the fruit, you had wanted to try this. Placing a hand on both men, they started to glow and seemed to be sucked together, melting into each other. They became one person. The way they were twitching and stumbling, it was possible the brain did not meld correctly. Using your devil fruit, you separated them again. That didn't go correctly either. One had three limbs and the other had five. After shuffling them together a few more times, they were back to being two separate people, mostly. They might not have the correct amount of fingers per hand, but they added up to ten. 

You played with them like they were dolls, taking them apart and putting them back together again. One man had four arms now. Another had feet for hands. You gave one a third eye, then harvested it and transplanted it into Warthin. He looked cold so you made him a jacket from another prisoner's skin. You had placed his skin on one of the tables and started to fill it with organs you made copies of from the others. You borrowed a few bones from the prisoners as well until you could make a complete skeleton. You had everything but the head and the muscles. From one of the men that didn't come back so well from being fused, you stripped muscle, just the major ones. It would take too long to do all of them. You borrowed his spinal cord too. With your devil fruit, you were panting as you wove everything together into a fucked up humanoid body.

The man who you borrowed most everything from, you took a cleaver to his head, severing it. You would need it to keep Warthin's body alive. Taking the same cleaver, you separated Warthin's head from his body. Quickly, you fused the other man's head to Warthin's body and Warthin's head to the patchwork mannequin you had made. The other man shrieked so you knew that was successful. Warthin's head, however, was not doing anything. You punched the chest of the meat suit a few times with no luck. There were some limitations to your powers. You couldn't create life. 

Growling in frustration you ripped Warthin's head off the failed body prototype and traded it back with the other man so that he was reattached to his original body. 

"YOU'RE INSANE! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Warthin screamed when his consciousness rebooted. 

"If you have enough energy to scream like that, then you must not be hurting enough." You took a step towards him.

"DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER, YOU PSYCHO BITCH! HELP! HELP! GET ME AWAY FROM HER!"

"That's hurtful. You liked me plenty when I was the one chained up. How does it feel to be a piece of meat for my pleasure?" 

"HELP! ANYBODY!" 

With a wave of your hand sound no longer are out of his mouth. "You're annoying me." You wanted to get rid of his mouth altogether, however you had plans for his mouth. You released him from the ceiling and dragged him to one of the other prisoners. "I'll give you your skin back. If you suck his dick." You nodded your head to the other man. 

He looked at you with pleading eyes. 

"Be glad it's only your mouth today." 

His eyes went wide and he paled. 

"Yeah, no. Unfortunately you did rape me quite a lot. And I have to keep my word that I would repay every single thing you did to me." You turned your attention to the others. "Shouldn't be a problem with you guys, right? You love to rape." You shoved Warthin to his knees and kicked him closer to the other prisoner with your foot. "Get to it."

NEXT

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