prometheus extras


Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus - Extra Sci Fi - #1

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein launched the entire genre of science fiction. What made it unique? What did Shelley create, and how did her view of the possibilities of science shape the way we imagine our world even today? 

agent-jaselin  asked:

👤 - cryptid, Stanley Mcgucket.

👤 - cryptid

The tie to the prompt for this is pretty tenuous, but I mean…what even is a cryptid?  Can a phoenix count?  I’m gonna say yes, bc otherwise, this doesn’t feel like a cryptid prompt at all.  More of an excuse to build upon the Stan turned into a phoenix you posted yesterday (which I still can’t get over).  And you said that took place in the Stanley McGucket AU, so…  I think it counts.  And there’s a mention of Bigfoot at the beginning just in case.

Send me an emoji and I’ll write you a ficlet!

               “Aren’t ya worried you’ll lose Prometheus?” Fiddleford asked Ford as they hiked through the forest.  Ford looked at Stan, who was resolutely clinging to his shoulder.  

               “No, he’ll be fine.  He seems to have bonded with me.”

               “Maybe it’s ‘cause ya treated his injuries,” Fiddleford suggested.

               “Hmm, perhaps.”  

               Or it’s ‘cause I’m your twin brother and if I leave, ya won’t be able to fix me.  

               “Regardless,” Ford continued, “he can fly to safety if things get hairy. Can’t you, Prometheus?”  When addressing Stan, he slipped into the slightly condescending tone people used with their pets.

               Goddammit, I wish I could give him the cold shoulder for talkin’ to me like that.  But then he’ll get all worried and take me back to his house or somethin’.  Stan trilled softly to appease Ford.

               “See?  He’s quite a remarkable creature,” Ford said.  “A full two weeks of studying, and I still have more to learn about him.”

               Oh, great.  Does this mean you’re gonna “examine” me again?  Leave me with some dignity, Sixer.  The nerdy name ya gave me is bad enough.  Stan trilled again and ruffled his feathers.  

               “Prometheus, I’m glad you asked,” Ford said brightly.

               Asked what, Poindexter?

               “Today, we’re going to track down bigfoot.  Well, a bigfoot.  If I’m correct, there’s an entire colony of them that lives near Gravity Falls.  The area here can be rather hazardous, but I think Fiddleford and myself are up to the task.”

               “Fantastic,” Fiddleford muttered.  Stan clacked his beak a couple times.  “I ain’t happy neither, Prometheus.”  Stan bobbed his head.

               Ford, you should take lessons on bird body language from Fidds.  He knows what he’s doin’.  Fiddleford smiled kindly at Stan.  

               “Yer phoenix is quite the gentleman.  Fer a bird.”

               “I’ve been saying it since day one: Prometheus is far more docile than I expected,” Ford agreed.  “I mean, when he first saw me, he didn’t attack, like I expected.  He just…sat there.”

               Yep.  That was a hell of a mistake on my part.  Stan squawked.  Startled by the noise, Ford tripped over a loose rock.  Stan lost his grip on Ford’s shoulder, but remembered to flap his wings before he hit the ground.  He landed on a nearby log.

               “Prometheus, don’t do that!” Ford scolded.  “Imagine what could have happened!  You cannot make sudden noises when we’re out in the field!”

               Oh, fuck off!  Stan screeched loudly.  Ford crossed his arms.

               “Prometheus, no!  No extra noise!  Bad bird!”

               “Bad bird”?  Stan felt his anger making him hotter by the second.  I’m not a bird!  I’m not your damn pet, Ford!  

               “Cheese ‘n crackers!” Fiddleford gasped, stumbling backwards.  Stan blinked.

               What’s his deal?  He looked down at his body.  It was completely engulfed in flames.  Go fuckin’ figure.  I killed myself by gettin’ mad.

               “Fascinating,” Ford murmured.  Stan rolled his eyes.

               Of course Ford would say that.  He’s been waitin’ for me to do the phoenix thing since he saw me.  Stan nestled down.  Might as well get comfy.  Who knows how long it’ll take for me to be “reborn” or whatever.


               A full two weeks after accidentally “igniting his resurrection” (as Ford put it), Stan stood on his perch and watched Ford scribble something down in his journal.  

               Probably more nonsense about how I’m “fascinating” or whatever.  Stan idly scratched his cheek with one dark talon.  Only bright side is that I’m back to my right age.  Don’t ever wanna grow up as a bird again.  Gettin’ those flight feathers itched like hell.  And Moses, it was embarrassin’, havin’ Ford feed me by hand like that.  Stan’s feathers puffed up.  This is all fuckin’ bullshit.  He squawked irritably.  Ford looked over.  

               “What is it, Prometheus?  Something wrong?”

               Yeah, ya named me “Prometheus”! Stan squawked again.  Ford walked to him, to check his food and water.

               “Hmm, you don’t seem to need any refreshments.  Perhaps some companionship?” Ford said, stroking Stan’s back.  Stan fumed silently.  “Ever since you resurrected, you’ve been incredibly grumpy.  Maybe some scratches on the good spot would make you feel better?”

               Don’t use that damn baby voice on me, Sixer, you-  Stan’s angry train of thought was cut short by Ford scratching the top of his head. He closed his eyes.  Dammit. That is the good spot.  Fuck you, Ford.  Stan let out a low, satisfied trill.  Ford smiled.

               “That always seems to cheer you up.  I just wish I could communicate with you.  It’s strange, that, unlike the mundane birds you resemble, you appear to be unable to talk.”  Stan hummed softly, barely paying attention to Ford.  “You have a remarkable intelligence, though.  I wonder if I could teach you to communicate through some other means.”  Stan’s eyes shot open.  He bobbed his head up and down eagerly.  “Oh! Well, I’ll start brainstorming ideas for that, then,” Ford said.  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Maybe I could give you a pen, attempt to teach you to write.”  

               Holy shit, Stanford, yes! Please, do it!  Get me outta here!  Stan squawked excitedly.  

               “I have a pen here somewhere,” Ford muttered, going back to his desk. Fiddleford walked into Ford’s study. “Hello, Fiddleford.”

               “Stanford, I just got a call from my folks,” Fiddleford said.  At the concerned tone in his voice, Ford looked up. “They were askin’ when Stan ‘ll come back to Gumption.”

               “…I thought he never left.”

               “No, apparently, he did leave.  And he called ‘em when he got to Gravity Falls.  But we haven’t seen him.”  Stan squawked.

               “No, Prometheus, the pen will have to wait,” Ford said.  “This is urgent.”

               No no no no no!  The pen is urgent!  Stan squawked again.

               “Pen?” Fiddleford asked.

               “I’m going to attempt to communicate with him again.  Maybe teach him to write.  That’s what the pen would be for,” Ford explained.  Fiddleford stared at Stan, his brow furrowed.

               “Ya found Prometheus the same day my folks say Stan arrived in Gravity Falls.”


               “And those feathers on his head,” Fiddleford continued, “they look an awful lot like Stan’s hair.”  Stan let out a screech.

               Yes!  It’s about damn time!  Ford and Fiddleford stared at Stan for a few seconds.  Come on, someone fuckin’ do somethin’!  Fiddleford cleared his throat.

               “…Stanford, we should prob’ly get this bird a pen.”