#the absent-minded prometheus

[cartoonhostage]

Let me tell you about the story I'm currently calling The Absent-Minded Prometheus.

[nazrigar]

Transformers All-Sparks: Titans of Industry and Heroes of SCIENCE

In Transformers All-Sparks, with the fall of Cobra means an new time of relative peace, and also new opportunities to change the world.

These are the folks that are the movers and shakers in the background of the AU, from robotics to energy. Also Inhumanoid references!

Titans of Industry

Isaac Sumdac: Of all the industries revolutionizing the modern age, few have made an impact that Sumdac has made with robotics. Almost every college and university grad aims to one work on Sumdac System's wonders. Everything from production lines to seamless advanced prosthetics can be attributed to Sumdac. In spite of all this, Sumdac remains dedicated to both his work and trying to be a good person first and foremost. In a world of cutthroat and self serving men, Isaac has a genuine belief in making the world a better place with his inventions. Where and how he was inspired to really push for robotics remains known only to him. Lives in Detroit.

G.B. Blackrock: The man with a hand in almost every energy revolution out there, Blackrock is the owner of Blackrock Enterprises, the company responsible for the production and construction of everything from fossil fuels to renewables in this AU. A strong belief in investing for the long term means that he's very much into investing into alternatives to fossil fuels, not just for energy, but for everything that derives from petroleum. Despite the scope of his company's wealth, he's only "just" a millionaire, for whatever he makes, he donates to causes he really believes, mostly out of a sense of guilt. For what kind of man would he be if he has all the wealth in the world without trying to make it better? Travels a lot, but his company's HQ is in Portland, Oregon.

With the only two unambiguously good business folk outta way let's get to some REAL villains!

Prometheus Black: The OTHER great industralist of Detroit, with far less scruples and morals than Sumdac. A great showman who always makes a new innovation known to the world, and spearheads much research and development in biotechnology and biochemistry. Resents Sumdac, for even he has to rely on Sumdac's work, especially in the field of agricultural sciences.

Blackthorne Shore: A minging magnate and mogul of all things digging up the soil, has an intense rivalry with Blackrock for kneecapping much of the coal trade. Ruthless, with a dominating presence. Currently trying to dig deep into the Earth to try and find… something. Information leaking out since the fall of Cobra indicates a wealth of unknowns that he must find and leave his mark before anyone else. He's not getting younger after all.

World Science Team

In a world… Where the fall of Cobra means the unleashing of unknown variables and technologies to the wider world… one team is dedicated to making sure that they not only don't fall to the wrong hands, but also make all this mad science less mad. They are… WORLD SCIENCE TEAM.

Elise Presser: The team robotics expert. Brilliant in her field of study, but prone to absent mindedness and reckless behavior. Wanted to change the world in her own way, since every robotics whizz is either working FOR Sumdac or wants to bring him down.

Dr. Herc Armstrong: A guy who seemed to be genetically engineered to be a pulp novel scientist and adventurer come to life. The great decisionmaker, outspoken and incredibly courageous.

Dr. Brian Mindbender: Dr. Mindbender was once a peaceful Orthodontist, then an experimental pain relieving device electric brainwave stimulation damaged his mind, causing him to be much more aggressive and easy angered. He joined Cobra out of the promise to "fix" his mind, but Cobra never did, so when Cobra ate itself, he surrendered peacefully, trying to get somebody to hopefully alleviate his pain. As much as modern medicine tried, they never could get him back to his pre-accident days, but at the very least he wasn't going to die, which was was the real risk of his untreated condition. He is World Science Team's resident neurologist, biologist and of course, orthodontist. Cuz someone needs to look over teeth!

Dr. Kenneth Onishi: Dr. Onishi, MASTER OF ENERGY SCIENCES also train enthusiast. Has theories and hypothesis about EVERYTHING. Big Sentai fan.

[ananke-xiii]

The natural order is absent fathers.

I’ve been trying to understand what the heck “natural order” means in Supernatural until I’ve finally realized I was giving it too much thought than necessary because it was much simpler than what I had in mind: the natural order in Supernatural is…. Supernatural from s1 to s3.

I can explain.

First of all, the natural order is an “arrangement”:

EVE: You misunderstand me. I never wanted that. Not at first. I liked our arrangement. SAM: What arrangement? EVE: The natural order. My children turned a few of you, you hunted a few of them. I was happy.

Eve turns up in s6 after s4-5 madness and she’s unhappy: the arrangement has been broken. This leads me to think that the key-factor in keeping the natural order alive and well is honoring deals. When Crowley starts crossing boundaries in s6 Eve steps up to put him back in his place. However, she doesn’t realize who her real enemy is until it was too late for her. As always, the enemy of the natural order, the breaker of deals, the one you cannot expect to keep his word, the snake in the grass is our very Castiel.

Billie shares Eve's storyline. She’s also unhappy about the discombobulation of the natural order and she takes it on the Winchesters and then later on specifically on Dean. What's more, with Billie we see that uncontrolled resurrections without deals are a real problem for her. She fails to realize who her mortal enemy is twice: once when she’s a reaper and Castiel stabs her in the back and in so doing he’s breaking a stupid deal; the second time when they die together in s15. This time, though, they die because Cas is honoring a deal, but he’s doing it on his own terms, not waiting around wondering what true happiness is but taking matter into his own hands.  Although I have things to say about how happiness is framed in “Despair”, I’ve got to admit that, in its own convoluted way, it was a badass move.

Interestingly, when it comes to Chuck we don’t see the same respect and passion for the natural order that Eve and Billie seem to share. This is also where I think the writers sort of dropped the ball. In s11 it was established that Chuck had created nature and then nature “created on its own”. Here he seems to respect nature and calls it “divine”. In “The Trap”, however, he says the following things:

SAM: It'll be better. It'll be better. It'll be better. If we win – When we win – When we beat you, I will make it better! CHUCK: You can't, Sam. You, Sam Winchester, have been playing fast and loose with the laws of nature and magic for a very long time – you and your brother. Always breaking the rules. And that's what I love about you, Sam. It's so heroic. It's so...Promethean. But there's still so much about the fabric of the universe that you don't know... that you can't know. 'Cause you're only humans. But I'm God. Think about what I showed you. Look beyond the Mark, beyond you and Dean fanging out – heartbreaking, but not the headline news. SAM: The monsters. CHUCK: The monsters. CHUCK: Without me, it's a law of nature – dark forces prevail, monsters rule, and you, your brother, and everyone you love will die. Can you really live with that?

First of all I find it fascinating that Chuck, of all people, likes Sam and Dean precisely because they break the rules (but then he can't stand Castiel, looool, much to think about). He’s eventually angry at them because they don’t follow his script but he’s ultimately invested in these characters to such a degree that he calls them “Promethean”. Now, lol because didn’t Prometheus die, like, in s8 or something? But also: Prometheus is the hero who got impaled on the mountains of Caucasus because he defied Zeus (*cough* like *cough* Dean Winchester*cough*). So whether Chuck likes their "heroism" or not he only likes it up to a certain point (and this certain point is when their actions reveal his secret desires for self-destruction but that's for another day). For sure he wickedly enjoys when he vicariously breaks the rules and the natural order arrangement via Sam and Dean's actions. Not so much when it's Castiel who inserts himself into the fabrics of his story.

Secondly, “without me, it’s a law of nature”. What does that mean? I promised I wasn’t gonna go too philosophical so I went for the simpler route. If we leave aside the “dark forces” and “monsters rule” shit, what Chuck is saying is basically that without him the natural order will prevail. Which should be a good thing, right? Right?! Which also means that he himself is as much of a disruptor of the natural order as Castiel (oh-oh). Just like Billie, Chuck likes breaking the rules only when he or one of this favorite characters break them. Unlike Castiel and the Winchesters, however, he’s on a different plane of knowledge (therefore power) because there’s so much more about the fabrics of the universe that they can’t know but he can. After all, he is God and he (according to SPN) has created nature itself. So what’s Chuck’s signature on this "divine" masterpiece? What are the foundations of the natural order? I think the answer can be found in “Free to be You and Me”:

DEAN: The hell did you do? CASTIEL: I don't know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father Gene ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office. DEAN: Oh, no, man. CASTIEL: What? DEAN: This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's, it's the natural order.

That’s it, that’s the natural order according to Supernatural: it’s about absent fathers. It’s on their absence that “this whole industry” runs. Which not so incidentally is also the premise of Supernatural and, like, the whole plot of the first two seasons (and beyond but I'm talking "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home for a few days" type of absent father, that is John Winchester).

So if my understanding is correct, it’s accurate to say that Billie won in the finale because the natural order was re-established: nobody is resurrected, they all eventually die and Sam and Dean go on a hunt guided by their absent father’s journal, something we haven’t seen in ages, on a case that John himself had worked on something like maybe 20 years prior? Which is what they did in the first seasons of the show. They even meet a vampire from S1 who was there to signal precisely that: they're back in the past, only not in a positive way because it's a fictional past. A past with a mask.

Yes, the natural order is just the past through rose-colored glasses, a “let’s go back to the fun times of season 1-3 before all that angels-and-god-non-sense”. Which is technically possible but practically anachronistic. These two men are not in their 20s anymore, they're fully grown adults who've been through... let's just say a lot. It's a glorification of youth and a "forever young"ism that I find quite worrying. Moreover, with these premises Castiel couldn’t ever come back because, together with Chuck, he was one of the main disturbers of the natural order, aka the way Supernatural was before S4. Chuck's mistake was precisely inserting himself into the narrative because, in so doing, The Father is no longer absent while he must stay so according to the rule of the natural order. That's the arrangement. Chuck and Castiel's narrative fates are thus weirdly knotted together because the arrangement excludes deal-breakers/father-figures like them. Ironically, the ultimate absent father is not God but John Winchester, period. His absence is Order. It's the Law, aka what gives meaning to reality.

The implications of the finale are problematic because why on earth would you end your series like that? It's not even a positive "full-cycle" moment, it's just sad and uncanny in the freudian sense of the word. I know and understand that Dabb was working on his retelling so that we could all go back to the beginning but what is the point to go back without growth? Or to go back and then die? Or to go back and just leave? To me it doesn't make sense from a storytelling pov. I repeat, why would the people involved in this series decide to go down that road I cannot know. I suspect that they took the emotional, fake-happy ending road because Covid had destroyed the world as we know it so maybe they opted for an ending that would comfort people ("comfort" in the sense that's familiar to people, it follows an established path that's recognizable and doesn't destabilize them, which, for the record, I think they failed to do). Or maybe the intent was precisely the uncanny, that feeling of something disturbing and unsettling in what should be familiar and comfortable for us. As in: the story ends like it began, nothing has really changed and everything can only get resolved in the after-life. True happiness is not in the having, it's in just being (dead in Heaven with your brother). I don't know, two things can be true at the same time, but I'm not gonna lie I smell traditionalism, conservatism and heroism as a cult of death that's very Ur-fascist.

Not that anybody has asked for this but, unlike Eve and Billie, I’m actually quite happy because I’ve managed to find an answer to one of my own questions.

[gunsandspaceships]

Navigation v6 (Part 1)

I will update this thing every month and highlight new stuff with blue color, but for the newest posts - please just scroll down.

Some rules, Blog rules

Situation with haters in the fandom: tragicfantasy-girl, Correct statements, notthatwriterbuddha, Smear campaign, seek--rest, "Fandom nonsense", legalandnotease, Abuse

So far we found out:

Tony - Prometheus: a God, Intro, Fire, Heart, Thanatos, Familiar names, Chiron, Marvel and Greek Mythology

Which Tony is the real one: Good boy, Alter Ego, Kid, 16 years old, 17-18 years old, 21 years old, Big man in a suit of armor, Badass Motherfucker, Gryffindor 1, Gryffindor 2, Stealth mode, Sakaar, "Villain", Abuse, Revelation, Torture

That he is not a narcissist and his self-esteem is not high: Easy test, Lack of ambition, Not High Self-esteem, 616 Low Self-esteem, More of 616

His health condition: "I am Iron Man", Blast Injury, Shrapnel and heart damage, Torture, Arrhythmia, Important week, Reactor 1, Reactor 2, Surgeries p.1, Surgeries p.2, Surgeries p.3, List of his disabilities, Don't forget!, How Extremis works, Heart problems in CW

Psychiatry: PTSD, Death Wish, No NPD

That he is an introvert: Jon Favreau commentary, MCU, 616, Socially awkward, Absent-minded

And didn't like to party: Big post, And he just said it himself

His natural habitat: a Lab

Details about his childhood: Facts, Own will, Inner child, Bravery, When he met Rhodey

What he accomplished: Achievements, Saved the whole universe, Marksman, PhDs

He is actually a very strange billionaire: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Comfort, Food, Chores, Wallet, Not a businessman, Communism

That he cared for others: Compound owner, Barton's farm scenes, Useful person, What if, Peter's clothes

And had a special understanding of his role of the boss: Pepper

That he doesn't have a drinking problem in the MCU: Conclusion with its own navigation

And his coffee addiction is also a myth: Proof

That Tony is bisexual: Proof, FrostIron

And submissive: Proof, BDSM, Okay Man

Tumblr does not allow to add more than 100 links per post, so I had to make two more parts.

Part 2, Part 3

[ankhmeanswombman]

Reproduction and Character Masking: An Endless Chain of Sorrow

I’m a lover of authenticity and sovereignty, and in my experience most people are not. I have mentioned before how most individuals are automated organic androids, except they are becoming more and more inorganic, genetically-modified. There may be some silver linings to humanity’s increasing convergence with technology though. They need to build up what they have lost and redevelop intelligence and peace which they have thrown down the gutter after aeons of self abuse. Maybe the Prometheus Project isn’t such a bad idea. If the average person lacks both EQ and IQ, is addicted to conflict, and is a remedial junkie so as to ignore the piling karma, maybe it is best for the elites to retrain this person into the image of a more advanced being. Prometheus after all was the light bearer, guiding the beast out of the darkness of ignorance and into divine wisdom of good and evil, the discernment of which is lost to many in these trying times. The average persons lack of understanding of free will and karma has decayed their minds exponentially, because they cannot visualize the bigger picture, recognise pattern, or understand that there are consequences for every thought and action. They live as though they are completely detached from both body and spirit, such is the result of glorifying patriarch-consciousness and phallic philosophy. The lack of respect shown to the body is magnified every day through the collective consciousness, and if the vessel, a manifestation of spirit in 3D, is damaged, spirit itself may vacate the dense formation known as body to the point where spirit no longer rules it, but rather a set of primal, devolved automated instructions designed simply to perpetuate the Godless vessel sans conscious spirit. The evolved being must understand that the devolved being has been spiritually absent for a long time, which is why character-masking is rampant, they do not even know who they are which is why they adopt a new identity every year or simply stare at a screen to figure out who to copy-paste into next. The more old school approach would be simply termed keeping up appearances, and as we know, what appears to be a certain way, is not always true in reality, as maskers improve their techniques with each passing epoch so as to survive, fearing the natural death that awaits the ego. Ego is not meant to survive for long but it is a smart parasite which ensures that the soul stays dead so as to keep itself going. Reproduction as it exists today is simply a mechanism for competing with God, which is why ego is so fervently obsessed with it. Ego is at constant war with spirit, so copulation must always try to thwart parthenogenesis or anything higher up the Great chain of Being than itself. Because most people have banished their own souls to the underworld while welcoming hell-demons to possess their vessel, they naturally do not care about why higher concepts are hidden from public view, the real truth is that everything is hidden in plain sight, which ultimately means there is no hiding to begin with and all things are visible to those who actually wish to see… and if you don’t, well good luck decaying and rotting in a hell of ignorance, lest you be reborn through the fire. Those who are obsessed with masking/keeping up appearances are also obsessed with physical reproduction via coitus through the Hermetic principle of gender, and usually their reasons for engaging with both are the same; continuity of an automated reality, why you may ask, who knows, not even them, as there is no end goal. Just keep going. They view both the self and the other as a machine to extract token niceties or bodies to keep the beast-system going. The world is predator-prey because the vast majority is soulless, thus ruled by duality. Creativity for the average person begins and ends at physical reproduction which is why they emphasise it, and because they have no creativity derived from mentalism, they reproduce ideas derived from others and recirculate these ideas and mannerism in a continuous cycle under the guise of politeness.

[knightotoc]

One thing that's really standing out to me in American Prometheus, and I don't remember if this was in the movie, is Oppenheimer always calls the bomb both dangerous and cheap. These two descriptors went hand in hand to him. I've never heard atomic bombs called cheap before. But it is a terrifying and extremely American qualifier.

During and after WWII, Oppenheimer became more of a leader than a scientist (and that is in the movie). The book goes more into the division between academia and the government/military: the scientists were used to working with a limited budget and unlimited time in academia, but in war had to adjust to an unlimited budget and limited time. All the WWII history books I've read recently have given me this strong impression that the main reason the USA won was because we had the most resources.

Too much of the book and the movie is spent fussing over whether or not Oppenheimer was a communist. There's certainly a lot of documents about it, but from a modern POV it just doesn't matter. One of the most unconvincing arguments in his "defense" was that he was a naive, absent-minded-professor type. But this striking fact that Oppenheimer feared the bomb's cheapness almost as much as he feared its violence shows that he was very informed and sensitive to the economy's role.

[bacon-neko]

Nano 2023 Day 0

In which Keraunos has a very exciting birthday!!!!

"Zeus slept with Metis, although she turned herself into many forms in order to avoid having sex with him. When she was pregnant, Zeus took the precaution of swallowing her, because she had said that, after giving birth to the daughter presently in her womb, she would bear a son who would gain the lordship of the sky. In fear of this he swallowed her.”

Bibliotheca by Pseudo-Apollodorus

Chapter 1

Illness in a god was not unheard of. Ingenious Hephaestus always seemed to be fighting off one ailment or another, soot-filled lungs unable to heal as well as they ought, but it wasn’t common. Few even remembered the last time glorious Zeus had taken sick.

Zeus remembered, of course. How could he forget? Hairline fractures cracking through the inside of his skull, a parasite taken host in his brain, gouging through the meat, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Lofty Prometheus had played executor then, swung the ax and released his king. This time, sharp-sighted Athena leveled the blade against the crown of his head.

He resisted. All day, he insisted that, no, he was fine, he didn’t need help, it would fade on its own, quit fussing.

It didn’t, of course. By the time beaming Helios led his golden-chariot into the western horizon, supreme Zeus could barely speak, barely remember what he was holding back, why it scared him enough to suffer this pain. With what mind he had left, he begged his daughter to end this.

If gilded Athena knew what was to come, she didn’t show it. The warrior settled her grip on her tool, raised it above her head, and swung.

The so-called parasite quaked, roused from his slumber. Light cracked through and the boy screamed.

Suddenly, it was wet and bright and cold, and the boy was tumbling out, his shapeshifting skin instinctively transforming, taking the form of a man. He fell to the ground, soaked in blood, as puffs of air escaped him and his grey eyes flashed back and forth.

Zeus screamed, head split open, white hair soaked in blood, dripping down his face and into his beard. The boy crawled away, choking on spit, as another figure slid into view. She was armor-clad, crowned in bronze, with metallic eyes that pierced from beneath her helmet’s shadow. Grey stared into grey, Athena’s expression flicking between confusion then realization and finally fear. She gaped, jaw moving absently, some question forming on her tongue without coming to realization.

An iron-grip seized the boy’s ankle. Clear-headed, enraged and bloodied, the son of Kronos tore fresh skin as the godling wrenched backwards, scrambled to his feet, and ran.

Athena yelled something. The boy didn’t stop to listen. His feet pounded, naked skin scraping against stone, until a pair of scarred arms wrapped around his chest and a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Gotcha!” the figure said. “Now, quit squirming—”

The boy wrenched his jaw away and sank his teeth into the hand. Bone cracked, tendons snapped, and blood filled his mouth. The figure wrenched back his hand, bits of flesh still stuck between the boy’s teeth, and roared, but the boy didn’t care. He could taste freedom in the cold wind skimming across his skin as he ran, pulling feathers out from his hairline, drawing him into open skies.

Then, in a blur of motion, a new figure streaked ahead and halted in front of him, fluttering mid-air as he waved a winged wand and said, “Bedtime, kiddo.”

The boy jolted and stumbled back like a heavy wave crashed into him. He shook his head, swayed on his feet, and blinked and blinked until his eyelids grew too heavy, and he fell forward, deep in sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shepherd god caught the boy with a grunt, winged ankles fluttering with effort. The godling was lanky and thin, but even so, he dwarfed the messenger god, easily a head taller. It took some effort to keep him upright, but Hermes managed.

Beyond the pair of brothers, Athena stood, mouth agape, chest rising fast and heavy, until she noticed Hermes staring and her jaw snapped shut.

“Assist Lord Zeus with his injury,” she said, not even sparing a glance to the handful of servants who swept in to carry out her order, eyes trained on the boy in Hermes’ arms.

Ares interjected. “And muzzle that one while you’re at it,” he grumbled, clenching his bleeding fist. “And tell Artemis she’s got a new hound to train.”

Athena carried on with a shake of her head. “Prepare a room for the new lord.”

“No.” Father rose to his feet, the chunks of his head held together by his own hand, blinking the blood from his eyes. “The dungeon.”

Athena wrenched her eyes away from her brother. “Sir—“

“Now!” he snapped. “Or would you like to join him?”

The whole courtyard froze. There was violence in the evening air, even Hermes could taste it, and Ares—injury and all—cast a glance between his father and his half-sister like he was deciding which side to pick. But Athena held their father’s gaze and hid the tremor of her hands behind her back.

“Your will is mine,” she said. “To the dungeon.”

Hermes’ grip tightened as a servant came and extended their arms for the boy, but Athena caught his eye and offered the slightest nod she could muster, so he shifted to a grin and cheerfully abandoned his brother to their treatment.

“Try not to drop him!” he teased, wishing he could add more bite to the order, but settling for the uneasy laugh he earned in return as the servant shuffled away.

Father was laid upon a stretcher and golden nectar was poured over his wound. The healing would go faster if Apollo were here, but this would do in a pinch. Of course, his body would heal on its own with enough time, but gods were hardly known for their patience. In fact, noting Ares’ still bleeding hand, Hermes swiped a jar of nectar and dashed back to his elder brother.

The war god’s hand was punctured, lacerated, and dripping with blood. The teeth marks didn’t even look human—like the boy had shifted mid-bite into something meaner, toothier.

“He gotcha good, huh?” Hermes uncorked the jar and poured a healthy stream onto the bite.

Ares flexed his palm in turn, masking a wince. “He’s a menace.”

“Oh, like you?” said Hermes.

“Fuck off,” he said.

“Come on, you left it right there,” Hermes said. “Easy shot.”

“I’ll give you an easy shot.” Ares swung with his left, but Hermes flew up and around, dodging the blow and perching on top of his shoulders, laughter and another quip on his tongue, before Father interrupted.

“Boys!” he said. “Quit fooling around.”

Ares grumbled low in his throat before swiping the nectar from him and swatting Hermes away. The messenger god pulled back with his palms raised, grinning easily, as he drifted casually towards his father and sister, careful to linger within the war god’s shadow.

The nectar had done its magic. Raw, red lines now held the wound together at the edges and pulled up along the crown, while their father winced as he turned his head and screwed up his brow.

“I want the boy gone,” he hissed.

Athena replied, firm and cool, all her trembling vanished. “I’m sure there’s a tall mountain we can chain him to.”

“No,” said Father. “The Pit.”

Redundantly, she repeated, “Tartaros?”

“Do it before dawn,” Father said. “Before he wakes up. And if he gets out, it’s on your head.”

She nodded, a little tight in the neck, but if Father noticed, he didn’t look it, too absorbed in the blood clinging to his hair to pay much attention to anything else. The servants hovered around him, helped steady him, and drew him back into the palace proper—no doubt towards his chambers for a proper recovery. And a bath.

In their absence, the blood-stained war-god tilted his head towards his better half and asked, “What was that about?”

Athena’s shoulders sank as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ares, please.”

“What?” he said. “It’s a fair question.”

“It’s a question you ought to know the answer to,” she said.

Ares bristled. “What’s the supposed to mean?”

“To be fair.” Hermes leapt forward, feet light and tongue quicker. “Dad hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“What information?” Ares asked, voice rising. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Quit yelling,” said Athena.

“Quit hiding things from me,” he retorted.

“No one’s hiding anything,” she snapped. “You’re just too stupid to catch on.”

Hermes clapped his hands. “Okay! Wow, this is great, um, I actually have—uh.” He rummaged in his bag and dug out a roll of parchment. “Here! From your Thracian—”

Ares snatched up the letter and rolled it open against his chest with his uninjured hand, before he paused, sneered at Athena, and stalked off into the palace, leaving his siblings alone in the freezing courtyard.

Hermes whistled. “That went well.”

Athena rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “You didn’t even punch each other this time.”

She cast him a withering glare and then pushed her hair back from her forehead, removing her helmet in the same gesture, before setting it back atop her head with a steadying breath. “Come on. We’re short on time.”

The strategist turned and sailed out of the courtyard, bronze helm gleaming in the dying light of winter just before she dipped into the palace. Hermes dashed after her, flying ahead and then floating beside her as he kept pace.

With his ears tuned to oncoming footsteps and his eyes flicking up and down the hall, he asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

“We follow Father’s orders,” she replied.

The trickster halted in his tracks—or he would’ve if he left any. As it stood, Athena ducked down a staircase and he hung at the top of the steps, heart in his throat, before he managed to shake it out and chase after her.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“We don’t have much of a choice.”

“You saw how he ran for that horizon,” he said, shooting past her argument. “The boy will hate it down there, you know that.”

“You don’t mind it,” she countered.

Matter of factly, he replied, “I’m weird. And suited for it, you shouldn’t make the same bet for him.”

“And what would you have us do instead?” she asked.

“I dunno, find a nymph for him to hang out with!”

“Oh, yeah, and Father never talks to any of those,” she said, iron voice dripping with sarcasm. “He definitely won’t find out.”

“So, we just leave him down there?”

“Yes!” she said. “That or we go to war tomorrow morning.”

He bristled but bit down the sensation before shifting tactics. “I thought you’d enjoy a good war.”

“I enjoy wars I can win,” she corrected. “We have no definite allies, no defenses, and the boy is entirely untrained.”

“He’s got a mean bite,” Hermes said.

“We’d lose,” she insisted, dismissing the comment. “It’d be ugly. And then we’d all be in Tartaros which isn’t even square one, it’d be square negative a billion.”

“Oh, good, negative a billion, so glad we’re sending our brother there,” he retorted. “And leave the theatrics to Dionysus, they don’t suit you.”

“Would you just—” Athena ground to a halt, kneading her brow between her knuckles and then stealing her hand to the crest of her shoulder. “Trust me on this. Please.”

Her gunmetal eyes softened into chalk. Her younger brother sighed and scraped a hand through his curls, wracking his brain for the will to deny her. With nothing to offer but a wince and a pang of guilt, he said, “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

She loosened at that, heavy shoulders becoming just a little more light. She started to thank him, but he shook his head and said, “I suppose I’m the one taking him?”

She grimaced but told him all the same, “I trust no one more.” Gently, she added, “I know it’s not exactly in your nature as a shepherd, but there’s no one better for the job.”

“Dionysus could do it,” he said, mostly joking.

Athena smiled in turn. “Dionysus would take him on a bender. Then where would we be?”

“Square zero?” he suggested.

A breathy chuckle puffed out of her as they turned another corner into a dark corridor. Magically-lit torches cast a pale glow over the stone floor, delicately cut and well-swept although the area was so rarely used and certainly not kept around for its aesthetic appeal.

The prison of Olympus had been crafted by the Cyclopes, commissioned by Father Zeus to serve as a holding cell for those accused who could not be trusted to remain for judgment and, perhaps, their subsequent punishment. More often than not, the bars swung free and the torches lay dark with not even a rat to disturb this place.

But on this winter’s night, a godling lay curled up upon the floor, naked and trembling. Barred even the dignity of a bath, blood still streaked across his skin, dried now even at his ankle where Father had seized him and cut into his flesh. Perhaps it will leave a scar or maybe the injury will prove too forgettable to make a lasting mark. After all, the skin of a shapeshifter is a hard thing to permanently alter.

“You know,” Hermes started as the metal bars swung open. “If Dad wanted the boy out of here tonight, he really didn’t need to have him dragged down here too.”

Athena hid a grimace in the shadow of her helm as she propped the door open. “I’m sure he had some point to make. Now help me get him up.”

Getting the boy out of the cell was an ordeal of its own, his lanky limbs causing more than enough trouble as his two siblings tugged and pulled and hushed whenever a drowsy groan rumbled out from his chest, but soon enough they made their way back to the courtyard.

It felt criminal shuffling along in the dark, a limp body held between them, dried blood smearing on their own clothes and skin. Hermes kept hearing things: footsteps, doors scraping open, the animals in the shadowed stable rousing awake at the odd hour’s commotion.

Athena pulled the boy’s arm from her shoulder and leaned his weight against Hermes. “I’ll get a chariot,” she said, already setting off for the stable, but Hermes snagged her arm.

“Just get him onto my back,” he said, wings itching at his ankles.

They shuffled the boy around, adjusted Hermes’ bag to keep it out of the way, and then hefted the boy up across his back and shoulders. With a grunt of effort, Hermes kept himself steady. Ready to take off, he stole one last glance back at Athena, hesitating, hoping, but she raised her chin and tucked her hands behind her back.

Steadier than sky-bearing Atlas and more certain than Fate, she told him, “We’re making the right move here.”

He hoped she was right.

And so the immortal guide flew, racing towards the edge of earth and the underworld beneath. He visited Uncle Hades frequently, shepherding shades and delivering news to his realm, but only a spare few times had Hermes made the full journey to the Pit. There lay the Titans—most of them anyway—forever bound as punishment for their crimes.

It was wrong to take the boy there. So wrong that Hermes kept seeing phantom flashes of burning Furies in the corner of his eye, chasing after him, but he shook his head and tore through the air, wind howling around him.

Then, roused by the bruising wind, the boy pulled away from his slumber.

The boy inhaled—sharp and heavy, drawing thin air into his lungs, pushing himself into full consciousness. His arm and leg were bound, held by something, and a frightened part of him threatened to thrash and claw away, but instead his eyes welled up with stinging tears as he looked out into open sky.

Stars filled every inch of black above him, vast and endless, streaked with clouds and threaded by wind, tousling his hair, sending sparks down his spine. Something red and burning in the distance caught his eye for a moment, but a rough breeze cut across his skin, drawing him back to his sky.

He didn’t dare blink, terrified the vision might vanish, but the tears grew too much and he swiped them away with his spare hand, brushing against the whatever that was holding him.But the whatever flinched, turned his head, met the boy’s eyes, and said, “Shit. You’re not supposed to be awake.”

[primevein]

The Prime of His Youth: Book III: Prometheus' Gift: Ch13: Impossible

Japtheth stood outside of the Parliament, as his femmes started to surround him as they filed out. Japheth looked between them. Arcee, Arcelia, Roxana, Sirenia standing in the back. "Siren." he said, and waved her in. He hugged her, and turned to continue with an arm wrapped around her waist. Windblade was not attached to him anymore, and so was absent. Vera was likely in her house. June simply smiled at him, and turned as Lunamaria walked up to them. "Japheth, this is Lunamaria, from the housing authority."

"Sir." Lunamaria stated, "Your mother refused to explain what you needed."

"I didn't want to spoil anything." June said to him.

Japheth looked contemplative, and so Arcee spoke to him, "What do you want?"

"A... big... house?.." he asked.

"They don't have big houses." June stated.

"Most on Caminus keep their own quarters where they work." Lunamaria stated.

"And Siren?" Japheth asked, looking down at her before looking back to Lunamaria.

"She worked in the wilderness." Lunamaria simply stated.

"Ah, gotcha." Japheth stated, "So, what do we want?"

"Miko would probably want a tower." Arcelia said.

"I..." Japheth voiced, "can't tell if you are joking?.."

"I would be interesting, and dynamic, but might not be what you are looking for." Lunamaria stated, "Did you want to take defensibility into consideration?" she asked. Japheth looked distant, and she recognized the look on his face, "For the protection of your..."

"Fembots." Arcee interupted.

"Non-com..." Arcelia voiced and looked at Arcee before looking at Japheth, "That is quite succinct."

"That actually makes sense." he stated.

"A number of rooms?" Lunamaria asked, "Defensibility."

Japheth looked up at the sky, "A lot of windows." He looked down at Lunamaria, "Caminus is so beautiful, I want to always be able to see it."

"Noted." Lunamaria stated, "Did you want a garden? A gardener?"

"Actually, Siren studied it." Japheth stated, "We just haven't been home enough to actually do anything about it."

"So, yes, a garden." Lunamaria added, "Anything else? Maybe a fountain."

"That would help with the garden?" Japheth asked. He could feel Sirenia's excitement in his arms.

"How about a guard dog?" Lunamaria asked, and Japheth gave her a questioning look. "Sirenia's house's keys were changed to Vera's." Lunamaria stated, "It was curious, so I looked into it."

Japheth sighed, "I should have figured it would come out. I figured Caminus would be her home."

"She would probably like it." June fretted, "It gives her something to live for."

"We'll see how she does before it's built." Japheth stated. "Though, having a side room by the front door can't hurt."

"Meaning," Arcee said to June, "don't tell her until after it's built."

"I would like to see her find her own path." June voiced. "But she could use a friend."

"In the mean time, we should head to the Medicaeon." Roxana said to June. She gently grabbed her hand and tugged her away.

"See you..." June tried to say, and then paused, "I honestly don't know." Japheth quickly moved towards her and pulled her in for a powerful hug.

"Love you, mom." he said.

"Love you, too." June replied. She and Roxana transformed. Roxana drove off and she followed behind.

Lunamaria clapped her hands together, and leaned forward, "Do you mind if I see your alt. form?"

Japheth stepped away from the others, turned around, and transformed. He raised the bolter up over top of him. She started walking around him. "I could really do something with this. Does your weapon use ammunition?" she asked.

"Yes." he simply replied,

"So, you'll need a vault for ammunition and weapons, along with Energon, and will need workspace to work on it. We should also add a medical room, as well. We will want our Prime to always be in fighting shape."

"Hm." he asked.

"And every other shape as well." she said with a smile.

"How long will this take?" Japheth asked.

"Cursory estimate," she said, as her eyes flittered about. "Kilocycle?" she asked, "Kilocycle and a half?"

"I can spend the mean time in the archives." Japheth said, and turned to Arcelia. She let out a weak smile, but his strong one warmed her up.

"And... what do I do?" Arcee asked.

"Train with the Battle Sisters?" Japheth asked.

"Alright, but I demand cuddle time." she strongly said to him.

"I promise." he replied. Sirenia seemed completely lost. "Didn't you want to learn about horticulture?" he asked. And she was surprised and shocked by this. Of course she did.

* * *

June was shocked to find the Human vital information in the computers, and brought up a hologram of a Human man and woman, before the collected doctors and medics.

* * *

Japheth and Arcelia poured over the ancient star charts

* * *

"There will be no oil to save you this time." Windblade stated.

"As long as you don't use your sword, I like my chances." Arcee stated.

Windblade untied her belt and baldric, and handed her sword to another sister. "I am disarmed. I trust you can grant me the same curtesy?"

"Of course." Arcee said with a bright smirk. She transformed and rushed at Windblade. Windblade used her turbines to dodge at the last second. Arcee transformed and rolled out of. She was ready to strike, but Windblade was not. She lunged at Windblade, who caught her by the arms and simply threw her away. Arcee turned after she recovered, hands on the ground, and the two simply stared at each other. Arcee figured she would try a different strategy. She stood up, and slowly walked towards Windblade. Windblade slowly walked to her as well. Before she realized what had happened, she was kicked in the head, knocking her back. Arcee flipped over to land another downward kick, knocking her down. Windblade struck the ground with her full arm to spread out the impact, and wasn't sure what to do. Her wings just stopped her from just rolling over.

She decided to transform, and fire her turbines to hopefully escape, but had her body spread into the ground. Her own thrusters were scrapping her along the ground and so she stopped them. Arcee climbed off of her, and let her stand up again. Small breaks, scrapes, and burns along her body. "You want to get that treated?"

"I thank you for the match." Windblade neutrally stated. "You fight with incredible savagery for a femme. It reminds me of Chromia."

A medic quickly ran up to her, opening up her medkit.

* * *

Vera, in her wolf form wandered the woods. Her eyes, with their shine, seeing well in the gloom. Her ears darting too and fro from every noise. As the light dimmed she felt more at home. Likely a product of her beast form, or whatever Shockwave did to her head. To her thoughts. She crept and dashed through the coming night, feeling like herself. Maybe the woods was what she needed.

* * *

Japeth stepped out of the archives, Arcelia right behind him. "She is on the first terrace." Arcelia stated, "Just outside the Battle Sister training grounds."

"Thank you." Japheth stated, and transformed. Arcelia transformed behind him.

* * *

Japheth's light bar shined over the training field, Arcee quickly jumping up and walking towards him. He transformed and picked her up in a princess carry, giving her a passionate kiss. He turned around and started walking way. Arcelia transformed to walk after them.

* * *

Japheth sat at the edge of the lowest terrace, dangling his legs down with Arcee in his lap.

* * *

June saw the light of dawn trickling in through the windows, and was startled to discover she had worked through the night without realizing it.

"Something the matter?" one of the medics asked, and June wasn't sure what to say.

* * *

Vera glowered at the newfound light, and transformed, walking back to the city.

* * *

Sirenia crouched down, and watched with utter fascination as the sprouts reacted to the nascent sunlight.

* * *

Sirenia looked behind her as a great shadow appeared, and it belonged to Japheth. She smiled brightly at him.

* * *

Japheth walked into the archives and up to Amalthea, "I have a request."

"Hm?" she asked.

"For all Archivists." he stated, "I will wait while you summon them."

* * *

The hundred archivists stood as Japheth looked between them. Amalthea gave Arcelia a questioning look, but she wasn't sure herself. Or she was afraid of the answer.

"Thank you for coming around." Japheth stated, "You have records of other colonies. Of other Titan colonies." he voiced, "I'm wondering if we can find out EXACTLY where they are?"

"How is that both insane and reasonable at the same time?" one of the archivists asked.

"That's now magnificient he is." Arcelia said with joy.

"I would like to find a way to contact the old colonies." he stated, "But, we can't do that if we can't find them. I'll let you talk amongst yourself." he stated, and turned to walk out of the archives.

[elegyforiphigenia]

KRONOS.

⚠️ trade offer ⚠️ : next time i visit the burnt city i finally get to know what that 1:1 is all about and i'll rewrite this with that in mind. i joke. anyway, shamelessness aside! here's a piece inspired / telling the brand of weird guy loop that is kronos. so, all the usual punchdrunk triggers apply on top of spoilers for his loop - this is specifically based on milton lopes interpretation of the role, and i believe kronos is one where the loop can differ greatly! also potential spoilers for things people have said about hades.

He sweeps a little.

One must wonder if he was always a beast. After all, how does Tartarus craft the caretaker who will stalk its tenements? Perhaps before Prometheus was liver-bitten, he made him like mankind; crafted him from clay and then let the kiln be the fires of Hades. He shares his name with a Titan – it makes the picture come together clearly: maybe Hades ordered the bones of that first Kronos to be powdered into the clay that would forge the second Kronos. And so the first would have his own ribs encage him. We will never know. In spite of Kronos taking care of that infinite resting place, finality does not mean all answers are known. It only begs that we ask more. Even uttering Tartarus stirs up more falsehood than truth: fifty pairs of underwear hang from washing lines and a feast waits never eaten, but –  but there is little use in theorising now. The boulder will always stumble to the foot again.

Pinboards of franticising is such a trivial thing to the one who finds obsession amongst only the thread upon those boards. Red string. It never leads him anywhere. Still, though, he likes to take out a small torch and shine it upon the string threaded across the tenements he cares for. The pattern it takes – the writing surrounding it – if those way down were given hours, he would spend hours staring at those threads. All to a fruitless end – each cock of his head, each forward inspection, he is always led back to the tenement square. The most innocuous item is a constant source of distrust for Kronos. With dice, his constant pocketed companion, he experiences similar puzzlement. Too many a glad time spent pacing amongst the various rooms of Troy, slipping into an absent corner. He will take them, hold them in his palm, and occasionally, he will lightly throw them up. Only numbers fall back down. And still he will watch them with enough furrowed brows to make any watcher believe they are full of a higher purpose.

He sweeps a little.

Corridors possess the strangest of things. Kronos delights in this one for it is a collection of ordinary items. Bending down, the display is careful disarray, with a spillage of cutlery asleep near cans. From this heap, he picks up a knife, clutches it around his fist, and meanders onwards to where ordinary once more approaches him. On this occasion, it is ordinary death; even electric sheep must die and so a toaster must be broken. He sticks a knife into where bread should go. He feels nothing for nothing happens. The caretaker knows that his city is decaying, for it is not his city. Nearby, in a different room, he unfurls some paper near potpourri and a lamp. Yes. There is something he must do. Something grand in design, yet done as many times as he tosses a dice. It is only fools who think a caretaker offers entirely up that first half of his title to the population bleeding around him. Kronos is deliverance.

He sweeps a little.

In the uppermost level of Troy, confusion pounds blindingly through Klub. The sorts of men who attach a space of Bacchic potential to their office are the sort who make themselves a model citizen of Troy; the city is on the verge so let us drink; dance; drug ourselves into oblivion like the writhing snake in leather who is sharpening red under their eyes. Within this space, Kronos leers up against any who might provoke him with a look. He is a zoetrope spun at a faster speed, lunging harsh as the strobes make each second appear a changed picture. Beast! Not a god. Not a man. A young man, casually smart, watches this terror through the windows. The man – the boy – thinks it looks like a bull thrusting. When it is over, Kronos stands, looming over him, and cranes his neck from one side to the other. He watches the boy. From his pocket, he pulls out a necklace made only of red string: he ensnares the boy in it.

He sweeps a little.

To be a caretaker is to have access to all the rooms of the tenements. Most of the rooms appear abandoned. In one, he reduces the puzzlement of his world to a jigsaw. In another, he sits at a mirror. Whilst he sits there, girls and boys are being sacrificed and all the flowers have gone away to make their weeping graves. He looks at his reflection – worn-out clothes licked by sweat, a face peppered with slow days tiring – and raises a handheld mirror so that he might gaze around him. Flickering just a little are his lips as he catches the eyes of the strangest creatures from the corner of his own. These shadows of people reflect in the small mirror. Slowly, smiling slightly as he does so, he guides the mirror from side to side. He sees them. He briefly acknowledges their gaze when meeting their fearful-loving awe. It is all he can see of their face, and it is beautiful. He likes to make them scared. Terror is not always a threat; terror is the vulnerability of being known. In one pretty way, he admires them – so he lifts a masquerade mask adorned with a feather from the dressing table he sits at. He wears it and practices smiling in the larger mirror. Whereas his ones to the ghosts are minacious, his ones to the mirror are sickening in their forced, bright falsity.

He sweeps a little.

Kings receive floods of crimson, but a prince only receives a sprawled out sheet. Polydorus is a boy and he claws at the red string around his throat as his eyes bulge purple. When his sister dies, she will be stroked onto a sheet by a lover, but he stumbles onto the white sheet awaiting him and is unceremoniously tugged into a locked room by Kronos. Moloch must be sated. Child after child, Kronos takes them as provided sacrifice, feeding the golden bull god. Speak it again – beast! Not a god. Not a man. He understands the machine he is instructed to feed; he pumps it full of the unfortunate youthful blood who by birth are trapped in the labyrinth of Troy. Kronos smiles again for he sees the beautiful strange creatures process their despair at death like they should: the machine operates on too many levels he does not care for, but he understands that even the unseen feed it. Polydorus is left dead in his room. He hopes Moloch is satisfied for now. His task is done; odd jobs and business, he takes care of it all.

In a dark corner, he plays with dice, and stalks red thread. It will never lead him out of the labyrinth. Instead, it loops back round on itself: he does not register time beginning again as the red traps him. But it begins again.

He sweeps a little.

[dexaroth]

changed my mind. all the crew's themes both from moonage lobotomy and absent moon kick ass. also odozeir's prometheus lament which i listened to on repeat for like 2 hours yesterday

the wailing oooo on soms' theme at the end hits sooo hard. oooo oo ooo ooo ooo.... waaaagh

[cartoonhostage]

Ty Fawnnn

Favourite Colour: Yellowwwww

Last Song: https://youtu.be/yA40ZwGCD-4?si=V8z3X2EyluLrNvKw

Currently Reading: Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley

Currently Watching: Arcane

Currently Craving: Deep fried shrimp

Coffee or Tea: Never had coffee, never liked tea

Hobby to Try: Might relearn how to knit idk

Current AU: No AU, my original story which is tentatively named The Absent-Minded Prometheus (it's about a programmer who accidentally kinda on purpose makes a photocopier sentient and their name is Sam)

Tagging: @poorlemons @ravioliet @thetacoshellturtle @leglessstreetlights @rbtlvr

Get to Know Me (tagged by @slingbees)

-------------------------------------------------

rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better and catch up with

-------------------------------------------------

Favorite Color(s): ORANGE!!!!! but also yellow!

Last Song:

Currently Reading: them Guardians of Ga'hoole books because when I was in the hospital I read one of them.

Currently Watching: I'm going through Red Vs Blue with some friends.

Currently Craving: this peach monster right beside me. don't tempt me.

Coffee or Tea: I haven't been drinking much of either recently, but coffee.

Hobby to Try: Start animating at home.

Current AU: I guess I've been thinking about that Simpsons comic where Smithers gets cloned, fucking hilarious they just start killing each other. Other than that, I don't know.

TAGGING:@sleepypuddding @funkyjunkyfangz @beeframennoodles100 @danklemckspankle @potatoqueensays @notevenhodgepodge @butchbarneygumble @lorogy662 @calpalsworld anyone else too!

[cartoonhostage]

My favourite trope is physiological differences from regular humans. Not just surface things like scaly skin and fangs and the like, but things that make a character's lived experience differ drastically from the experience of the human audience. Things like segmented eyes, perceiving one, two, or four dimensions instead of three, vocal mechanisms that click and make sounds that people can't. Artificial intelligences that think and experience emotion in ways that are so alien compared to human experience that it's hard to place them in the same category. A lifespan and memory that has lasted longer than recorded history and isn't anywhere near its end. The pull and stretch of muscles and tendons that human bodies don't have. Qualities that make every minute of a character's conscious life fundamentally different enough that it takes effort to comprehend it simply because you are human.

[gaiasdottir]

Thinking about that time I rewrote the Pandora's Jar myth to be feminist and won $1000 for it

Yet so corrupt were the Olympians, so absent of morals and good character were they, that their punishment for mankind proved to be his greatest boon, for each of them took what they saw to be a vice and gave it unto Pandora, the Allgift, the first mortal woman and Zeus' punishment for man, incapable of seeing that that which they gave to her were virtues

Zeus, adulterous philanderer and rapist, gave unto Pandora unwavering loyalty, thinking faithfulness to be dull and restraining, a prison of the mind Ares, brute of strength and unrestrained force, imparted upon Pandora a soft and mild temper, perceiving no flaw greater than a desire to resolve disputes first with words before violence

Aphrodite, vein consort of Paris' favour, made the first mortal woman modest, for she could not conceive to waste beauty through not making it known to all,

Hera, vindictive harpy and mistress of misattributed contempt, gave Pandora a soft and forgiving nature, believing this would make her and her progeny weak and easy to betray Yet not all of the Olympians acted with malign intent, some granting genuine gifts to we children of Prometheus

Hephaestus, outcast and begrudged of his kin, granted Pandora a form that was both firm and fair, for he held no love for those that had thrown him off Olympus and who tolerated him only for his craft, yet respected our father Prometheus

Athena, wise and powerful warrior, gave unto Pandora wisdom and crafts, for she had grown enamoured with the men of Attica and wished to seem them prosper Hermes, fleet-footed messenger, bestowed upon Pandora a quick and cunning mind, for he saw a goodness in men that he knew was rare among the gods, and believed their machinations fun besides Demeter, goddess of the harvest and agriculture, made Pandora's womb quick and fertile just as she did the land, for she so loved her own daughter Persephone and wished the joy of children for all mortals All these things the Olympians bestowed upon Pandora, the Allgift, she who was a gift to man from each of the gods

And from thence they gave Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus' trusting brother, who was too kind of heart to perceive the ill intent of the Gods No sooner had he accepted Pandora than he fell in love with her, and so begat a daughter Pyrrha soon thereafter

[anxietea-and-cookies]

Prom, hugs, 1, she/her >:3 I’m so mean to him

You adored, no... no, you treasured all the time you spent with your dearest friend, Prometheus. He was such a sweetheart, albeit a flirty one, to you. He was just so sweet; half the time he seemed to spoil you with little things— silver rings with moonstones, squishmallow dolls, coffee during your early mornings at work, dice for your collection, and so on— whenever he saw something that made him, "think of ya, sugarsnap."

He was your best friend, a brother to you in all but blood. Did skeletons even have blood? You shook your head and snorted quietly at the thought that crossed your mind. How silly... they probably had some magic version of it.

"penny fer yer thoughts, sugarsnap?" rumbled the familiar voice of Prometheus. "or should i offer a li'l more fer 'em?"

You looked up from the book you were staring at absently and hummed. "Just thinking, that's all. Silly thoughts and thoughts of you," you told him. "I love you, you know that? You're my best friend."

His lights seemed to brighten at the confession of love before they dimmed at the following admission. "y-yeah... love ya too, sugarsnap. yer my... best friend too."

At that, you leaned over and gave him a side hug as you smiled up at him. "I'm glad, you're amazing."

"yer amazin' too," he said as he returned the hug, pulling you close to him before he reluctantly released you. "was that all ya were thinkin' 'bout?"

You paused, then sheepishly asked, "...Do skeletons have blood?"

Prometheus snorted. "do skeletons have blood, she asks? do skeletons have blood?" He shook his head slowly and chuckled. "nah, we got magic, though. it's like blood, but nor really."

"Oh..." You paused. "Okay, thank you!"

"yer welcome, sugarsnap."

[gccdgraces-arch]

⸻ the goddess froze at prometheus' words. no one had ever cared enough to ask that before. none courageous enough to really question the king of the underworld. a lifetime of imprisonment by her own uncle that she never could escape from. only half the year getting to be spent up here in this beautiful valley of a world. spreading along crops and flowers and any sort of vegetation that could cross her mind. anything to keep her from counting down until her next imprisonment start. when she had to rule next to hades all over again for another half a year. she cleared her throat and straightened her back. "i wouldn't make these chains if i had the choice," she finally retorted back to him, absently straightening out her flowing robes. "you're pretty brave showing up here. no telling if hades will make a random pop around and if he sees you? i don't believe it will end well."

he notes the garland that adorns above her brow, almost as though it is a part of her, as an arm would be a part of a body. it moves with her, a symbol of her true extent of her abilities; she is earthly. if prometheus looks down at her feet that moves with grace, he is sure that he would find a blossoming path of flowers of where her feet treads. it's dangerously, beautifully ethereal. "because i know what it is like to be trapped," he starts, knowing that such a topic can breed dangerous outcomes; but he does not waver in the path that he stands before her. he looks as though he is an ordinary man, a titan who is simply lower than those that adorns olympus, or even in the engulfing flames of hellfire. "are you, persephone, bound by chains of your own making as well?"

[naidadiamandis]

Cronus

Not to be confused with

Chronos

, the personification of time.For other uses, see

Cronus (disambiguation)

.Cronos

In Greek mythology, Cronus, Cronos, or Kronos (/ˈkroʊnəs/ or /ˈkroʊnɒs/, US: /-oʊs/, from Greek: Κρόνος, Krónoς) was the leader and youngest of the first generation of Titans, the divine descendants of Uranus, the sky, and Gaia, the earth. He overthrew his father and ruled during the mythological Golden Age, until he was overthrown by his own son Zeus and imprisoned in Tartarus. According to Plato, however, the deities Phorcys, Cronus, and Rhea were the eldest children of Oceanus and Tethys.[2]

Cronus was usually depicted with a harpe, scythe or a sickle, which was the instrument he used to castrate and depose Uranus, his father. In Athens, on the twelfth day of the Attic month of Hekatombaion, a festival called Kronia was held in honour of Cronus to celebrate the harvest, suggesting that, as a result of his association with the virtuous Golden Age, Cronus continued to preside as a patron of the harvest. Cronus was also identified in classical antiquity with the Roman deity Saturn.

In an ancient myth recorded by Hesiod's Theogony, Cronus envied the power of his father, the ruler of the universe, Uranus. Uranus drew the enmity of Cronus's mother, Gaia, when he hid the gigantic youngest children of Gaia, the hundred-handed Hecatoncheires and one-eyed Cyclopes, in Tartarus, so that they would not see the light. Gaia created a great stone sickle and gathered together Cronus and his brothers to persuade them to castrate Uranus.[3]

Giorgio Vasari

: The Mutilation of Uranus by Saturn (Cronus)

Only Cronus was willing to do the deed, so Gaia gave him the sickle and placed him in ambush.[4] When Uranus met with Gaia, Cronus attacked him with the sickle, castrating him and casting his testicles into the sea. From the blood that spilled out from Uranus and fell upon the earth, the Gigantes, Erinyes, and Meliae were produced. The testicles produced a white foam from which the goddess Aphrodite emerged. For this, Uranus threatened vengeance and called his sons Titenes[a] for overstepping their boundaries and daring to commit such an act.[b]

After dispatching Uranus, Cronus re-imprisoned the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclopes and set the dragon Campe to guard them. He and his older sister Rhea took the throne of the world as king and queen. The period in which Cronus ruled was called the Golden Age, as the people of the time had no need for laws or rules; everyone did the right thing, and immorality was absent.

Painting by

Peter Paul Rubens

of Cronus devouring one of his children

Cronus learned from Gaia and Uranus that he was destined to be overcome by his own sons, just as he had overthrown his father. As a result, although he sired the gods Demeter, Hestia, Hera, Hades and Poseidon by Rhea, he devoured them all as soon as they were born to prevent the prophecy. When the sixth child, Zeus, was born, Rhea sought Gaia to devise a plan to save them and to eventually get retribution on Cronus for his acts against his father and children.

Rhea secretly gave birth to Zeus in Crete, and handed Cronus a stone wrapped in swaddling clothes, also known as the Omphalos Stone, which he promptly swallowed, thinking that it was his son.

Rhea kept Zeus hidden in a cave on Mount Ida, Crete. According to some versions of the story, he was then raised by a goat named Amalthea, while a company of Kouretes, armored male dancers, shouted and clapped their hands to make enough noise to mask the baby's cries from Cronus. Other versions of the myth have Zeus raised by the nymph Adamanthea, who hid Zeus by dangling him by a rope from a tree so that he was suspended between the earth, the sea, and the sky, all of which were ruled by his father, Cronus. Still other versions of the tale say that Zeus was raised by his grandmother, Gaia.

Once he had grown up, Zeus used an emetic given to him by Gaia to force Cronus to disgorge the contents of his stomach in reverse order: first the stone, which was set down at Pytho under the glens of Mount Parnassus to be a sign to mortal men, and then his two brothers and three sisters. In other versions of the tale, Metis gave Cronus an emetic to force him to disgorge the children.[5]

After freeing his siblings, Zeus released the Hecatoncheires, and the Cyclopes who forged for him his thunderbolts, Poseidon's trident and Hades' helmet of darkness. In a vast war called the Titanomachy, Zeus and his older brothers and older sisters, with the help of the Hecatoncheires and Cyclopes, overthrew Cronus and the other Titans. Afterwards, many of the Titans were confined in Tartarus. However, Oceanus, Helios, Atlas, Prometheus, Epimetheus and Menoetius were not imprisoned following the Titanomachy. Gaia bore the monster Typhon to claim revenge for the imprisoned Titans.

Accounts of the fate of Cronus after the Titanomachy differ. In Homeric and other texts he is imprisoned with the other Titans in Tartarus. In Orphic poems, he is imprisoned for eternity in the cave of Nyx. Pindar describes his release from Tartarus, where he is made King of Elysium by Zeus. In another version,[citation needed] the Titans released the Cyclopes from Tartarus, and Cronus was awarded the kingship among them, beginning a Golden Age. In Virgil's Aeneid,[6] it is Latium to which Saturn (Cronus) escapes and ascends as king and lawgiver, following his defeat by his son Jupiter (Zeus).

In yet another account referred to by Robert Graves,[7] (who claims to be following the account of the Byzantine mythographer Tzetzes) it is said that Cronus was castrated by his son Zeus just as Uranus had earlier been castrated by his son Cronos. However the subject of a son castrating his own father, or simply castration in general, was so repudiated by the Greek mythographers of that time that they suppressed it from their accounts until the Christian era (when Tzetzes wrote).

Libyan account by Diodorus Siculus[

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In a Libyan account related by Diodorus Siculus (Book 3), Uranus and Titaea were the parents of Cronus and Rhea and the other Titans. Ammon, a king of Libya, married Rhea (3.18.1). However, Rhea abandoned Ammon and married her younger brother Cronus. With Rhea's incitement, Cronus and the other Titans made war upon Ammon, who fled to Crete (3.71.1-2). Cronus ruled harshly and Cronus in turn was defeated by Ammon's son Dionysus (3.71.3-3.73) who appointed Cronus' and Rhea's son, Zeus, as king of Egypt (3.73.4). Dionysus and Zeus then joined their forces to defeat the remaining Titans in Crete, and on the death of Dionysus, Zeus inherited all the kingdoms, becoming lord of the world (3.73.7-8).

Sibylline Oracles

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Cronus is mentioned in the Sibylline Oracles, particularly in book three, which makes Cronus, 'Titan' and Iapetus, the three sons of Uranus and Gaia, each to receive a third division of the Earth, and Cronus is made king over all. After the death of Uranus, Titan's sons attempt to destroy Cronus's and Rhea's male offspring as soon as they are born, but at Dodona, Rhea secretly bears her sons Zeus, Poseidon and Hades and sends them to Phrygia to be raised in the care of three Cretans. Upon learning this, sixty of Titan's men then imprison Cronus and Rhea, causing the sons of Cronus to declare and fight the first of all wars against them. This account mentions nothing about Cronus either killing his father or attempting to kill any of his children.

Other accounts[

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Cronus was said to be the father of the wise centaur Chiron by the Oceanid Philyra, who was subsequently transformed into a linden tree.[8][9][10] The Titan chased the nymph and consorted with her in the shape of a stallion, hence the half-human, half-equine shape of their offspring;[11][12] this was said to have taken place on Mount Pelion.[13]

Two other sons of Cronus and Philyra may have been Dolops[14] and Aphrus, the ancestor and eponym of the Aphroi, i.e. the native Africans.[15]

In some accounts, Cronus was also called the father of the Corybantes.[16]

Name and comparative mythology[edit]

Antiquity[

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During antiquity, Cronus was occasionally interpreted as Chronos, the personification of time.[17] The Roman philosopher Cicero (1st century BCE) elaborated on this by saying that the Greek name Cronus is synonymous to chronos (time) since he maintains the course and cycles of seasons and the periods of time, whereas the Latin name Saturn denotes that he is saturated with years since he was devouring his sons, which implies that time devours the ages and gorges.[18]

The Greek historian and biographer Plutarch (1st century CE) asserted that the Greeks believed that Cronus was an allegorical name for χρόνος (time).[19] The philosopher Plato (3rd century BCE) in his Cratylus gives two possible interpretations for the name of Cronus. The first is that his name denotes "κόρος" (koros), the pure (καθαρόν) and unblemished (ἀκήρατον)[20] nature of his mind.[21] The second is that Rhea and Cronus were given names of streams (Rhea – ῥοή (rhoē) and Cronus – Xρόνος (chronos)).[22] Proclus (5th century CE), the Neoplatonist philosopher, makes in his Commentary on Plato's Cratylus an extensive analysis on Cronus; among others he says that the "One cause" of all things is "Chronos" (time) that is also equivocal to Cronus.[23]

Chronos and his child

by

Giovanni Francesco Romanelli

,

National Museum

in

Warsaw

, a 17th-century depiction of Titan Cronus as "Father Time," wielding a harvesting scythe

In addition to the name, the story of Cronus eating his children was also interpreted as an allegory to a specific aspect of time held within Cronus' sphere of influence. As the theory went, Cronus represented the destructive ravages of time which devoured all things, a concept that was illustrated when the Titan king ate the Olympian gods—the past consuming the future, the older generation suppressing the next generation.[24]

From the Renaissance to the present[

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During the Renaissance, the identification of Cronus and Chronos gave rise to "Father Time" wielding the harvesting scythe.

H. J. Rose in 1928[25] observed that attempts to give "Κρόνος" a Greek etymology had failed. Recently, Janda (2010) offers a genuinely Indo-European etymology of "the cutter", from the root *(s)ker- "to cut" (Greek κείρω (keirō), cf. English shear), motivated by Cronus's characteristic act of "cutting the sky" (or the genitals of anthropomorphic Uranus). The Indo-Iranian reflex of the root is kar, generally meaning "to make, create" (whence karma), but Janda argues that the original meaning "to cut" in a cosmogonic sense is still preserved in some verses of the Rigveda pertaining to Indra's heroic "cutting", like that of Cronus resulting in creation:

RV 10.104.10 ārdayad vṛtram akṛṇod ulokaṃ he hit Vrtra fatally, cutting [> creating] a free path. RV 6.47.4 varṣmāṇaṃ divo akṛṇod he cut [> created] the loftiness of the sky.

This may point to an older Indo-European mytheme reconstructed as *(s)kert wersmn diwos "by means of a cut he created the loftiness of the sky".[26] The myth of Cronus castrating Uranus parallels the Song of Kumarbi, where Anu (the heavens) is castrated by Kumarbi. In the Song of Ullikummi, Teshub uses the "sickle with which heaven and earth had once been separated" to defeat the monster Ullikummi,[27] establishing that the "castration" of the heavens by means of a sickle was part of a creation myth, in origin a cut creating an opening or gap between heaven (imagined as a dome of stone) and earth enabling the beginning of time (chronos) and human history.[28]

A theory debated in the 19th century, and sometimes still offered somewhat apologetically,[29] holds that Κρόνος is related to "horned", assuming a Semitic derivation from qrn.[30] Andrew Lang's objection, that Cronus was never represented horned in Hellenic art,[31] was addressed by Robert Brown,[32] arguing that, in Semitic usage, as in the Hebrew Bible, qeren was a signifier of "power". When Greek writers encountered the Semitic deity El, they rendered his name as Cronus.[33]

Robert Graves remarks that "cronos probably means 'crow', like the Latin cornix and the Greek corōne", noting that Cronus was depicted with a crow, as were the deities Apollo, Asclepius, Saturn and Bran.[34]

El, the Phoenician Cronus[

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When Hellenes encountered Phoenicians and, later, Hebrews, they identified the Semitic El, by interpretatio graeca, with Cronus. The association was recorded c. AD 100 by Philo of Byblos' Phoenician history, as reported in Eusebius' Præparatio Evangelica I.10.16.[35] Philo's account, ascribed by Eusebius to the semi-legendary pre-Trojan War Phoenician historian Sanchuniathon, indicates that Cronus was originally a Canaanite ruler who founded Byblos and was subsequently deified. This version gives his alternate name as Elus or Ilus, and states that in the 32nd year of his reign, he emasculated, slew and deified his father Epigeius or Autochthon "whom they afterwards called Uranus". It further states that after ships were invented, Cronus, visiting the 'inhabitable world', bequeathed Attica to his own daughter Athena, and Egypt to Taautus the son of Misor and inventor of writing.[36]

Roman mythology and later culture[

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]Main article:

Saturn (mythology)

4th-century Temple of

Saturn

in the

Roman Forum

While the Greeks considered Cronus a cruel and tempestuous force of chaos and disorder, believing the Olympian gods had brought an era of peace and order by seizing power from the crude and malicious Titans,[citation needed] the Romans took a more positive and innocuous view of the deity, by conflating their indigenous deity Saturn with Cronus. Consequently, while the Greeks considered Cronus merely an intermediary stage between Uranus and Zeus, he was a larger aspect of Roman religion. The Saturnalia was a festival dedicated in his honour, and at least one temple to Saturn already existed in the archaic Roman Kingdom.

His association with the "Saturnian" Golden Age eventually caused him to become the god of "time", i.e., calendars, seasons, and harvests—not now confused with Chronos, the unrelated embodiment of time in general. Nevertheless, among Hellenistic scholars in Alexandria and during the Renaissance, Cronus was conflated with the name of Chronos, the personification of "Father Time",[17] wielding the harvesting scythe.

As a result of Cronus's importance to the Romans, his Roman variant, Saturn, has had a large influence on Western culture. The seventh day of the Judaeo-Christian week is called in Latin Dies Saturni ("Day of Saturn"), which in turn was adapted and became the source of the English word Saturday. In astronomy, the planet Saturn is named after the Roman deity. It is the outermost of the Classical planets (the astronomical planets that are visible with the naked eye).

Cronus alias Geb in Greco-Roman Egypt[

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In Greco-Roman Egypt, Cronus was equated with the Egyptian god Geb, because he held a quite similar position in Egyptian mythology as the father of the gods Osiris, Isis, Seth and Nephthys as Cronus did in the Greek pantheon. This equation is particularly well attested in Tebtunis in the southern Fayyum: Geb and Cronus were here part of a local version of the cult of Sobek, the crocodile god.[37] The equation was shown on the one hand in the local iconography of the gods, in which Geb was depicted as a man with attributes of Cronus and Cronus with attributes of Geb.[38] On the other hand, the priests of the local main temple identified themselves in Egyptian texts as priests of "Soknebtunis-Geb", but in Greek texts as priests of "Soknebtunis-Cronus". Accordingly, Egyptian names formed with the name of the god Geb were just as popular among local villager as Greek names derived from Cronus, especially the name "Kronion".[39]

Astronomy[edit]

A star (HD 240430) was named after him in 2017 when it was reported to have swallowed its planets.[40] The planet Saturn, named after the Roman equivalent of Cronus, is still referred to as "Cronus" in modern Greek.

"Cronus" was also a suggested name for the dwarf planet Pluto, but was rejected and not voted for because it was suggested by the unpopular and egocentric astronomer Thomas Jefferson Jackson See.[41]

Genealogy[edit]

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Descendants of Cronus and Rhea

[42]

Uranus' genitals

CRONUS

Rhea

Zeus

Hera

Poseidon

Hades

Demeter

Hestia

   a

[43]

    b

[44]

Ares

Hephaestus

Metis

Athena

[45]

Leto

Apollo

Artemis

Maia

Hermes

Semele

Dionysus

Dione

   a

[46]

    b

[47]

Aphrodite