#Grasp Classification

[pddparthi]

Types of Grasping: Precision Grasp and Power Grasp

Understanding the Two Types of Grasping Grasping objects is something we do every day, whether it’s picking up a glass of water or holding a pencil. But did you know that there are two primary ways we grasp objects? In this blog post, we’ll explore the two main types of grasping: Precision Grasp and Power Grasp, and how they differ in function and use. Precision Grasp vs. Power Grasp Let’s…

[ddarker-dreams]

Understatement.

Wanderer x Reader.

Warnings: None. Word count: 1.2k.

Your bag carries plenty of essentials. 

Stationery, lip balm, keys to your apartment; stuff of that nature. Then there’s your personal favorite, a wallet embroidered with dandelions — your hometown’s flower — into the fabric. It’d been sent to you without a return address on your birthday, shrouding the gifter in mystery. All of these items accompany you on a day-to-day basis. 

That aside, this list has another unifying factor. Each object is inert. Completely still. Incapable of moving without an outside force. Now, this isn’t a revelation that’ll shift society and be recorded in history books for generations to come. It’s common sense. A concept children grasp before they even know what ‘gravity’ is. 

As for why you’re taking a lengthy mental inventory of your belongings… 

Well. 

Something in there is moving. Rustling about, the vague outline of its body pressing against the aged leather. 

Your response is slow. Cautious. You begin by pushing yourself away from your desk, creating distance between you and this potential threat. The Vision fastened along your waistband thrums, ready to act. Numerous theories whir around your mind like a sandstorm. Is this a prank in poor taste? Cyno had mentioned an investigation into scarabs being placed in student’s bags, although nothing serious had come from it. Maybe it’s a gadget or some elemental reaction— 

—Your cognition grinds to a halt when a head pokes out, undoing the bag’s clasp in the process. 

…

…

…

“Oh!” The creature exclaims while freeing itself. “Um… hi!” 

The room’s natural lighting gives you a better idea of the creature’s appearance. Its wings keep it suspended midair, each enthusiastic flap scattering your notes. Large, doe-like eyes consider you, gleaming with childlike curiosity. If not for the prominent horns atop its head, you might think it’s a bat, but that classification doesn’t quite fit. 

Whatever it is, you sense no hostility. 

“Hello,” is your hesitant reply. 

It looks around, fixating on the items displaced from your desk. 

“Ack, I’m sorry,” it apologizes. It lands carefully on your desk and lowers its head, as if ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess… I’ve just been excited to meet you.” 

“Don’t worry, this is nothing. I’ve been meaning to reorganize my stuff, anyway.” 

For some reason, you can’t find it within you to fault this seemingly well-meaning yet clumsy guest. Its naivete is reminiscent of a certain explosion-obsessed girl from back home. In truth, this entire ordeal doesn’t even breach the top five strangest experiences you’ve had in recent times. 

… Alright, perhaps it’s a contender for the fourth slot. 

Suddenly, your guest straightens up. “Wait! I haven’t introduced myself yet. We can’t be friends if I haven’t introduced myself… you can call me Mini Durin. And I already know your name. You’re [First].” 

“Yeah, that’d be me,” you cover a budding smile with your hand, not wanting your giddy guest to mistake it for mockery. “So, Mini Durin… you said you’ve been wanting to meet me? Why’s that?”

Mini Durin ambles his way toward the edge of your desk. 

“You’re important to my first friend,” he declares. “At least I think so. He only has the nicest things to say about you, like how you’re not ‘as insufferable as most,’ and that ‘your presence is tolerable.’” 

That’s what Mini Durin considers ‘the nicest things’ to say about someone…?! 

The conviction with which he speaks affirms his sincerity. 

“It sounds like you trust this friend a great deal.” 

Mini Durin nods. “I do. That’s how I ended up in your bag… I got separated from him earlier. Luckily, I spotted you. I knew you’d keep me safe. And now we even get to be friends!” 

That explains why your bag felt heavier coming home than when you left. 

“You got separated from him?” Frowning, you scoot your chair closer. “Where at? We can go looking for him, if you want. He must be worried.” 

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” 

Mini Durin mulls over your offer for a few seconds, adding, “What if he’s mad at me? He was working hard on another gift for you, but I went and distracted him.” 

“Friends can sort stuff like this out,” you reassure. Then, a pause. “Huh. Did you say ‘another gift?’” 

Mini Durin tilts his head. “You didn’t know? The pretty flowers on your—” 

A rapid knock on your door cuts him off. 

You both turn your attention toward the booming sound. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest. It’s late in the evening, who in their right mind would treat your front door like a drum? You shoot your unexpected guest an apologetic look, promising a swift return.

Some choice words sizzle on your tongue as you swing the door open, only to be met by an equally irate figure. 

Your eccentric classmate, the Wanderer, stands before you. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks like he’s been physically exerting himself. The telltale sign of Anemo settles down around him, his hat reappearing in the process. He soon mirrors your exasperated posture, one hand on his hip, the other readjusting the brim of his hat. 

“I could’ve flown to Inazuma and back in the time it took you to answer,” is the courteous greeting he goes for. 

“Hello to you too,” you greet. “Was there something you needed? Or are you just making your debut as a percussionist known to the entire nation?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s something I ‘need’, genius.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“I’m looking for a small, talking dragon,” the Wanderer deadpans. “Ring any bells?” 

You blink. “Are you referring to Mini Durin?” 

“Just how many dragons are you acquainted with?” 

“I mean, I am from Mondstadt,” you shrug. A realization then creeps up on you. “Hold on. Does that make you this ‘first friend’ I’ve heard so much about?” 

The Wanderer freezes. You observe as he processes this information in real-time, along with the implications that come with it. Though his muscles are tense, he keeps his visage impassive. The occasional twitch of his eye is the only detail betraying his panic. 

“... On second thought, you can keep him.” 

He swivels on his heel to make a hasty retreat. 

You lurch forward without thinking, your hand latching around his wrist. He snaps his head around to meet your gaze, almost knocking you over with his hat in the process. A well-timed dodge protects you from the potential headache. In the light of the setting sun, the Wanderer’s porcelain complexion is dyed in crimson hues. Though he’s maintaining eye contact, something tells you it’s a struggle. 

“Hey,” you use your free hand to poke his flushed cheeks, to which he grimaces and bats at it like a cat. “Come inside. I’ll make up some of that awful, bitter tasting tea you like.” 

He inhales through his teeth, likely weighing various excuses. You bat your eyelashes and offer your brightest smile. As the seconds pass by, you can feel his resolve weakening. With a scoff, he frees himself from your grasp, the ease in which he does so confirming he’d been your willing hostage. 

The Wanderer wordlessly strolls past you and into your home. 

Humming, you follow close behind him. 

Just ‘tolerable’, huh? 

[rationaliity]

cat parents | dr. ratio & aventurine

!! polyamory !!

caritas, poker, and snuggle.

anyone could tell who named what cat, and which cat cake was who's favorite.

.

caritas was veritas' favorite, the name being an old language word meaning ' love ' although he wouldn't really admit to it. he'd told you that the cat's original name - or rather, it's classification, was lambda's friend, with blue skin and black and white filling. but the cat cake had a little gold flower on the side of it's head, too, which reminded him of himself.

caritas loves to chat with the other cat cakes. its the kind of cat that makes friends with other really quickly, so it's always chatting with poker and snuggle about something throughout the day. their conversations can range from anything about how warm the bed is to the best spot in the living room to see the three of their owners dancing together in the kitchen with music while you were trying to make dinner.

ratio absolutely loved to note down their conversations whenever present. it surprised him that such a creature was so articulate, even able to properly express its desires. he'd concluded that the cat cakes had the intelligence of a young toddler with a rudimentary but understandable grasp on language. you and aventurine liked to tease him sometimes for treating the cat cakes as children sometimes, trying to teach them as a parent would, although this was something that ratio would deny wholeheartedly.

" they are an interesting new species. they are ruan mei's creations, and yet she doesn't seem to understand their full potential. i believe it's imperative that we study them and possibly teach them things they otherwise wouldn't know without our interventions, " ratio reasoned, while he was holding the little cat cake, cradling it like it was something precious to him.

.

poker was aventurine's, the name coming from one of his favorite card games to play, even though he rationalized it by saying that the cat was particularly swatty and liked to cause trouble by batting at things off of the edge of tables. " it likes to poke things until it drops off of the table, so the name poker makes sense, doesn't it ? " yeah, okay aventurine, whatever you say.

poker loved to meow in the dead of night and startle everyone out of sleep in the most inopportune times. ratio has a lecture early in the morning for the intelligentsia guild ? poker is making it's boredom everyone's problem. aventurine has a meeting with the other stonehearts ? oh boy, poker is right there sitting on his face meowing incessantly. if you've got something important to do, well, sorry to say you won't be getting very much sleep that night no matter how early you go to bed. it was bratty, sure, but it was ultimately just an average grey cat cake with nothing special about it, and seemed to have an overwhelming fear of being left alone.

no matter how annoying the cat cake was being that particular night, there was only one way to stop it from meowing. of course, ratio tried to reprimand it and teach it other ways to relieve its boredom at night, but nothing proved effective. you would just try to get it to calm down by playing with it for a little while, but that really only worked until you left it alone, and then it went right back to meowing. aventurine, however, had the magic touch. he would grab the cat cake and bring it into bed, and he would just.. talk to it. in a quiet voice, just chatting about whatever popped up into his head. he'd talk for an hour or more. sometimes it was about sigonia, sometimes it was about his job as a stoneheart. sometimes it was just different gambles and how he ended up winning them.

" so, of course, i had to prove that i was much more than he gave me credit for, " aventurine had been yapping for about an hour now, when he looked down at the cat cake in his arms and realized that it was sound asleep, purring against his chest. " ah, looks like i've done it again. you're welcome, you two. "

" thank you, 'churine, " you mumbled, half asleep as you leaned over to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, your head falling back down to rest on his shoulder, already falling back asleep. ratio didn't say anything, and when aventurine looked over at him, he couldn't help but smile. he'd put ratio asleep while just chatting, too.

.

snuggle was your trash cake cat, and there was really no deeper meaning behind the name. it was a snuggly cat, and loved attention. loved anyone and everyone who was willing to give it attention. sometimes you would wake up with it resting on your chest, sometimes you would see ratio lazily carrying snuggle around, and other times aventurine was playing with it making it chase a feather around. snuggle was the attention whore of the trio.

snuggle loved to follow you wherever you walked, especially to the bathroom. whether you were getting ready for the day or just trying to spend a few minutes doing human business, you had a pair of eyes watching over your ever move, making sure that you were never far from its sight, almost like it was protective over you. you couldn't help but compare it to your two partners, lord knows how often they were checking up on you in their own ways. ratio wasn't afraid of shooting you a text whenever he had a free moment while you were away to make sure you were okay, and aventurine was constantly on the phone with you through his headpiece.

" snuggle, i'm just going to the bathroom ! it's okay, really- " you gently protested, earning a small mew from the cat cake as it followed behind you into the bathroom, sitting patiently at the doorway, waiting for you to get finished with your business.

" hey, darling, i'm home from work ~ guess who i dragged back home with me after his lecture. " aventurine called out for you almost immediately, followed by the quieter voice of ratio announcing his presence as well.

you rolled your eyes at your partners immediately calling for you, your heart swelling with love for them, washing your hands as you walked out of the bathroom, snuggle hot on your tracks. " welcome back, guys. all of the cat cakes have been taken care of, and i started dinner. "

" thank you, i'm sure dinner will be pleasant as always, " veritas hummed, his briefcase still in his hand as he leaned down to kiss you on your lips.

" what would we do without you ? " aventurine weaseled his way in between you two, mostly because he also wanted to get his after work love from you.

.

a chatty cat cake with more intelligence that it originally seemed, a cat cake that needed to be calmed down when everyone left it alone with its thoughts, and a protective cat cake that enjoyed attention and making sure that those around it was okay.

maybe these were the perfect cat cakes for you three.

[gloamysnail]

Study Break

hello, hello~

this is my first fic for jjk, of course it's smut, of course it's suguru.

i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing.

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

summary: suguru invites you to his dorm to study. nothing unusual about that. until you can't seem to stop fixating on his hands playing with his pen, his arms with those rolled up sleeves, his thigh pressed against yours...

alternative summary: shameless, plotless smut wherein suguru geto rails you senseless while being infuriatingly calm about it.

word count: 5300

content warning: explicit, smut, mdni, 18+ ONLY, plotless, teasing, softdom, fem reader, reader insert

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

It wasn’t a date.

It wasn’t.

You were just in Suguru Geto’s dorm on a Tuesday night going over cursed spirit classification, because apparently you had to re-read chapter six three times while he had already internalized the material with supernatural grace - the same as everything else he ever did. That was it. That’s all this was.

So what if he’d pushed the door open with that soft little “come in” smile and held it open just enough for your shoulder to have to brush his chest as you squeezed inside past him? So what if he had the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to his elbows like he knew exactly what that did to you?

It was fine. You were fine. This was fine.

You sat on the floor with your notebook. He sprawled out right next to you, propped up on one arm, hair tied back in a low, lazy knot while he picked apart your poor study habits in that infuriatingly kind way he had where he asked questions only he knew the answer to because you were too distracted to focus on your reading material and he knew it.

You weren’t looking at him.

Absolutely not.

You were reading.

Trying to.

Until his voice cut through the silence.

“So…” He said, tapping a finger to the margin of your textbook above a handful of diagrams. “Which one of these is the semi-grade, again?”

You squinted at the page, as if it would somehow jar you out of thinking about Suguru Geto's fingers and help you focus on grasping a firmer understanding of things that could actually kill you. “The one with the twisted limbs?”

“Mm.” He leaned closer. “You sure?”

His thigh pressed lightly against yours.

You absolutely were not sure.

“…Yes.”

He hummed, low and thoughtful in that way that told you how wrong you were, but he was too polite to outright call you a dumbass.

It was the little things that were ruining you from there.

The way he rolled the pen between his fingers like it wasn’t clearly calculated to make you watch his hands and salivate over his dexterity. How his soft voice dipped low at the end of a sentence when he leaned just a bit closer to you. The little glances with an arch of a brow and a smirk when he caught you glancing back. The soft laughter under his breath when you accidentally called “cursed manipulation” “cursed manhandling,” and then immediately wanted to die.

“Manhandling?” He repeated with a raised brow.

“I’m going to jump out the window.”

“Please don’t. I'd like to keep you in my room.”

He smiled when he said it, easy and teasing like there was no other way you could possibly take that statement somewhere in the filthiest part of the gutters of your increasingly lust-addled mind.

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

At some point, the space between you two shrank, just naturally and gradually. His thigh against yours was no longer an accidental bump now and then, and instead was glued to you. His arm braced behind you was suddenly close enough that you could feel body heat on your lower back.

How he leaned over you, chin nearly on your shoulder and breath ghosting across your neck while he explained concepts to you that may as well have been in some eldritch language for all you actually absorbed. All you could focus on with this maddening proximity was his scent, the low tone of his voice, the way he bit his lower lip when he read to himself…

And then, with no warning, he sat up straighter and reached for your notebook.

You flinched, jarred from a rather tantalizing daydream about said lips.

He caught it, though, that flinch. That very telling hitch in your breath.

Suguru paused, holding the edge of your notebook and fixing you with an amused look.

“Something wrong?” He asked, all politeness that veiled any of the indecency you were certain you were projecting onto his very mundane actions.

You shook your head quickly. “No. Nope. Nothing.”

He smiled again, a little wider this time, before leaning in closer.

“Come here.”

That’s all he said.

Quiet and almost bored, like you were a particularly unimpressive sparring partner.

Your body moved before your brain did, and you very obediently shifted closer.

He didn’t reach for you, just tilted his head, watching, waiting, observing.

There was no way he was letting you get to within a breath of his lips - at his invitation - without expecting a kiss. This was far too on-the-nose. Suguru Geto knew what he was doing, and your confidence surged for a moment, that perhaps also his inadvertent teases over the course of the night with no real pass at you was simply… him being shy. You'd need to make the first proper move.

So, you leaned in to kiss him, not even thinking.

And he did not meet you halfway.

You missed.

You almost kissed the corner of his mouth - almost - before his hand slid up the back of your neck and tilted your head exactly the way he wanted it, holding you in place like a misbehaved feline.

“Eager.” He accused under his breath, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“I wasn’t -” You stuttered, flushed and now wholly void of the impatient confidence you'd summoned to finally claim those pretty lips.

“Mm.” He silenced your lying protest with a disbelieving hum and a smile that belied something not-at-all shy or polite.

Then -

He kissed you, finally. Slow and full and indulgent. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thoughts go fuzzy.

And just as you started to push forward, to deepen it -

He leaned back.

Just an inch.

Just enough to make you follow.

Your mouth hovered over his, breathing shallow, eyes searching his for any clue as to what he was looking for. He looked infuriatungly pleased with himself.

You tried to move forward to capture his mouth again.

He leaned back again.

You let out the smallest, most miserable little groan before he actually laughed.

“I thought we were studying.” He mused gently.

“I can't focus because of you.”

“No, it doesn't seem like it.” He tilted his head. “Should I send you back to your room so you can?”

That very clear danger of being deprived of him spurred you to action.

You straddled him before you even realized that was the next step. His hands came to your hips, thumbs tracing unhurried circles just beneath the hem of your shirt.

You felt impatient - he merely looked like he expected as much.

Suguru kissed you again, properly this time. One hand slipped up your back. The other caught your wrist when you tried to grab at his buttons.

“No.” He said lightly, smile still in his voice. “Slow.”

“I am going slow -”

If you had it your way, he'd already be leaned back on his bed, stripped down with you on top.

He shut you up by kissing you hard, and then pulled back, lips brushing your jaw as he spoke:

“You’re not in charge here.”

Oh.

That’s what he said, so simply that your mouth dried and you could only nod.

And then he kissed you again, deep this time. Slower than before as his lips dragged over yours like he was giving you time to reconsider and decide this wasn't for you.

You didn’t, of course.

If anything, you chased his mouth again, desperate now, hungry, and he let you for a moment.

One moment.

One hand at the base of your spine, one sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin.

You started to grind against him without realizing.

His hand moved immediately, lower, tighter on your hip.

“Easy…” He murmured, pulling back just enough to speak.

You made a noise, small and wrecked.

He kissed you again to shut you up. Or maybe just to swallow that sound for himself.

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

It wasn't long before you were trying to unbutton his shirt again - your hands awkward, clumsy, too eager - when he caught both your wrists in one large hand and gently, so gently, moved them away from his chest.

His other hand came to your thigh, thumb brushing the inside, close but not close enough.

“Let me.” He said, and it wasn’t a request.

You nodded.

You hated yourself for how fast you nodded.

He started slow, because of course he did.

He slid his hands up beneath your shirt, fight-calloused palms scorching, moving across the planes of your waist and ribs to memorize the shape of you. His thumbs pressed into the soft skin just under your breasts and stayed there, not groping, not rushing.

Just holding.

And fuck that wasn't what you needed.

You tried to move; rocked your hips again.

He stopped touching you completely, and you froze and whined.

“Patience.” Suguru urged, softly amused. “You’re not going anywhere. We've got all night.”

You bit your lip and pouted, because he was treating this like a meditation session instead of the achingly real and dire need that you had to feel his skin on yours and those hands inside of you before you really did die.

“…You’re being cruel.”

He hummed. “Am I?”

But when he touched you again, it was decisive.

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing a slow trail down to your collarbone as his hands lifted your shirt - up, up, off. You raised your arms automatically, and he pulled it over your head and tossed it aside. The cool air on your newly exposed skin was heavenly, but it was quickly tempered by his warm gaze, and how he just looked at you.

Calm, warm, focused, patient.

He leaned back slightly, hands still resting at your sides, and let his gaze trace every inch of you. You felt like you were standing naked in front of an altar being admired.

“You’re beautiful.” He remarked appreciatively, as if just stating a plain, blunt fact.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

What were you supposed to say to that?

And then his hands moved again, down this time. Over your hips and between your legs under your hitched up skirt.

You gasped.

He kissed the hollow of your throat again, shushing you.

His fingers moved with precisely the kind of intent you were hoping for. Not rushed, but no awkward fumbling around. Suguru found exactly where you wanted him with ease, like he'd memorized your body in that eternity ten whole seconds he'd spent just raking his eyes over you.

He teased you through your underwear first. Light pressure. Barely-there circles that had you arching into his chest within seconds, panting. He hadn’t even kissed you again yet.

When he slipped under the elastic, fingers pressed against your dripping core, you whimpered.

“Already?” He asked, voice soft. “We’ve barely started.”

“I -” You gasped. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “Still trying to be in charge, huh?”

You hated him.

You wanted him to ruin you.

Maybe you said that out loud. You weren’t sure, but he chuckled again and the sound alone put you in a daze.

Two of his fingers slipped between your folds and he groaned softly into your skin like he’d just experienced something divine.

“You’re soaked.” He mused, and you squirmed.

Suguru pressed his fingers deeper, slow and unrelenting. Your head dropped against his shoulder, and he exhaled against your neck, biting gently at your pulse point.

“I could keep you like this all night.” He murmured. “Just here. In my lap. Begging.”

He absolutely could, and you would let him.

But then he crooked his fingers just right and you very nearly had a fucking spiritual experience. Because that one little shift had you on the brink of climax already.

The moment you rocked your hips down, just barely, just a fraction of instinct to get there, his fingers paused.

He didn’t pull away or make a scene. He just… stopped. Kept them where they were.

Inside you? Yes. Moving? No.

Your breath caught and your thighs twitched.

He kissed the corner of your jaw, still calm, still maddeningly gentle. “Mmm.”

That was all he said.

He didn’t need to say more.

You were learning this game, and you stilled entirely, letting him train you.

You let him take over again.

And like clockwork, he resumed just as slowly, just as deliberately, his fingers curling ever so slightly as your walls clenched around him.

You whimpered, but forced yourself to remain obediently still.

“That’s better.” He praised, voice something soft and fond and pleased.

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

It went on like that.

Each time you tried to chase it - lift your hips, buck against his hand, whine too demandingly - he slowed. Not enough to frustrate you into a tantrum, but just enough to make you pliant.

Every movement told your body: Wait. Yield. Trust.

The more you gave him control, the more he gave back.

When you went still in his lap, your arms trembling, your body soft and malleable, he mouthed your throat and rolled his thumb once over your clit.

Your whole body spasmed and he smiled into your neck.

“You’re doing so well.” He crooned softly, fingers still buried deep, thumb pressing against your clit. “See what happens when you stop fighting me?”

You whimpered again, higher; reedier. Your hands were gripping the front of his shirt now - clutching but not trying to pull or unbutton anymore. You'd learned better by now. Your lips parted in a near-silent keen, head tipping against his shoulder.

He kissed your jaw, your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“Just let me.” He instructed calmly again, like he was still helping you with your studies and not edging you to the most torturously delicious orgasm of your life.

You nodded - of course you nodded.

And, fuck, he rewarded you.

His thumb circled again, just a touch firmer, and he didn't let up this time. Fingers curved perfectly, the heel of his palm nudging against your hips, holding you steadily open despite the shake in your legs.

You turned to kiss him, couldn’t find his mouth, got the edge of his cheek instead. He turned and caught your mouth properly, kissed you slow and deep while his fingers worked. Suguru was the pinnacle of smug composure while you were absolutely shattering.

You were making so much noise now that if you were capable of any coherent thought, you might have had the grace to be embarrassed.

“Let it happen.” He whispered, between kisses. “I’ve got you.”

You clenched around him, so, so close.

And when you gasped, thighs twitching again, he -

Stopped.

Just for a second.

Just to see if you’d chase.

You almost did.

Almost belligerently moved again.

But you fought against the primal urge and waited, because you knew he would deliver and you needed him to let you out of this near-climax purgatory your impatience had trapped you in.

“Good girl.” He praised right against your ear as he began again. “Just like that.”

His voice hadn’t changed. Still low, still calm, still friendly. You might’ve imagined the note of heat behind it, if it weren’t for the way his fingers moved now, and the slight tinge of flush on his face.

He kept you open with one hand, two fingers still deep, now steadily curled and dragging down your walls. His thumb moved in deliberate circles, slow and relentless, slick from your own wetness.

“Suguru -” You breathed out, pleading as that heat gathered and pooled unbearably.

That earned you another kiss. A sweet one to your temple this time. His hand never faltered.

“That’s it. Go ahead.”

You did.

It was dizzying. Hot and slow and deep, cresting and pulling your body taut against his until the sound you made was somewhere between a sob and a whimper. Your hands slipped down to his forearm, clinging, breath stuttering with every pulse of your orgasm against his hand.

And he held you the entire time.

No teasing. No gloating.

Mouth at your jaw, arm around your waist, hand between your thighs until every last tremble faded.

Only when you stopped quivering and were little more than a boneless, ruined heap in his hold did he offer you another little show of praise with a kiss and a devastating good girl.

You sagged against him, forehead against his shoulder, eyes shut.

He was warm. So warm. His palm slid up your back again, slow and soothing now, fingers skimming your spine as you went delicate in his hands.

You’d barely caught your breath before he shifted beneath you.

One little roll of his hips and you felt him - hard against your inner thigh, straining behind the fabric of his pants.

His fingers grazed your chin and tilted your face toward him.

When you opened your eyes, he was already watching you with that same amused curiosity.

No instructions, no questions.

And a smile that told you whichever way this went next, you weren’t getting out of it intact.

Then, he moved.

Just a subtle shift beneath you. You blinked slowly as your brain caught up, chest still heaving in the aftershocks of your release. His hand, the one that had just drawn you apart like thread from a spool, slipped from between your legs, and you felt its absence immediately and expressed as much with a whine.

Then you felt his eyes, still observing you.

You looked up, bleary, to see Suguru soft, composed, that same gentle smile still playing at the corners of his mouth like he hadn’t just made you see stars.

And then…

He raised his hand to his lips.

You barely had time to register it before he licked his fingers clean. First one, then the next. Slowly, his tongue wrapped around his digits, his gaze never leaving yours as he took them into his mouth down to the knuckles.

He hummed, quiet and content, and savored your tangible pleasure that he'd earned.

You made a choked noise in your throat and your body twitched, your fingers clutching his sleeve.

“You’re not done already are you?” He teased lightly.

You could only shake your head no before he lifted you off his lap like it was nothing - hands braced beneath your thighs, body rising with you as he stood in one clean motion, carried you to the bed, and laid you out before ridding you of the remaining articles of clothing you wore like they were offensive.

And then he looked down at you.

Clothed, composed, hair still tied back.

While you were panting and bare and utterly undone.

You curled up and reached for his shirt, but he caught your wrist before you could tug at the buttons.

“Not yet.” His voice was firm and soft and left no room for the argument you so desperately wanted to make.

Still, your hand dropped back to the mattress. He leaned over you and picked it up to kiss your knuckles in reward.

He kissed his way down, too.

Slowly.

Mouth at your sternum, your navel, the soft curve of your hip. Hands moving over you the whole time, mapping every part of your skin like he was learning it, like it was a language he already knew, and he was just brushing up on his fluency.

He didn’t rush a thing.

When Suguru nudged your legs apart, you opened for him without thinking. And he made a hum of approval, like you’d pleased him.

He kissed the inside of your knee first.

Then your thigh.

When his mouth finally met you, your whole body jerked.

And then he ate you.

There was no other word for it. Not just licks, not just teasing; full attention and hungry pressure. Tongue flat and slow, then pointed and devouring. He held your thighs apart with both hands, thumbs dragging little arcs against your skin as he licked into you with maddening expertise.

You were already so over-sensitive.

He knew it as well, but it didn’t matter.

He didn’t let up. He adjusted as you squirmed, exhaled softly and appreciative when you whimpered, let his mouth press deeper and firmer. You could feel the strain in his grip - he wasn’t just teasing anymore.

You were the one making an absolute mess, but this was his reward.

You tried to warn him. Tried to say something - his name, maybe, or a curse or a plea, but the second your hands touched his hair, he groaned against you.

You froze as he continued on, relentless, with none of his earlier teasing.

Your body arched, hands clutching at the sheets, at his shoulders, his hair, at anything.

And when you came again, it was messy and hot and overwhelming. Your voice cracked, hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth, thighs shaking beneath his palms.

He didn’t stop until you were crying his name while he lapped up every bit of you he'd drawn out.

He didn’t stop until you pushed weakly at his shoulder, gasping.

Then - only then - did he lift his head.

Mouth and chin glistening, eyes dark, completely unbothered.

“Still with me?”

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

You were barely starting to come down from your second climax when he sat up, hands pressing softly to your thighs to part them one last time just to kiss your hip, just to soothe.

And then he leaned back on his heels, still fully clothed, and exhaled slowly, finally showing the first sign of it.

Tension.

That tightness in his jaw. That heavy breath through his nose.

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted. You felt wrecked and utterly melted while he still looked like he’d just begun.

Apparently fucking Suguru Geto was on par with sparring with him. He was in another league.

But you saw it now - the way his pants strained at the seam, the way his eyes were just slightly darker, the barest twitch of a muscle in his forearm when you sat up slowly, reaching toward his belt.

He caught your hand. Not harshly - just placed his over yours.

“You sure?” He asked, always giving you that chance to stop - patient, willing to give you a break, willing to let you call it quits when it got too intense.

You nodded, though.

“Good.” He said simply, and let go.

You moved slowly at first.

Hands to his belt, fingers unbuckling, breath catching when you brushed against the hardness pressing against the front of his pants. He said nothing, just watched and let you work to reveal him at your own pace this time.

When you finally got his cock free - thick, flushed, heavy against your palm - you swallowed hard.

Big.

He smiled softly at that.

“Don’t overthink it.” He coaxed, hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Just touch me.”

You stroked him first, tentative and slow, and he breathed out. That was it. No lewd moan, no exaggerated grunt - just a steady exhale that made your stomach flutter.

When you leaned down and kissed the tip, he watched with quiet reverence.

“You’re doing fine.” He praised, sighing lightly, proving once more that his patience was truly inhuman.

When you took him into your mouth, slow, careful, inch by inch - his breath hitched, and then his hand settled in your hair.

No force, just gentle permission to keep going.

He let you find your rhythm, let you learn him. When you flattened your tongue along the underside, you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pulled back slowly, letting your lips drag over the head, you heard a small sound at the back of his throat - finally.

You looked up.

Suguru was watching you with half-lidded eyes, mouth slightly open, jaw clenched in effort as he concentrated.

“Doing so well.” He said again, thumb brushing your cheek.

You hummed in response, mouth still full, and he shuddered.

Those small little reactions were more than enough to make you want to double down on your efforts. You kept going, deeper now. His cock heavy on your tongue, hand tightening just slightly in your hair as your lips slicked down, up, down again.

He groaned, soft and low, when you gagged just a little, when your hands braced on his thighs and you looked up, wet-lashed and breathless and flushed from the tip hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

His control frayed then.

He pulled you back gently, thumb swiping across your spit-slicked lips, eyes less focused now.

“Lie back.” He gave a quiet order, coaxing you to obey. “Now.”

And obey you did.

He stood, finally, shirt half-untucked, belt loose around his hips, his body tall and commanding in the low light, and then he leaned over you again.

Hands braced on either side of your head, he dipped down low to your ear.

“You’ve been very good, but I think I’ll take my turn now.”

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

You barely remembered how it started anymore.

All you knew was this: Suguru’s body pressed to yours, skin hot and sweaty against yours, hips rolling deep between your thighs. The drag of his length inside you was maddening, the kind of friction that built in a slow, relentless ache.

His mouth had moved to your neck again. You could feel his breath there, and his teeth.

He was kissing more firmly now, bruising.

Not gentle, but with no brutality either.

He was so damn steady in everything he did.

You felt his hand shift between your legs. His palm pressing down just slightly, anchoring your hips.

He adjusted the angle of his thrust, and you cried out. A desperate, choked sound you couldn’t have faked if you tried.

And then you heard it:

“There?”

You nodded frantically.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Yes, right there -”

“Good.” Was all he said before he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Until the rhythm changed.

Still slow and controlled, with that even pace that drove you to the edge with every hit of his tip against your walls.

But deeper now.

The kind of powerful rut that lifted your hips from the mattress with every thrust, your body bouncing into his with nowhere to go, nothing to do except take it.

And he let you. Expected you to.

He let you fall apart without rushing, without interrupting, just holding you there with a hand on your waist and another tangled in your hair, one long stroke after another dragging you across the edge.

He grunted quietly when you clenched around him.

You felt it.

That subtle pull in his body. That crack of tension in his voice.

He kissed your mouth open and breathed something against your lips you didn’t catch.

Then said it again, after a moment of crumbling composure.

“Still with me?”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

“Barely.” You sobbed out.

He smiled down at you, sweet and full of pride.

“You’re doing so well.”

And then he fucked you.

No more teasing, no more calm pace.

Just hard, even, perfect. Everything you thought you needed and now knew you needed. His hips snapped forward, filling you again and again with a wet, steady clap of skin that made your whole body tremble and shudder and your core ache. Your breath hitched every time he bottomed out, every time he angled just right, every time you felt him drag back so slowly only to press in so deep you could barely breathe.

You could feel yourself getting louder; high, reedy, wrecked little sobs against his shoulder, and he liked it. You knew he did.

His hand slid up your back again, the other gripped under your thigh, and he didn’t stop.

Even when your body shook. Even when you clenched so tightly around him it felt like you might break. Even when you moaned his name like it was a plea and a warning both.

Especially then.

You came again.

So hard it almost hurt. So intense it made you curl into him, nails raking lines across his back, your voice strangled and high and raw as you came around him, clenching and fluttering and slick enough now that every thrust made an audible mess of your bodies meeting.

He groaned loudly into your shoulder.

That was the first real sound he made.

And then you felt it -

The way his hips stuttered.

The way his grip tightened.

The way his teeth bit down into your neck.

He was there with you.

Suguru stayed buried deep when he came. You felt the twitch of him inside you - hot, thick pulses that filled you fast, spilling out around him even before he finished.

He breathed hard, something low and groaning and quiet in your ear, and he didn’t pull out.

You gasped - oversensitive, your body still pulsing - and he grunted again when you clenched reflexively.

“Shh.” He exhaled, forehead pressed to yours now. “Just a little more.”

You nodded, barely able to think, he'd fucked you so thoroughly.

Suguru rocked into you again. Slower now, but deeper, like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you empty.

His cum was dripping out of you already, warm and thick, smearing between your thighs with every slow grind of his hips.

He kissed you again before he finally stilled.

Chest rising against yours, arms around you, still buried inside.

⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆⋆₊𖤐⸝⸝🐌⸝⸝𖤐₊⋆

The room was too quiet.

No more wet slap of skin on skin. No gasping. No quiet grunts. No soft-spoken questions answered with broken whimpers.

Just steady breathing and the soft, sticky sound of Suguru slowly pulling out.

You whimpered, more a noise of protest than pain, and he kissed your temple immediately.

“I know, sweetheart.” He murmured. “You did so well.”

You were trembling. Warm and sore and very aware of every inch of your body that had been handled, bitten, held in place, or spread wide open. Your thighs ached. Your hips burned. You had no idea where his shirt had gone and even less of a clue where your underwear might be.

And Suguru, bastard that he was, was already up and moving, calm and smug and unhurried as he slipped into the adjoining bathroom.

He tossed a used towel in the bin and came back with a clean one, crouching at the edge of the bed.

“Let me see.” He said, not asking.

You didn’t resist. You were too tired to resist anything. You let your legs fall open with a soft wince. He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose when he saw the aftermath of what he'd done to you, still dripping out.

“Mm. Yeah. That’s a mess.”

You swatted at him halfheartedly.

“Not my fault you’ve got no self-control. I only invited you over to study.”

“Suguru.”

“Hmm?” He hummed, already wiping you gently.

You bit your lip. “You’re so annoying.”

“I was very nice to you.” He retorted calmly. “You begged for it. Multiple times. I even let you come four times.”

“Five.”

His hand paused and he looked up at her, delighted.

“Oh? Don’t let me undersell myself.” He leaned in. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He let you flop back against the sheets with a huff and pressed a kiss to your knee before finally standing and rummaging through his drawers.

You watched him.

The ridiculous, infuriating, beautiful man. Shirtless, flushed, hair still half-tied, with a bite mark on his nail-scratched shoulders that looked almost as nasty as the several now littering your neck.

He found one of his clean shirts and turned toward you, then paused.

“Do you want boxers too or just the shirt?”

“Shirt’s fine.”

“Hoping to go another round?”

“Suguru.”

He tossed the shirt at your face and you shrieked, voice raw and hoarse.

Once you’d tugged it on (far too large, soft, and smelled like him), you let him coax you into his lap while he ran a comb through your damp, tangled hair. You leaned against his chest, legs curled under a blanket, while he made soothing little passes through your hair like it was second nature.

You knew this tender aftercare was a deliberate act of manipulation.

He was lulling you, giving you no reason to get up. Not that you could.

Or wanted to.

[neuroprincess]

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Tyrant - Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Alex Cabot/Female Reader

Summary: Alex's apartment still has the Christmas tree up in February for a reason, a small and demanding reason.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: +1200

The snowfall of the night before had covered the city streets and turned gray into white; it would be quite a sight in the early hours of the morning with the sun rising between the buildings and skyscrapers. Alex is sitting on the divan near the window, occasionally sipping the hot coffee in hand, but her observant eyes are fixed on the other side of the room, where the Christmas tree was still in all its shiny glory, full of decorations and twinkling lights... in February. The lights glowed softly, reflecting the four colors on the wooden floor and creating a neon illumination. A couple of feet away, between the attorney and the only remaining decoration of the festive season, was Margot, nestled in her baby swing, also staring at the lights, but unlike her mom, with wide, fascinated eyes.

“You know, it's the end of February...” Alex commented over her shoulder to her wife, who was sorting out a pile of blankets on the sofa “Most people have already taken down all their Christmas decorations.”

Y/N snorted and tried not to roll her eyes, after all, they were the ones who had put themselves in that situation.

“Most people don't have a little five-month-old tyrant who refuses to sleep without them and won't even let us sleep.”

As if to emphasize the point, the baby cooed softly, reaching out a chubby hand towards the largest hanging ornaments, as she has done ever since she learned to grasp. Alex shook her head in disbelief, laughing, and took a big sip of coffee before heading towards the tree.

“We really need to talk about this, sweetheart.” she said, turning to her daughter, who blinked at her innocently, giving an almost toothy smile “But not now, right, Mag?!”

“She's got you wrapped around her little finger and she knows it.” Y/N teased, placing a folded patterned blanket in the arm band and walking over to her wife “Not that I mind. It's cute.”

“She's not even six months old. How much power can she really have? I am a grown woman and very...” Alex scoffed and crouched down to stroke the strands of hair escaping from under the knitted cap "Forget about it, maybe you're right."

It all started in December, of course, just after the couple had prepared the house with care and dedication to spend their first Christmas as a family. Naturally, Alex had taken care of most of the details with safety in mind, such as battery-operated candles instead of the traditional ones, no strong scents, no heavy or pointy ornaments and even the tree didn't escape this, synthetic, without any dirt or possible bugs or possible allergies, practical and beautiful. At night, when the lights were turned on and Margot was lulled to sleep on the sofa with soft lullabies, sometimes breastfed until she fell asleep, the world was perfect and they felt lucky to have a calm and not at all demanding baby. They couldn't have imagined how wrong they were.

It was at the beginning of January that the first hint of what they would face emerged. The routine was set: a warm bath, diaper change, feeding and, finally, the delicate transition to sleep. But then, as soon as they started cleaning up after the holidays, what was supposed to be a calm night turned into a nightmare for first-time mothers. Margot, normally quiet and prone to falling asleep without resistance, squirmed restlessly in Y/N's arms while Alex organized the kitchen. Soon low grumbles became a loud, shrill cry, louder and longer than any moment before.

“What's wrong, little one?” Y/N murmured, rocking her gently, while her daughter mumbled and moved little hands between cries that left her face red and wet, eyes blinking sleepily, but not completely surrendering to rest “Do you want Mommy?”

Without much thought, she got up and walked to the living room, where she found the blonde on the way, already wiping hands and taking off the apron, with a worried look, they stared at each other without knowing exactly what to do, before they could check for colic or fever, she felt her daughter's body relax against hers. Only then did she realize that they were standing next to the Christmas tree.

“Oh, you just wanted the lights, did you?” she whispered, sighing in small relief as she felt Margot's head rest against her chest.

Alex, watching the scene with a mixture of fascination and incredulity, crossed her arms.

“So that's it?” she asked in another whisper, afraid of disturbing the sleep that had barely begun.

Her wife shrugged, trying not to smile.

“Our daughter seems to be a bit demanding and a girl of habits, she's clearly inherited that from you.”

And that's how it all began. The couple got quiet nights with a sleepy baby and a few hours of sleep for themselves as long as the tree lights kept shining, even if it meant sometimes falling asleep in the living room while they nursed the baby to sleep or even setting up a mobile crib nearby for when they were doing chores or some rare leisure time, and leaving the doors open all night so that the lights reached wherever little Cabot was. Alex tried to object a few times, suggesting alternatives such as less flashy night lights, soft sounds or putting a few Chistmas lights in the nursery, but nothing had the same effect as the extravagant, richly decorated tree. When they tried to turn it off for a whole night, Margot protested with an incessant cry that didn't end until they, defeated, got up and turned it on again.

“She's manipulating us.” Alex concluded incredulously, throwing herself on the bed, eyes half-closed with sleep, her wife lying down beside her sighing tiredly.

The blonde knows it's not true, after all, it's only a baby and as smart as she is for her age she wouldn't be capable of such a thing, she just couldn't help herself and made a joke in the midst of exhaustion and the notion that maybe they were guilty of it.

“She's only four months old, Alex.”

“Four months and knows how to get what she wants from us.”

And so the tree stood. January passed in the blink of an eye and Margot continued to be obsessed with the lights. Now, at the peak of February, Alex had completely surrendered to the absurd reality that her once plain and almost minimalist living room was still decorated as if Christmas was just around the corner. They tried to turn it off last night, thinking that the baby had finally gotten over it, but ended up dealing with a lot of crying and not being able to sleep for more than two hours.

“Maybe we should just accept that this house is now a shrine to the Christmas spirit,” joked Y/N, leaning her head on the blonde's shoulder as they smiled at their daughter, who was still staring at the tree with sleepy eyes under long lashes, mumbling, “She's so cute.”

Alex let out a resigned sigh and intertwined their fingers over her shoulder.

“I just want you to know that when she learns to talk and insists on putting up the tree and decorating the house in August, it will be your fault.”

“Whatever...” Y/N smiled and kissed the skin between Alex's shoulder and neck “As long as she keeps sleeping through the night.”

Margot let out a small sound of contentment, as if she knew her victory was assured, and yawned.

“I think Mag is ready for sleep.”

“And to let us rest, I hope.”

“Twinkle, twinkle, our little tyrant...”

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[bedtime-broadcast]

The Hotel Lobby — The Next Day

The hotel was quiet again—but this time, it was the kind of quiet that came before a storm. Alastor paced the length of the lounge like a caged animal, Calliope nestled sleepily against his chest in her sling. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t even blinked for longer than a second since the agents left. His antlers twitched at every creak. Every shadow. Every whisper.

Charlie had tried to talk to him. So had Vaggie, Husk, Angel Dust, and Niffty. But he couldn’t hear them. His world had narrowed to the weight of his daughter and the echo of her little voice saying, “Baba?”

The doors burst open.

Six figures this time. Heavily armed. Wards stitched into their coats, chains and rings of demonic iron clinking as they stepped inside. Leading them was the same agent from the day before, now wearing a badge glowing with infernal sanction. A writ of authority burned in his hand.

CPS Agent: *coldly* Alastor the Radio Demon. Stand down. We’re here to take the child.

Alastor: *voice like screeching radio feedback* You won’t touch her.

CPS Agent: After a full review of infernal law and metaphysical classifications, it’s been determined that as a sinner, you cannot reproduce. This child is Hellborn. Therefore—she is not biologically yours.

Alastor’s breath caught. His hands tightened on Calliope’s back protectively.

CPS Agent: There’s been speculation—kidnapping. Unlawful claiming of a Hellborn minor. The child is to be taken into protective custody until her true guardians can be located.

Alastor: *growling, voice shaking* True guardian? She is mine. I carried her! I gave birth to her! You dare tell me otherwise?!

CPS Agent: We’re not here to argue, sir.

The agents moved in.

Alastor’s shadows exploded from beneath his feet, forming jagged spikes and claws, his aura flaring red-hot with static.

Alastor: *screaming* I WARNED YOU!

They were ready.

In a flash, glowing red restraints clamped around his wrists—sigils burning into his skin like molten wire. He howled, collapsing forward, his powers vanishing like smoke as the enchantments locked into place. The floor scorched beneath him where his knees hit, his scream choked by a guttural sob as Calliope cried out in terror. She was still in Alastor’s arms, his arms bound together holding her tighter to him.

Calliope: *screeching* BABA! BABA!

Two agents rushed forward, grabbing the infant. Alastor tried holding off as tightly as he could, not wanting to let her go!

Charlie surged forward first, her eyes glowing hot with holy fire as her voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Charlie: STOP THIS! I am Princess Charlotte Morningstar— and heir to the throne of Hell! You do not have the authority to—”

CPS Agent: *cutting her off coldly* Your title holds no jurisdiction in the Envy Ring’s department. This child is under our custody now.

Vaggie bared her teeth, stepping protectively in front of Charlie, her spear forming in her hand with a flare of silver-hot light.

Angel Dust: *popped both sets of arms and growled* You’re not takin’ that baby anywhere, you knockoff exorcist bastards.

Niffty: *goes to the CPS agent with an angelic steel needle* You touch her again, and I’ll cut your fingers off and sew 'em to your eyelids!

Husk: Yeah, this ain’t happenin’. *holds up his cards*

But the agents were trained for resistance. They began moving faster, casting a barrier to push the group back, drawing weapons designed to neutralize even the most powerful demons.

Charlie tried breaking the steel that held and suppressed Alastor’s powers but her triton had no effect.

The agents yanked Calliope’s blanket— and Alastor, bound and choking on blood, screamed hoarsely as she slipped from his arms.

Alastor: NO — NO! PLEASE! CALLIOPE!

Calliope wailed, her small arms reaching, her hooves kicking. The moment her body left Alastor’s grasp, his soul buckled. The lights in the hotel cracked. His antlers sparked like split wires. He convulsed in agony on the scorched floor, shackled and helpless.

And then—

Everything stopped.

The air froze. Time itself seemed to hesitate. The sigils binding Alastor flickered.

From the upper staircase, a voice deeper than thunder rolled in, calm and absolute:

Lucifer: Unhand that infant.

The agents froze mid-action. One had Calliope half-lifted, her sobbing face contorted in terror—until she looked past him and saw Lucifer descending the stairs.

Lucifer Morningstar. Towering, radiant, and furious.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with celestial light as his wings unfurled behind him—red and white. With a flick of his hand, every restraint snapped off Alastor like brittle clay.

Lucifer: You presume to override my daughter’s sovereignty? In my territory?

CPS Agent: *visibly shaken* We—we were acting on orders. The law says—

Lucifer: *coldly* You know nothing of law. You are worms digging at the roots of a world you barely comprehend.

With another gesture, the CPS agents were flung to the walls, suspended midair by invisible chains of celestial authority. Calliope fell—but didn’t hit the ground. She floated gently, as though caught by unseen arms, and then blinked—

—and was cradled safely in Lucifer’s arms.

Calliope: *sniffling* B-baba…?

Lucifer crouched beside Alastor, gently placing the baby back in his arms. Alastor’s hands trembled as he wrapped her up again, barely able to breathe.

And then he stood, facing the agents.

Lucifer: Go back to your Envy Ring. Tell your masters they’ve overstepped. The infant Calliope belongs to no one but her father. And I will see your heads on pikes.

The agents vanished in a plume of static—teleported back to their ring by force. The room was silent again.

Alastor sat there, shaking, cradling Calliope against his chest.

She stopped crying…but Alastor’s tears came out.

[learnastrowallura]

🥀Planetary joys in Astrology

I briefly mentioned this in my Mercury post but I would like to talk about it more and clarify everything for u guys <3

The sources I used for this are the books Hellenistic Astrology: The Study of Fate and Fortune by Chris Brennan as well as The Astrologer's Encyclopedia + The Moon's Joy Astrology YouTube channels as well

So basically what the Planetary Joy scheme entails is that the planets manifest in the best or most constructive/productive/beneficial way when in a house they find their joy in, aka where they are most comfortable.

Daytime and nighttime planets (sect):

Here we will take into account the classification of the houses by above and below the horizon; as you can see, the houses from the 1st to the 6th house are below the horizon, and they are linked with both nighttime and an individual's inner world and his body, while the houses from the 7th to the 12th house are above the horizon; describing a certain relationship with daytime and the outer/ public world as well as the soul. This is a very generalized classification of the houses but I want you to take into account the nighttime and daytime terms that I have used.

According to sect, planets are assigned to two "teams"; the day sect and the night sect:

Meaning the Sun, Jupiter and Saturn are part of the day sect, and the Moon, Venus and Mars belong to the night sect. And Mercury is neutral.

Now go back to the first image. If you take a look, you will notice that the daytime planets find their joy in houses above the horizon, associated with daytime and public affairs, and that the nocturnal planets are more comfortable below the horizon; in the houses which relate more to nighttime and inner topics. And Mercury is in the 1st house because it is neutral and the 1st house can find itself above or below as well <3

Now I realize this is still quite general but now we have made the point of daytime planets being more constructive in houses above the horizon, and the nighttime planets being more productive in houses below. And this matches those planets' nature well, to be honest; come to think of it, why are certain planets associated with the day, and others considered nocturnal planets? Let us analyze for a moment.

I believe the luminaries are clear. Sun being a daytime planet and Moon belonging to the night "team" or sect is obvious. As for Mercury it is known for its duality and being like a messenger, of sorts. You know the sentence "don't shoot the messenger"? That describes Mercury's nature quite well. It does not pick a side and so stays neutral within the sect scheme. However we CAN find out more about if it is productive or not, based on the sign, house, aspects etc and I've already talked about this planet in length so check it out if u want.

I will be brief since I will be making a post on these upcoming planets anyway, but, Jupiter's nature is expansive, wise, optimistic and so in a day chart (meaning where the diurnal planets are more constructive) these positive qualities will be enhanced and yk under the sun. Conversely, Saturn is more cold and restrictive in its nature and so it needs a little warmth from the sun to loosen up and actually utilize that discipline without the hindrance of excessive limitations.

Now for the nocturnal planets, I would say Venus is very fitting; after all, it is all about harmony, comfort, love, intimacy and these themes are quite relevant to the nighttime because that is when we get to relax, have fun, be vulnerable etc it is more focalized on BEING rather growing, unlike its benefic counterpart, Jupiter. As for Mars, well, think of it like this: we are basically telling Saturn to get the fuck up and do the thing; cuz it's too restrictive. Mars is impulsive, so we tell it to go to bed and chill the fuck out. Hence why it does better in night charts and why Saturn does better in day charts <3

Triplicity rulers:

I have not quite grasped this particular point, to be honest. But I thought I should share anyway. Basically:

Fire triplicity rulers: Sun, Jupiter, Saturn

Earth triplicity rulers: Venus, Moon, Mars

Air triplicity rulers: Saturn, Mercury, Jupiter

Water triplicity rulers: Venus, Mars, Moon

From left to right the planets are the primary ruler, the seconday ruler, and the cooperating ruler.

Sun and Jupiter (Fire triplicity rulers) in their joy are close to the MC aka the Midheaven point; the highest point of the planetary path associated with the Fire element. Whereas Venus and the Moon (Earth triplicity rulers) at their joy are closer to lower region associated with the Earth element. Saturn and Mercury are associated with the rising sign or ascendant region, tied to the Air element since air "rises", and then finally Venus and Mars seem to be close to the setting place aka the descendant because water settles down and rests. I am not very philosophical 😅 and I definitely want too look into this more but yeah I thought I'd share this point. According to Chris this resembles Aristotle's doctrine of "natural place" aka the hierarchy of elements if u wanna look into it lol

Specifics:

Note: I took a very positive and personal approach when describing these placements also dw if you don't have one of these specific placements ur not doomed 😭

Mercury in 1st house:

The 1st house, the starting point, the Helm (steering wheel of a ship/boat), the way we approach life and our very character. There is a reason why I and many other astrologers start with the interpretation of the rising sign and planets found in the 1st house; they tell us a lot about the native. Now we know that our planets have their... "quirks", is how I would describe it? Mars is impulsive Venus is comfortable Sun is radiant Moon is introspective Jupiter is hopeful and finally Saturn is restrictive. Oh wait there's one left. See with the other planets without taking into consideration the planetary condition we can tell where in the spectrum the planet lies. Good or bad. Benefic or malefic. Mercury is our one and only neutral planet and this I would say is a controversial reason to consider it the best for 1st house but I do. I like that... almost starting off of a blank slate and having to go into detail to discover more aspect. As well as the duality of Mercury, its balance between light and dark, its potential, it is so fascinating to be honest

Moon in 3rd house:

Moon is intuition and emotion and I feel it is very suitable to navigate in that instinctual way during one-on-one communication; intellectual as well as mental exchange paired with connection to one's intuition and subconscious can add a lot of depth into one's communication style as well as aid in talking about one's feelings and generally being vulnerable which helps a lot with conflict resolution. The 3rd house also rules over our immediate environment so having moon here could signify growing up in or being in an entourage where emotional vulnerability as well as expression is encouraged which is always nice

Venus in 5th house:

In the ancient world children, which are a 5th house topic, were especially considered a blessing and so having a benefic such as Venus which is more in tune with the body than Jupiter in it made sense. But other than this old view on things this was the one which I heard of the first time and I was like duh. I mean Venus is love, beauty, aesthetics, comfort, harmony, pleasure and the 5th house is creativity, self expression, romance and inner child too imo so yeah it's like this cute soulmate connection I love it. Really enjoying what life has to offer and not rushing through anything with this placement I feel

Mars in 6th house:

Mars is considered a malefic and is associated with physicality and aggression as well so its obvious match would be the 6th house; the house associated with physical injuries and health issues. Mars is productive in this house because there is action involved to hopefully prevent the triggering of certain conditions (sport for example is very Martian) but also it provides the drive and the resilience to deal with issues even when they are present so yeah

Sun in 9th house:

As I have mentioned in my post about the Sun before, its rays illuminate the truth; which is a key term for the 9th house. The 9th house is not about the detailed factual analytic type of intellect or knowledge (3rd house), rather it is more focalized on the higher truth, spirituality, belief and religion. Sun is all about identity, leadership and potential. You cannot be a true leader if you do not know and therefore cannot SHOW the truth to your followers, or if you cannot guide them toward a higher path; one that is filled with wisdom, enlightenment, as well as enthusiasm for life and for discovering it and, of course, fulfillment.

Jupiter in 11th house:

11th house is associated with friendships, hopes, the desire/urge to become something greater than ourselves, to have a vision and to follow it with the faith and belief that it will work out. And what better planet would aid individuals in the achievement of such dreams? Jupiter. The benefic that speaks to our soul, the one who gives us luck, expansion and abundance <3

Saturn in 12th house:

The 12th house is the one most associated with mental health issues and isolation, while Saturn rules over restrictive measures, discipline, limitation etc so Saturn being in this house is thought to restrict the mental and spiritual issues that relate to the 12th house's nature; therefore allowing the individual to be productive in spite of those setbacks. Not to mention that Saturn always gives me the vibes of just work hard and be patient and I'll give u what u want and in this particular case I think it manifests in eventually working through these 12th house issues and challenges and mastering one's inner world which is always nice.

Bro this was all over the place I stg 😭 but I spent hours on it (was hard to find material to work with) and struggled a lot so anyway hope you enjoyed it

Thank you for reading <3

Masterlist

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[soundwave-starlight]

Ok so I've been thinking about Dio Brando (the totally normal healthy amount) and his characterization because he intrigues me.

He is frequently presented as a pure evil character (which like... I'm not gonna argue with he's pretty up there as far as evil goes) but I find that despite the classification as a pure evil villain... he still has redeeming qualities about himself. Little facets of his character that bleed through just between the lines showcasing that he's more than a one dimensional pure evil for evils sake character.

Before I go a little to far I should probably still clarify that yes his plan is to take over the world and feed on humanity for eternity because he thinks he deserves to be at the top. His goals and motives are pure evil. However there are little things about him that grasp at my attention. Despite his want to "sacrifice his humanity", despite his pure evil intent and desires, he's still human.

Lot's of spoilers past this point

Dio is a liar and a cheat. He's someone who fully believes that people can easily be manipulated through his words and that he can get away with anything with enough thought and planning. Despite this, he can't swear honor on his fathers name. His father, who he hates for being a drunken abusive wreck. The man who drove his mother into an early grave. Dio spits on his fathers grave in lament of this fact. Dio doesn't care about anyone other than himself, however he never says anything bad about his mother. Instead it feels like he truly loved her. As such he cannot follow through with his plan to manipulate Jojo. You can see the internal struggle, he SHOULD be able to lie about this. Just swear on his nonexistent honor and Jojo will drop his suspicions.

But Dio can't. Because he hates his father (and loves his mother) too much to pretend that man had any honor.

Then what's arguably more fascinating is his relationship with Jonathan. Their relationship starts out horribly. Dio only sees Jojo as a goal to defeat and a worm to crush under his heel. An obstacle stopping Dio from his rightful destiny as a rich man at the top of the world. He initially tries to crush Jonathan's spirit, but when that doesn't work he shifts tactics. He forms a fake friendship with Jonathan to more easily maneuver around him. When that doesn't work, he becomes a vampire to just straight up kill him.

And then, the unbelievable happens. Jojo defeats Dio, and even more unbelievably, Dio gains respect for Jonathan. Enough to actually praise him for his accomplishments.

Of course, Dio tries to kill Jonathan again, this time to take his body as Dio's own. But Dio fails again. Jonathan saves his wife and burns the ship down around them. Dio starts trying to make offers and deals. We can still get out of this Jojo! I can promise you riches and power! Suddenly, being held in Jonathan's, his brothers, arms. Dio realizes that Jonathan is dead. It's too late.

Ok so lets unpack that scene because HOLY FUCK it messes with my brain chemistry. First off, Dio actually admits to respecting Jonathan. Which is so wildly out of character for him. Dio doesn't respect ANYONE. Everyone is some form of scum in Dio's eyes. Everyone except his mother and Jonathan. I also don't believe these are empty words. Dio talks to Jonathan in part 3 (after Jonathan died) in a somber, quite tone. Even a hundred years later, Dio respects Jonathan and addresses him without the malevolence he displays towards everyone else.

Now we're really getting into fan theory and my personal interpretation of these events but I think that, in Jonathan's final moments, Dio actually sees Jonathan. Not as an obstacle, not as scum, but as a person. An equal. As Jonathan hugs Dio, Dio finally sees him for what he is. His brother. The only person left who could have possible cared for Dio in the same way his mother did. The only person who believed that Dio wasn't the pure evil villain that he was.

I like to think that in these moments, Dio learns that his friendship with Jojo wasn't completely fake. Maybe he even regrets how things ended up. But that doesn't matter anymore. Jonathan is dead. And Dio still has goals to fulfill.

Ok that last bit might border past theory and enter fanfiction territory but I like exploring the human aspects of one of the least human characters in Jojo's. Dio to me feels like a lot of missed potential (potential mostly made up for in part 7 with diego) and I've always found him interesting. I think its worth exploring the humanity in even the purest evil of villainy (and yes, Dio IS pure evil. He burns a dog alive for shits and giggles. There is NO redemption for this man)

[thedansemacabres]

An Introduction To Wine for Dionysians

A photo from my wine class, the pink being my Chambourcin and Sangiovese rosés. 

[ID: An image of two wine glasses on a stainless steel table. The first glass, closer to the observer, is bright pink. The second glass, to the right of the pink one is a salmon colour and slightly blurry.] THIS POST IS SLIGHTLY BASIC, IN MY OPINION. It’s not exactly hard to research wine, especially now that the industry is beginning to have new winemakers such as myself. But this is my job and passion, so I thought it may be useful in the end. Especially for us Dionysians, most who never engage in the winemaking process—which is fine, but it does offer a more intimate knowledge of his realms. So as a winemaker myself, I want to share the wonders of winemaking with others. This post is meant to be a quick introduction to wine from a viticulturist and enologist. 

SOME TERMINOLOGY 

Entering the world of wine does require a basic understanding of some jargon. To make it easy, I have listed some common terms: 

Anthocyanins — the red-purple colour compound in red grapes

Bret — short for Bretannomyces, this is an endemic yeast to Europe and often a pest in wineries. This yeast creates leather, hide, barnyard, etc., flavours and aromas in wine. This is often desirable in small amounts in certain styles, but can quickly overpower a wine.

Fault — an issue with the wine, typically in flavour, aroma, colour, or taste. Faults are subjective and sometimes may be beneficial. A key part of wine sensory analysis is tasting faults. 

Macerate — a process in which colour and flavour is leached from the skins of the grape. This is most common in reds and is aided by ethanol. 

Noble Rot — a form of Botrytis Cinerea that is beneficial within the wine process to make sweet wines. 

Press — a winemaking device that extracts juices from grapes to make wine

Terroir  — the characteristic taste and flavor imparted to a wine by the environment in which it is produced.

Vintage — the year the grapes were harvested and are typically fermented in the same year, however, this is not always the case.

ANCIENT, OLD WORLD, AND NEW WORLD 

The wine world has often been divided into “old world” and “new world”, but I have personally taken a liking to the classification of some wine regions as ancient world wine regions. These regions would be Georgia, Armenia, Assyrian lands, Greece, some parts of Italy, and more. Ancient winemaking is well, winemaking in regions that have continuously made wine with the same or similar techniques over thousands of years. An ancient wine that I always recommend to Dionysians is Retsina. 

Old world wine is essentially European wine. While this term has its issues, it is the one that the wine industry understands. Europe has been making wine for hundreds of years, thousands in some regions. Old world wine is known for the less fruity, more aged styles, along with producing table wine. These wines also tend to be oaked, in which the wood imparts flavours into the wine which is dependent on the type of wood used. Bret is also common in the old world, which is often a hit or miss with consumers. 

New world wine is wine made in wine regions that are relatively new, associated with more scientific approaches to wine. Another way to look at it is wine regions that are or were colonies of Europe, though a few new world wine regions do not have this history. New world wine is often associated with brightness, fruity flavours, higher alcohol levels, etc. 

Simply put:

Ancient — regions such as the Fertile Crescent, Palestine, Assyrian lands, Greece, parts of Italy, etc., 

Old — Europe, including wine regions more similar to the new world such as Slovakia

New — Generally colonised countries, the largest example being the United States. 

TYPES OF WINE 

Most people grasp the basics: white wine comes from white grapes and red wine comes from red grapes. However, of course, it gets more complicated from here. To list it simply:

White wine is wine made from white grapes that are removed from the skins. 

Red wine is made from red grapes left to macerate on the skins. 

Orange wine is made from white grapes left to macerate on the skins.

Rose is made from red wines removed from the skins.

Pink wines are wines made through blending white and red wine, considered of lesser craftsmanship than a rose by most winemakers 

Commercial wines are typically whites, reds, and rose/pink. Orange wines are seldom found outside of Slovenia and Georgia due to tradition. Overall, the wine world considers orange wine strange, however the market has been increasing in recent years. 

Wine is also a term applied to fruit wines (fruit other than grapes). Legally in most regions, wine can only be applied to fermented grapes—though of course, nobody listens to that. Essentially, I like to phrase wine as anything made from fermented fruits, roots, and tree-sugars. Cider is technically wine, but this is defined in the USA by tax brackets—below 8% ABV is a cider, over is an apple fermented product/wine. 

WINE STYLES

To put it simply: there are thousands of wine styles. I cannot summarise them here, however I will try to summarise some of the common styles I know of.. ‘Old world’ and ‘new world’ are also considered broad styles. 

Dessert Wines 

Dessert wine as a term is dependent on location, as in the USA it is any wine over 14% ABV. In the UK, it is often classified as a sweet wine drunk before a meal. It is also usd colloquially for sweet, high-alcohol wines that are drunk with dessert. A bit of a meaningless term, but it is used regardless. 

Sweet Wines

Sweet wines are wines that have residual sugar from fermentation. Most wines are finished dry, which is when the yeast consumes most to all available sugars and converts them into ethanol. This can be intentional or the result of a stuck or dead fermentation. Sweet wines are known for getting people drunk quickly and giving a particularly nasty headache. 

Table Wine 

Table wine is perfectly named, as these are common wines that are meant to appear at the dinner table and be paired with food. Italy is famous for creating popular table wines such as Chianti and Prosecco. The table wine market is however slowly dying. I personally liken table wines to Dionysus Hestios. 

Straw wine 

Straw wine is wine made from grapes that have been dried. This makes very sweet wines due to the lack of water. 

Rot wines 

Rot wines, also called Noble Rot wines, are a unique form of sweet wines created by noble rot. In viticulture, botrytis is a fungus that often ruins clusters by mummifying grape clusters. In the right conditions however, it instead only takes the water content in a grape berry over a series of days before perishing. Rot wines often occur near rivers, lakes, and other regions with mist and then scorching sun. This fascinating process creates natural sweet wines—many of which demand high price points, such as sauternes that are priced at over one thousand euros. Another form of rot wine I enjoy is Slovak tokaji. 

In my personal practice, these wines hold a special spot due to my focus on divine rot. Dionysus wise, I think these wines possess such a unique quality of him—they are dead yet not, and Dionysus may be found in the marshes where rot blooms. 

Sparkling Wine 

Often known as champagne, sparkling wine is wine that when opened/poured will fizz with carbon dioxide bubbles. This is usually due to secondary fermentation, in which yeast are inoculated to ferment trace amounts of sugar to create the carbonation that appears when you open the bottle. Sparkling wine can only be labelled champagne if it is from Champagne, France. With the climate crisis however, champagne may disappear and Southern England has been contending to become the next major sparkling wine region. 

There are lesser quality sparkling wines made by injecting carbonation into the metal wine vats. This is common with sparkling juices that are not fermented. 

Fortified Wines

When you think of Port, that is a fortified wine. These wines are mixed in with ethanol, typically spirits, to increase the alcohol content of the wines. This makes them less likely to spoil and creates a unique flavour profile. 

Some traditional fortified wines are Port, Sherry, 

Cooking Wines

These are wines that are not typically used for drinking, but rather feature as a culinary ingredient. This does not mean low quality however, as some cooking wines such madeira can fetch a very high price point. 

BARRELS

Barrels are enchanting. Even if I see them daily, there is a bit of romance to working with them. Wines are put in barrels for storage and for flavour. The most common wood used in wine are oaks, with French oak (Quercus robur) and American oak (Quercus alba) being the most common and stylistic. Barrels are a core aspect of traditionally ageing wine, as the barrel allows enough oxygen into the liquid to be beneficial. For those who do not know, oxygen degrades wine over time. This is why cheaper wines quickly turn bad, as they were not designed to age. 

The flavour-changing profile of wood-contact on wine works through phenols and other compounds interacting with the oak, creating vanilla flavours. For other woods, a similar process occurs, such as Pine creating a pinewood taste, chestnut increasing the perception of sweetness, etc. Research is being continued on alternative woods in winemaking. 

Barreling is not the only source of flavour profile in wine. Wines gain their flavour from three sources. This is simply:

Primary: flavours derived from the grape

Secondary: flavours derived from yeast. Yeast often create secondary flavour compounds, such as floral, herbal, spicy, etc notes. 

Tertiary: barrel and ageing flavour. 

When doing wine tastings, these are excellent factors to begin wine analysis. Deciphering these notes allows one to build a palette and understand more of the expanses of vinification. 

GRAPE CULTIVARS 

Grape cultivars, also called varietals, are what impart unique flavours into a wine at the primary level. Each cultivar gives its own unique flavour profile. The most commonly planted grapes are the noble varieties, which were prized by French nobility—these being grapes such as Chardonnay and Sauvignon blanc. 

Grape cultivars can change their profile depending on where they are grown, called terroir. As an example, a French Cabernet Sauvignon is completely different from a Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. Terroir encompasses soil, weather patterns, climate, etc. Another example is that wines made in years of heavy wildfires often taste smoky and Australian wines taste burnt due to the extreme sun exposure. 

Profit and market trends have caused lesser known and cultural grapes in many places to become extinct or endangered. There are movements and efforts to preserve these cultural vines and many wine drinkers are interested in the unique experiences rare cultivars can provide. 

Cultivars also often have regional and cultural significance. The Bacchus grape has been found to grow excellently in southern England, Agiorgitiko is the most common Greek red grape, Sangiovese is the grape for Tuscan Chianti, etc. In the new world, Grape cultivars often take on new significance, such as Sauvignon Blanc in New Zealand. As obscure grapevines become more popular, regional and forgotten grape varieties have been reappearing. 

Hybrid vines, which are some of my favourite, are the result of viticultural science. These are vines bred to exhibit certain traits, whether as a ‘find out’ project or specially designed for certain wine regions. These are often called French-American hybrids, however hybrids are also being produced in Korea, Slovakia, and other countries. One of the most commonly planted hybrids is Chambourcin, called ‘king of the hybrid reds’, due to its striking fuschia red or barbie pink rose and desirable flavour profile. I have made a post over these hybrids before and they are readily searchable for anyone interested. 

There are thousands of cultivars and new cultivars are created each year. The world of wine is ever expansive when it comes to grapevines, just as Dionysus always brings something new. There is always something new to try, or a new spin on something familiar. Yet when we crave a taste of something familiar, traditional varieties and vintages are around to return to. Wine is both new and old, alive and dead, familiar and yet ever-changing. 

HOW TO BEGIN IN WINE 

Beginning in wine is as simple as buying wine. Advancing understanding then comes through sensory analysis, experimentation, trying new and different wines, historical research, and much more. I doubt most people will be like myself, who decided to get an associates degree in winemaking and make it my secondary career. Honestly, it’s much more fun as a hobby than a job. 

I recommend experiencing the differences between reds and whites, along with sampling table wines with and without food. Picking out grape varietals is also fun, but may be subtle. As an example, a sauvignon blanc is immediately recognisable for its bellpepper note, but I have developed the skill to taste the general region where sauvignon blanc was grown (it is my favourite white wine grape). 

I have touched upon sensory analysis and terminology with it, such as palette and body, but I will reserve that for another post. Trying wine and research is the best way to begin—and there is no such thing as beginner wine in my opinion. There are wines that are harsh, different, and likely undesirable to someone who is used to sweet juice and unchallenging sweet drinks, however I believe it limits a wine explorer when you limit yourself to “beginner wines”. Finding that brings you joy matters most, whether that is a classic sweet wine or mouth-punching red. And pour some out for Dionysus, the sweet lord of the eternal winepress. 

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References

Bird, D. (2011). Understanding Wine Technology, 3rd Edition: The Science of Wine Explained. Board and Bench Publishing. Puckette, M., & Hammack, J. (2018). Wine Folly: Magnum Edition: The Master Guide. Penguin UK.

Wilson, J. (2019). Godforsaken grapes: A slightly tipsy journey through the world of strange, obscure, and ... underappreciated wine. HARRY N ABRAMS.

Wine microbiology. (2007). In Springer eBooks. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-0-387-33349-6

[rosemirmir]

Time for that unhinged Geryon essay I promised:

I've posted about it before, but now with the finale out and with the final confrontation between Hotaro and Geryon, I'm just thinking again about the thematic aspects of Geryon once again. And how he and his obsession with turning the world into gold is meant to symbolize wanting things to stay the same.

While Hotaro and the others wish to move things forward and change the future.

And that is one of the main themes of this show: To push forwards, reach your dreams, and change the future. And how you can only do both of those things by moving forward.

Geryon talks about turning worthless things into gold "is the true goal of alchemy". While with Hotaro, Rinne, and others being an alchemist is about using alchemy to bring happiness into the world. Which is a vastly different goal than the original historic reason behind the origin of alchemy.

To Geryon, Hotaro's dream, and the concept of having dreams itself is a pointless endeavor. As well as a sign of weakness. What really matters to him is to create something with what he thinks has real "worth", by using what is one of the original purposes of alchemy and probably the most well known: turning base metals into gold.

Also gold is classified as a noble metal. Which is interesting to think about the name of that classification when you see Geryon seeing gold and turning the whole world into gold is something that actually has "worth", compared to bringing happiness into the world. Or to create a world where humans and chemies can coexist.

With that: it also can be read that Geryon is an alchemist purist too. Rejecting the notion the of idea Alchemy should be used to bring happiness to others, which is a much newer ideal compared to turning base metals into gold.

This is not "the true goal of alchemy" or "what alchemy is for" after all, two things he says throughout the course of the show.

Another theme in this show is the next generation being the hope to bring change for the future.

But Geryon being part of the adults of the cast fully rejects what Hotaro and the others are standing for. Compared to Minato, Kyoka, and Fuga who are behind guiding the next generation to help them bring the change they strive to achieve. The three of them say as much in various points of the show.

Which is just something I find really interesting to think about.

Lastly: this entire speech from Hotaro during the final battle also really stuck out to me when watching it the first time. And is a perfect display of the themes present in the show:

Gold is eternal, Geryon says as much in Episode 49. To create a world of gold is to keep things exactly the same as they were. Nothing can change, time is at a standstill.

But that is not what is needed for the betterment of the world. What is needed is to keep pushing onwards, and to try and grasp our dreams, and change the future.

His motivation and end goal is extremely simple, but it just works so well thematically for this show and the messages it wants to tell. He is a perfect foil to Hotaro and is an excellent villain to me because of how his motivation completely contrasts Hotaro's. It's a really good use of the original purpose of alchemy!

The best way I can describe Geryon as a villain is "simple but effective".

Sometimes you don't need a super complex motivation to have an effective antagonist for your story. It all depends on what you want to tell. And just from a thematic standpoint, Geryon just works as a villain for the story and messages of Gotchard.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The REAL AI automation threat to workers

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Long before the current wave of AI hype, we were being groomed for automation panics with misleading stories. Remember this one? "'Truck driver' is the most common job in America. Self-driving trucks are just around the corner. How can we prevent America's army of truckers from turning into a howling mob when the robots steal their jobs?"

https://futurism.com/millions-of-jobs-are-at-risk-but-their-loss-could-be-for-the-greater-good

It was absolute nonsense. First of all, "truck driver" isn't a particularly common job in America! The BLS lumps together all cargo vehicle drivers under a single classification. The category error here was thinking that every delivery van driver, furniture mover, and courier is behind the wheel of a big rig, cracking wise on a CB radio as they tear up the interstate.

But what about automation threats? It's possible that if we redesigned the interstates to give 16 wheelers their own separated lanes, and then set them to following one another, that they could traverse long distances in that way. Congratulations, you've just invented a shitty, failure-prone train.

"Shitty train AI" does not threaten the job of the vast number of people the BLS classifies as "truck drivers." For one thing, "shitty train AI" isn't going to pilot a UPS van around the streets of a busy city with other road users. Sure, a few robotaxi companies have bamboozled city governments into conscripting the city's residents into an uncontrolled murderbot experiment. These are not going well:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sanfrancisco/news/9-key-leaders-depart-gms-cruise-amid-ongoing-investigation-into-san-francisco-incident/

More than $100b has been set on fire chasing the robotaxi dream, and the result is most charitably described as a technological curiosity, requiring 1.5 high-waged remote technicians to replace each low-waged driver:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

But even if we could perfect this technology, robots still wouldn't replace all those "truckers" who drive delivery vans (to say nothing of moving vans!). The hard part of driving a UPS van isn't just getting it from place to place – it's getting the parcel into the place. The robo-van would still need at least one person to get the parcel from the back of the van and into the reception desk, porch, or other delivery zone. It's not going to fire those parcels at your door with a catapult. It's also not going to deliver them by drones. Drone delivery is another one of those historical curiosities, capable of delivering a very narrow range of parcels, under even narrower circumstances:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#droned

If all UPS delivered was lightweight, non-fragile rectangular parcels ordered by people with large, unobstructed back yards, then sure. Congrats, you've just created the world's least-useful parcel delivery service!

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2022/06/amazon-drone-delivery-service-seeks-faa-approval-to-launch-in-2022/

All that said, the big rig drivers probably don't need to worry about robots stealing their jobs. It's not even clear that "shitty train" is within our technological grasp, but even if it is, there's yet another problem with the AI automation trucker jobpocalypse: "trucker" is already one of the worst jobs in America:

https://www.usatoday.com/pages/interactives/news/rigged-forced-into-debt-worked-past-exhaustion-left-with-nothing/

It's hard to overstate just how fucking terrible it is to be a trucker. Truckers are trapped in abusive debt holes by their employers – who misclassify their workforce as "contractors" in a bid to sidestep labor law. Shriven of any labor rights, truckers are forced into the most ghastly, body-destroying, family-wrcking, financially precarious existence imaginable.

You can drive a truck for years, give almost all of the money you earn back to your employer (who denies that you're their employee) to pay back the usurious loan for your truck. Then, your employer can underschedule for shifts so that you miss a loan payment, and they can repo your truck and keep the six-figure repayment you've already made to them, leaving you destitute.

They can force you to work for hours – days! – without pay while you wait for loading and dispatch. They can make you drive long past the point of safety, then, if (when) you get into a wreck, they can fine you for not taking the mandated rest breaks.

Now, these drivers aren't about to be replaced by AI – but that doesn't mean that AI won't affect their jobs. Commercial drivers are among the most heavily surveilled workers in the country. Amazon's drivers (whom Amazon misclassifies as subcontractors) have their eyeballs monitored by AI;

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

AIs monitor the voices of the (primarily Black, primarily female) workforce at Arise – homeworkers who field customer service calls for blue-chip companies like Carnival Cruises and Disney. They're listening for unruly children or pets in the background, and workers who fail to muffle these dependents lose the contracts they have to pay to train for:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/22/paperback-writer/#toothless

And AI monitors the conduct of workers on temp-work apps. If a worker is dispatched to a struck workplace and refuses to cross the picket-line, the AI boss fires you and blacklists you from future jobs for refusing to robo-scab:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

Writing in The Guardian, Steven Greenhouse describes the AI-enabled workplace, where precarious, often misclassified workers are monitored, judged, and fined by algorithms:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2024/jan/07/artificial-intelligence-surveillance-workers

Whether it's the robot that gets you disciplined for sending an email with the word "union" in it or the robot that takes money out of your paycheck if you take a bathroom break, AI has come for the workplace with a vengeance.

Here's a supreme irony: nearly all of the beneficial applications for AI require that AI be used to help workers, not replace them, which is absolutely not how AI is used in the workplace. An AI that helps radiologists by giving them a second opinion might help them find tumors on x-rays, but that's a tool that reduces the number of scans a radiologist processes in a shift, by making them go back and reconsider the scans they've already processed:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

But AI's sales pitch is not "Buy an AI tool and increase your costs while increasing your accuracy." The pitch for AI is "buy and AI and save money by firing workers." Given how bad AIs are at replacing humans, this is a bad deal all around, both for the worker who loses their job and the customer who gets the substandard product the AI makes.

There is a very limited slice of applications where an AI could make a lot of money for a company that deploys it, without costing that company anything when the AI screws up. For example, AI is a really good tool for fraud! Rather than paying people to churn out millions of variations on a phishing email, you can get an AI to do it. If the AI writes a bad phishing email, it's OK, since nearly all recipients of even good phishing emails delete them. What's more, no one will fine you or publish an op-ed demanding that your board of directors fire you if you buy an incompetent AI to commit fraud. Fraud is a high-value, low-consequence environment for using AI.

Another one of those applications is managing precarious workers who don't have labor rights. If the AI unfairly docks your worker's wages, or forces them to work until they injure themselves or others, or decides that their eyeball movements justify firing them, those workers have no recourse. That's the whole point of pretending that your employees are contractors: so you can violate labor law with impunity!

But that's not the ironic part. The ironic part is that "being a shitty boss" is the one AI application that companies are willing to increase their net spending on. No one buys an eyeball-monitoring AI so they can fire a manager. This is the one place where AI is there to augment, rather than replace, an employee.

This makes AI-based bossware subtly different from other forms of Taylorism, the "scientific management" fad of the early 20th century that saw management consultants choreographing the postures and movements of workers to satisfy the aesthetic fetishes of their employers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

The pseudoscientific cod-ergonomics of the 1900s was demeaning and even dangerous, but it wasn't automated, and if it increased worker output, this was incidental to the real purpose of making workers move like the machine-cogs their bosses reassured themselves they were:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Every AI panic is a way of deflecting attention from the real, grimy, here-and-now ways that AI is destroying our lives by demanding that we entertain nonsensical science fiction claims about large, shiny existential risks that AI might present in the future.

The "X-risk" of the spicy autocomplete chatbot waking up and using its newfound sentience to turn us all into paperclips is nonsense. Adding words to the plausible sentence generator doesn't turn it into a superintelligence for the same reason that selectively breeding faster horses doesn't lead to locomotives:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

But there is a way that AI could destroy the human race! The carbon footprint and water consumption associated with training and operating large-scale models are significant contributors to the climate emergency, which threatens the habitability of the only planet in the known universe capable of sustaining human life:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/federicoguerrini/2023/04/14/ais-unsustainable-water-use-how-tech-giants-contribute-to-global-water-shortages/

Likewise, AI isn't going to replace you at work. But it's already augmenting your shitty boss's ability to rip you off, torment you, maim you and even kill you in order to eke out a few more basis points for the next shareholder report.

Science fiction is a fun and useful way to tell parables about our current technologies. But it's not a roadmap for the future. The fact that sf writers like me found AIs as useful measures to describe Earth's dominant artificial life form – the limited liability corporation – doesn't mean that superhuman AIs should – or can – be created.

Back the Kickstarter for the DRM-free audiobook of The Bezzle, read by Tumblr's own @wilwheaton!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[play-rough]

Happy Birthday Dazai 🥺🤧🩵

I really wanted to have the next classification au finished by Dazai’s birthday, but it just didn’t happen rip

So here’s a chunk of chapter one under the readmore instead! Since it’s a wip, everything below is subject to change 🩵 tw for child abuse and s/h (i know it’s Dazai but it’s more directly referenced idk idk) also let me know if something is incomprehensible because now’s the time to fix it haha 🩵🩵

Thanks everyone for enjoying and encouraging my work 🩵 I hope we have all have a wonderful Dazai birthday celebration 🩵🎉

The first thing that Dazai hears is the sound of writing tools scratching against papers. Someone is at a desk working.

Dazai whines, tongue pressing against something rubber on the edge of his mouth. He recognizes his pacifier after a second, almost falling out. With a quick flick of his tongue, the soother is back in Dazai’s mouth, and he clamps his teeth around it to keep it in place.

The pen against the table paper is a nice soundtrack while Dazai sucks on his pacifier. He feels small, but also something else. More detached than he’s been before, but weirdly less panicked.

He’s not sure who’s writing at the desk, and logically he knows that if he’s resting on a couch, and there’s someone writing at a desk, he could be in Mori’s office.

For some reason, that’s not something that worries Dazai right now, and opening his sleepy eyes a bit to observe his surroundings proves him right. He is in an office, but the Port Mafia’s boss isn’t the one working quietly.

A familiar orange floods Dazai’s vision, and he doesn’t even have to focus and pay attention to know it’s Chuuya.

Dazai whimpers softly, and holds out grabby hands towards the direction of the sounds. The only thing Dazai hears is a soft sigh, but no chairs scraping against floors or footsteps towards a sad baby.

His arms start to get tired, and cold, so Dazai tucks them back against his side. He whines louder instead, hoping to snag Chuuya’s attention.

“Dazai,” Chuuya huffs. “I played with you all morning.”

Dazai bites his pacifier, and then he opens his eyes fully to look at Chuuya.

Chibi is hunched over a desk that’s piled several feet high with paperwork. Despite seeing this, Dazai can’t stop himself as he mewls out another whimper being his paci.

“Dazai.” Chuuya says sternly, and it causes any remaining sounds to die in his throat. “I’m busy. Can’t you go bother someone else?”

He can’t, Dazai only wants Chuuya. His mind is full of memories of being held and rocked to sleep. It makes Dazai wonder why he’s ever fought regressing so hard in the first place. Chuuya’s hands make him feel like jelly, and Dazai can’t help but melt and become putty in his grasp. It’s so nice, and Chuuya feels so warm and safe.

Dazai can’t help but let out another sad whine.

“Fuck, fine,” Chuuya grumbles out, and he couldn’t possibly sound less enthusiastic. Dazai is suddenly sitting in his lap in the blink of an eye, but there’s no back pats or rocking, to his disappointment. “Just stop crying, you’re giving me a headache.”

Dazai can’t stop, he just got started, and doesn’t Chuuya know how long his tantrums go on?

“Stop, I’m holding you aren’t I? Would you rather have a time out?”

That makes Dazai freeze in place, he hates timeouts. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of boredom and loneliness, so he bites down on his pacifier and grips Chuuya’s shirt, willing the crying to stop.

Dazai can’t, though, as hard as he tries the tears keep coming, and he can’t calm down. Especially not with Chuuya shouting every five seconds.

“Just stop, Dazai,” Chuuya snaps. “You’re being a nuisance!”

The harsh words sting, and also come with a sudden shove. Dazai tries to hang on to Chuuya, but the shirt slips from his grasp, and he falls off of his caretaker’s lap and into inky darkness.

The falling sensation seems to last forever, until Dazai finally opens his eyes with a frantic gasp. He can’t breathe for a good few moments, struggling for air as his stomach flips. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to put together that he’s had a nightmare.

Dazai lays on his bed for a long time, chest hiccupping and stuttering uncontrollably. He feels like crying, no doubt leftover feelings from his dream.

He breathes unsteadily, in and out around his pointer and index finger, nibbling softly at his nails. Dazai must have slipped his fingers into his mouth at some point during the nightmare.

At least, Dazai hoped it was during the nightmare, and he hadn’t slept with his fingers in his mouth all night. He was dreaming of sucking on a pacifier, and the shame he feels tells him that he’s probably been doing this for a while.

Indulging this isn’t going to get him anywhere, it’s his worst habit. While comforting temporarily, it ultimately just makes him feel closer to headspace. Counterproductive, Dazai doesn’t want to drop, so he needs to get his fingers out of his mouth.

Despite telling himself this, Dazai has to forcibly take his hand away, and he definitely feels the loss of comfort when an emptiness washes over him. Stupid. Dazai is so pathetic and stupid.

It’s morning, and his whole day is already ruined by a stupid dream. Dazai feels empty and clingy, a familiar feeling that makes him want attention.

Staring up at the rusty ceiling, his eyes follow a small leak. A drip of water falls a few inches from his head every few moments, and Dazai watches it like seconds ticking away on a clock.

This gets boring very quickly, and boredom only lets Dazai’s thoughts run wild. His nightmare is the only thing in the front of his mind.

You’re being a nuisance!

Dream Chuuya was right, of course. Dazai was a nuisance.

Even if in his dreams he doesn’t remember, Dazai knows why he has to fight it, why he can’t just let go and trust Chuuya will catch him every time he falls.

Chuuya’s not going to be around forever. Flashes of Dazai being shoved away, Chibi’s look of disgust as Dazai calls out for his attention. It reminded Dazai of the face Chuuya made when he bit Tsu. Chuuya is capable of disgust and rage and loathing and Dazai knows one day this softness will end. His partner will grow tired of how difficult he is. Everyone eventually figures out that Dazai isn’t worth the time, the effort, or the headaches.

Dazai rolls over in a huff, hoping to end this train of thought. Wallowing in self pity was another terrible quality of his.

When Dazai’s ear hits the mattress, an uncomfortable ache travels down the side of his face. The pain is a surprise, but it’s also incredibly fast, leaving almost as soon as it starts.

Once that’s over, Dazai still can’t get comfortable. His next distraction is a crawling feeling across his skin. It’s not the worst pain he’s ever felt, but it’s enough to make him forget about his ear for now.

Dazai is no stranger to feeling uncomfortable in his skin, and usually the bandages help. Dazai’s arms are a mess, nights spent doing things he doesn’t want to think about and then weeks following picking things back open whenever he gets nervous. The soft bandages at least keep the sensitive injured skin from rubbing against clothing.

But today, it feels like electricity is sparking up and down every inch of himself, and the bandages itch horribly. Dazai runs a palm up and down his forearm roughly, and it helps the icky feeling for a moment.

Just a moment, though. The second Dazai stops scratching it comes back, maybe even worse than before with the added irritation from disturbing injuries under the bandages.

Everything is uncomfortable this morning. Even the bits of sunlight peeking through cracks in his crate, shining and hitting his eyes. Dazai squints and whines, rubbing his eyes, and then scratching at his other arm.

These bandages are a few days old. Chuuya is always harping on him to change them, and Dazai does. But he’s also thrifty, and a recycler, so there’s a lot of flipping and rewrapping going on. He probably just needs to rewrap his arms and change into something fresh.

Changing his bandages isn’t as easy as it sounds, though. For one thing, Dazai is pretty sure he’s out, so he’s got to get more from the store. Before he can even get to the store, he’s got to get up and get out of bed. Getting out of bed seems impossible. It’s cold.

Really he should just be glad that he doesn’t have to drag himself to the Port Mafia today. He should have been able to lounge in bed all day, recover from a restless night of tossing and turning through nightmares. It’s just his luck that a day when he should be free to lay in bed all day is halted by a need for something stupid like bandages. This is another problem that Dazai has created all by himself, he can’t stop fucking things up, and he can’t avoid punishment, but he’s not responsible enough to keep some stupid bandages around.

Dazai really isn’t good for anything, a barely functioning burden on everyone. He’s a nuisance.

It’s that hatred burning in his tummy that finally gets him to throw the blanket off of himself in a sudden motion, letting it slump onto the floor. From there, a full body shiver sparks up and down his thin form, and it’s a good thing he’s alone. His body lets out a pathetic whimper, and that’s the cherry on top of Dazai’s motivation-cake to get moving. The sooner he gets his bandages, the sooner he can lay down again.

Dazai considers changing his clothes before heading out, last night ended with him falling asleep in his dress pants and white button up again. But, a new set of clothes would be cold, his body heat has made these ones just barely tolerable. It seems pointless when Dazai already had his shoes on, it’s easier just to throw Mori’s coat over his shoulders and leave.

At least if Dazai is walking, he’ll be warmer.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Dazai’s container is out of the way of pretty much everything. This is of course, by design. If Dazai wanted to be within easy access, he’d just live in the Port Mafia dorms. Or better yet, sleep under Mori’s desk, so the boss could use him as a footrest.

No, the shipping container is safe and hidden in plain sight. Surrounded by hundreds of others that look just like it, miles and miles from the Port Mafia.

Also several miles from the nearest drug store.

Actually, there’s one about a mile away from the shipping yard, but if Dazai is spotted there enough, you could theorize that he lives in that surrounding area. That was far too close for Dazai’s comfort, he always tried to avoid the stores that would be considered in his ‘neighborhood.’

He started today off terribly, letting himself be bothered by a stupid nightmare. Dazai should have never left his bed, and this is evident on the walk to the store. Every step makes Dazai’s skin hurt even worse, the cold biting and the textures of his clothes chafing.

Scratching is really all he can do, even if the relief is quickly fleeting. Dazai isn’t sure how long he has to walk, but his joints feel sore. The air is dry, and it makes him realize that at some point his sinuses have begun to hurt. Dazai swallows, feeling his ears pop.

That’s how Dazai continues on all the way to a drug store about a half a mile from the Port Mafia. Swallowing and scratching, willing all these uncomfortable feelings to go away. Dazai brings a hand up to tug on one of his ears as he enters through the automatic doors, hopefully the swap from outside dry air to inside artificial air will help.

Tugging on his ear certainly doesn’t, and Dazai winces at another uncomfortable pop that makes his jaw ache, and goes back to scratching his forearms instead.

The store was big, and there was no large blinking arrow directing Dazai to the bandages. Frankly stupid design choice, and Dazai suddenly remembers his hatred for being out in public.

A store clerk looks like she’s about to acknowledge Dazai, perceiving him even, and he makes a beeline for the back isles. If he walks with purpose, she will assume he doesn’t need help.

Dazai may need help though, because by some miracle he’s found the medical section, with every kind of dressings and ointment except for his. Only the sticky bandages seem to be sold at this drug store.

He searches through surrounding isles, and he’s starting to get a bit frustrated. An ugly feeling sparks in his chest and makes his stomach churn, his face is starting to feel hot and he wants to stomp his foot when something catches Dazai’s attention instead. It’s a colorful display of pastels out of the corner of his eye.

Dazai came here for a reason. He needs bandages. But he’s only been awake for a few hours and today is already so hard, so Dazai’s discipline and focus maybe isn’t the best right now.

There’s a display of baby blankets at the end of one of the isles. Dazai is frozen in place, staring at them. For a moment, it feels like the world stops, until his arm starts itching again.

That’s right. Bandages.

Dazai can feel his cheeks flushing as he stares at the blankies, a different uncomfortable warmth that makes him squirm in shame instead of wanting to throw a fit. He needs to keep looking for bandages, he’s not here to waste time, but he can’t turn his attention away.

He can’t stop himself, his body moves on its own as he takes a few steps towards the display. The blankets look soft. There’s all kinds of colors, but right in front of Dazai is a pastel pink.

Dazai does not have a favorite color. Sometimes if he’s given choices between objects, he goes for a blue, like Chuuya’s eyes. Or, since he really can’t be bothered, he chooses whichever item is closer.

Dazai has never really had the opportunity to choose a pastel pink, and now it’s also the closest one right in front of him. The color was… sweet. It made Dazai think of starfish, and strawberries, and other things that make him feel mushy inside.

Before he knows it, Dazai has spent who knows how long trembling in front of the blankets, like a starving animal looking at food in an obvious trap. Dazai can feel how hot his face is, and he knows he must be beet red. He needs to leave, Dazai has no business standing here in front of a blankie display, but his feet are glued into place.

Dazai isn’t sure what he should be more ashamed over, the fact that he’s wasted so much time fawning over a stupid object, or the fact that the object in question was a pink blanket.

It almost makes him want to throw up thinking about it. It looked like something Mori would get for Elise, a frivolous waste. Dazai was better than that, he didn’t need anything like blankets and toys.

Fishie didn’t count.

He doesn’t dare to reach out and touch the item. If he did, Dazai knew it would all be over. It’s tempting just to flip it over, and view the price, but he knows better.

How expensive could a piece of fabric even be? It’s not like Dazai doesn’t have the money. And blankets are a normal thing to own, not just for babies.

Chuuya owns blankets. Lots of them. Dazai has one blanket, and it’s pretty threadbare, so one could even argue that he was just getting some home necessities. That’s not a crime.

Dazai entertains this idea for half a second, but it’s quickly tossed aside. A small baby blanket isn’t going to make a difference on the cold windy nights. There’s no point.

Besides, this thing was so pathetic, and if Dazai wants to be seen as an adult, he needs to act like one. If Chuuya found out he bought a blankie, Dazai would never hear the end of it.

Of course, he could always keep it hidden under his mattress. The Slug would never know, and then Dazai would have something to cuddle at night in his container.

Dazai’s stomach flips, realizing where his thoughts had gone. Not okay. He quickly pinches himself, up near his inner elbow, for some kind of negative reinforcement. Punishment is the only way he learns.

Dazai doesn’t need something to cuddle at night, just like he doesn’t need to suck on his fingers, and he doesn’t need to regress.

Not to mention that if someone saw him, word would get back to the boss so fast. He could always say it was a gift for Elise, but then Dazai would have to give her his blankie. It’s an unfortunate series of events that makes him feel nauseous just thinking about it.

Dazai’s arms start itching again, and he doesn’t hesitate to scratch them. His joints have started to hurt again too, but he’s probably just tired from another restless night, and walking a few miles to the store didn’t help.

His nails rake up and down his arm, and then Dazai swaps hands after a moment. His cuts are starting to burn, and it makes Dazai want to itch them even more, but with every scratch it just gets worse and worse and worse.

He needs to stop. Something is gonna open up, and then Dazai is going to start bleeding. He’s going to have to deal with the eyes on him as he buys new bandages while actively spotting through his current ones.

If he gets blood on the blanket, he’ll have to buy it.

Dazai can’t entertain that string of thoughts for too long, because his phone suddenly goes off in his pocket. He answers quickly, in case it’s Mori, but the butterflies in his chest tell him it’s Chuuya.

I’m making a new pasta sauce recipe, if you want to try it.

Dazai has never been more thankful for Chuuya’s incredible timing (not even when Slug has shielded him from stray bullets). He’s invited over.

He doesn’t need an invitation, Dazai can do anything he wants, including showing up at Chuuya’s house unannounced. But the fact that he’s got a reminder that Chuuya doesn’t actually hate having him around temporarily makes him forget about his itchy skin and pressured sinuses.

This shopping trip has been a complete disaster, and Dazai hasn’t even figured out where his bandages of choice are kept in this stupid store. He couldn’t get past the stupid fucking blankets.

Without thinking about it, Dazai shoves his hands into his pocket, and marches out. Deep down, he feared that if he hadn’t left at that moment, Dazai would be walking to Chuuya’s house with a blanket tucked in his arms.

Instead, it’s better to pretend that Dazai’s trip to the drug store never happened. Chuuya has bandages he can steal, and Dazai does not need a blankie under any circumstances.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

When Dazai slips into the apartment, he can immediately tell Chuuya is in the kitchen. Chuuya isn’t quiet when he cooks, he bangs pots and pans around and laughs and swears. It’s easy to sneak up on Chibi standing by his stove, stirring something in a pot.

Dazai wants to tease, or make some kind of joke about if Chuuya could even see over the stove, but it dies on his tongue as he watches his partner cook for a few seconds. Chibi looks horribly domestic, stirring the pot and tapping his foot while humming a song Dazai doesn’t recognize.

It suddenly hits Dazai again that all of this is fleeting, and the joke dies on his tongue.

At this moment, Dazai doesn’t want to ruin this, like he’s ruined so many things before. He’s feeling weirdly clingy, and he knows indulging this is a mistake, but right now the attention Dazai is vying for isn’t negative. Most of the time, anything will do. Dazai will take scraps and crumbs of whatever Chibi will throw at him until he’s kicked out.

Today, Dazai doesn’t want to be kicked out. His box is cold, he’s out of bandages, and his skin hurts. Dazai just wants to sit on Chuuya’s couch and enjoy the warmth of a blanket that he doesn't have to have a crisis over.

Dazai just watches, until eventually Chuuya looks back over his shoulder.

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

I and @aquinnix co-wrote this fic, Zed And Scar’s Guide on How Not To Do Basic Science, for @hermitadaymay’s Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event!

My chapters, “Gravity, Velocity, and Basic Physics” and “Conductivity and Meteorology”, are below the cut!

Gravity, Velocity, and Basic Physics

Honestly, neither of the culprits, who also happened to be the victims, could remember how it began.

But where it started was certain. At a sheer cliff-face on a particularly tall mountain whose peak reached past the clouds.

Zed planted his hands on his hips, squinting past the blindingly white snow up to the flat landing some hundreds of blocks upwards. “All the way up there?”

Scar nodded, his face painted in a grin far too genuine to be real. “Yup! I mean, I’ve seen mountain goats make it up there, and sheep too, and some chickens, and the occasional horse, so why couldn’t you?”

“I mean, why not? It’s technically science! Because… gravity!”

“Yeah! Good luck!”

Zed almost immediately regretted his classification of the request as science. Most of the cliff was nearly vertical, with only the tiniest footholds for his hooves. And he wasn’t exactly used to walking on solid rock and slippery gravel and fresh snow, so the whole affair hurt like the dickens.

From somewhere down below, Scar called up what could be called encouragement. “You’re doing great! I can hardly see you, but I’m sure you’re doing great!”

“Thanks, I think? Oh, and how do you intend to get up here? I can’t be doing this all by myself! Science is cooperative, after all.”

A pause. He had not considered this whatsoever. “Uh. Well. I think I’ve got ender pearls in here somewhere…”

“Break your feet if you wanna.” Zed resumed climbing for a moment, but then he had an epiphany. “Wait. Don’t you have wings?”

“Wings. Wings? Oh, yeah, wings! I’m a half-vex, so I can fly! Right!” Manifesting the half-transparent, and honestly kinda pathetic flappers, Scar made for the cliff at a pitiable pace. “I’ll be right there!”

“Sure you will. See you at the top!”

Putting his all into not slipping off and falling and certainly dying, Zed made a mad scramble out of the rest of his climb. Externally, the whole affair looked rather desperate and haphazard. Internally, he was exclaiming ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow with every new hoof- and hand-hold.

But somehow, he made it.

Collapsing into a panting heap among the snow and grass, he only rose when a scream echoed from somewhere below. Popping his head over the edge, Zed saw Scar dangling from a single outcropping (that he had conveniently missed on his own ascent), beating his wings into a hurricane in an attempt to stay aloft.

“ZEEEEEEEEEEED HEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEE—”

“Oh, you’ll be fine! And I surely have something to drop you…” Rooting around his pockets, the scientist produced a few arms-lengths of useless sewing string, a bundle of spider eyes, and, finally, a good, sturdy chain about as long as a spruce can grow tall. “Grab on!”

Without looking over the edge, Zed dropped the chain, which had a soulfire lantern on one end, and a caldron on the other. Dropping the lantern down, he anchored the caldron with a swiftly collected bucket of powder snow before bothering to check on Scar. Evidently, from the noises alone, he was still terrified.

“Zed? Zed? Zed, you’re gonna bring me up, right? Right? Zed?”

“Of course! But this is another chance for science! There’s something called velocity I’m rather interested in. And you might be the perfect test subj— I mean, assistant for the job! Interested?”

“I mean, if it gets me up this cliff, yeah! Go ahead and do science!”

“Gladly!” Promptly downing a potion he found in his pockets, which was probably strength, he planted both hooves and grasped the chain. “Hold on tight, until you’re going so fast you can’t handle it!”

“Why would I be going fast wait wait wait this is fast this is reaAAAAAAAAA—” Quickly returning to screaming, Scar indeed hung onto the chain for dear life as Zed put his whole body, which wasn’t much but was still something, into swinging him around in the air. Not very far in the air, mind you, but he was still airborne.

The screaming continued for an almost concerningly long amount of time, before Scar finally let go and was launched into the near distance. A tiny streak of blue and noise, Zed watched him depart happily.

Until he hit a tree. Face-first.

“Ooooh. Let’s mark that as human error… Aww, I don’t have my notes. Where could they have gone?”

One place, obviously. The ground beneath the cliff. Peering over the edge again, Zed spotted the book, the quill, the bottles of ink, the ink still in the sacks, the backup quills, and everything he needed to record his science, at the base of the cliff.

“Oh. Well. I do need to get whatever Scar dropped.”

He began the desperate scramble but in reverse, twice as terrified thanks to the dying light of the setting sun. The chorus of ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow returned in his head, and every so often he’d halt and start fiddling with his comms box to calm his nerves.

One of those times, he managed to leave it open and floating as he began descending again.

Of course, Scar chose that moment to ping him.

goodtimewithscar: Zed?

Yelping in fear and surprise, Zed performed his usual reaction.

A small jump.

The last thing he remembered from that afternoon was seeing his notes a split second before everything went black.

-

At least he remembered to record his observations the next morning.

“Note to self, falling off a cliff results in the worst back pain this side of getting kicked by a horse.”

Conductivity and Meteorology

Thunder sounded for seemingly the millionth time that evening, cracking Zed’s ears open again. It was loud enough to shake his cabinets, sending the pots and pans rattling. That noise gave him an idea, an idea that began bouncing in his brain harder the more the rain drove into the ground and the closer and closer the lightning became.

Who would be awake at this hour? he thought, and more importantly, who would hear me out?

He wasn’t on speaking terms with Cub after what had gone down in the shopping district, and Impulse was almost certainly still after his head for that thing with the cats. Grian wanted his hide for that incident with the fish, Cleo had sent multiple letters over that display he destroyed, and Scar…

Oh, he would do perfectly.

-

“Why did you want me to bring all my cutlery?” Scar asked, as he placed several shulker boxes on the kitchen table, their metal contents clattering.

“I didn’t even know you had that much cutlery.” Zed clapped his hands together out of sheer excitement. “This is perfect! You got the string?”

He produced several spools from his pockets. “Yeah..?”

Zed took up his largest pot and one of the forks. “Start tying things together. We’re going to capture lightning in a bottle.”

There was no hesitation. “Okay! Uh, is the string going to be enough? Your pots are quite big.”

“Don’t phrase it like that. And yeah, maybe we need something more. Got any wax?”

“…No? Maybe? Actually, let me check.”

He commenced a great rummaging in his pockets, pulling out boxes and bundles, tearing through piles of wood and stone and what seemed to be concrete. Zed started getting nervous when he began tossing terracotta around his kitchen.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, mate? You’ve got an awful lot of construction material on hand.”

Scar looked up, not even stopping in his search through gravel and dirt. “Huh? No, this is just what I happened to have on hand. Raw iron, moss, wool, oh! Even a lighting rod! Dyes, wheat seeds—”

“Did you just say you have a lighting rod, Scar?” Zed’s hooves began to drum in excitement. “Three copper, arranged in a line? An honest-to-Void lightning rod?”

”Jeez, calm down. Yeah, it’s a lightning rod. Wait, do you want to use it? To catch the lighting?”

“Yeah! I don’t know how yet, but that’s the beauty of the scientific method. Try, try, try again, and if you fail, try yet again! After all, what’s death in the face of great discovery? Or great fun!”

-

Zed stood looking at his newest contraption with pride. A monstrous shape of pots and pans with forks sticking out like so many feathers, her head, a kettle, was crowned with a lightning rod horn. It was terribly unwieldy and amazingly magnificent. She was also very, very heavy, and they had no chance at moving her anywhere.

“So… got any minecarts?”

“Nope!”

“I guess she’s staying here, then. Here’s to hoping that Seraphina won’t burn down the forest!”

“Cheers, Serena!”

“It’s Seraphina, Scar. Now all we’ve got to do is wait.”

”For what?”

Of course, lighting chose to strike Seraphina right then, thunder clapping barely a moment later. The flare momentarily blinded both of them, and while Zed instinctively dove for cover, Scar summoned his wings and flew directly upwards. And, being possessed of something akin to sense, he was wearing a good, sturdy, metal belt buckle.

Zed only stuffed himself deeper into his front yard’s bushes when Scar screamed. It was by no means a new noise, nor an entirely surprising one, but its length indicated that he wasn’t quite dead yet.

And a thump indicated that he had returned to the ground. At speed.

Finding some half-intact goggles in a pocket, Zed carefully wiggled out of his bush to tend to the half-vex. Very singed, very burned, and having lost his shirt to the storm, Scar was groaning mostly out of pain, but also out of annoyance.

“Ugh. I hate respawning after fire stuff. And I can’t see! You there, Zed?”

“Yeah. And I’m fresh out of healing potions. You want me to make it quick, or do you want to stick it out?”

“Let me die naturally, please. Losing my head always gives me the most annoying neck pain. Is Sofia intact?”

“Seraphina. And yes, she’s fine. I can attach the bottle and we can get our captive lighting bolt in no time. Just stay put.”

-

Scar groaned again, this time out of boredom. “Zed, how long has it been?”

“Long enough. Are you sure you don’t want me to end it?”

“Yes, let me live for now. I think I can see the sun!”

“That’s the moon. And it’s still pouring.”

”Aww, my nerves must be shot. Wait, if it’s night, do we need to worry about mobs?”

“Probably not. Xisuma made me light this whole area to the Nether and back, after the enderman incident.”

Another arc of lighting struck some far-off lightning rod, giving Zed another reason to sigh. Seraphina wasn’t particularly tall, barely making it to the second floor of his house, and her rod was hardly the only one in the area. Most of his neighbors had the good sense to put one up.

“I am this close to going over there and stealing their lightning rods.”

Scar seemed to groan in response, deeper and longer. And again. And again…

Wait. That wasn’t Scar groaning. Scar was screaming again.

“Zed? Zed! Get over here! It’s zombies!”

”Of all the—“ Pulling out his sword, he ran to the only shadowed spot in his garden. Three zombies and a skeleton were shambling out of the darkness, and Scar was desperately scooting away, trying to nock an arrow on his bow.

“Get down!” With a swipe, he took one zombie across the chest, sending it stumbling back. “Put the Hot Guy away, too! You’re more likely to get me than any of these!”

“Aww, let me try! OUCH!” Before he could even loose an arrow, the skeleton sent one through his shoulder. “Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow—”

“This is too much for me. Sorry, Scar!” In one movement, Zed put his sword through the heart, and Scar turned into light. “I can’t let my assistant have a useless arm in addition to blindness. Now, would you four lay off? I’ve got science to do!”

-

Four destroyed mobs and an annoying arrow to the leg later, Zed had refitted Seraphina with a bottle on the… hoof? Foot? One of the sticky-outy bits that anchored her to the ground, and he was waiting for lightning to strike for the third time. Judging by his clock (which he thought worked, probably), he had two hours of night before the storm inevitably passed. Another boom sounded, in the far off mountains.

Void below, this was boring without Scar.

Zedaph: Is anyone else awake out there?

The radio silence stretched on for a little longer than necessary before someone answered.

docm77: I am

Oh. That is. Interesting.

Zedaph: Hi there, late night buddy! Or should I say early morning buddy?

docm77: What’s keeping you awake?

Zedaph: Science! Wanna see?

Radio silence, again. Typical. Turning back to Seraphina, Zed almost shut his comms box when a response finally popped up.

docm77: Not like I have anything better to do

-

Doc almost immediately regretted his decision.

“Why… no, what is the purpose of this?” He gestured at the giant pile of pots and pans and forks and buckets and scrap metal and old weapons and a single lightning rod. “I assume you want to conduct some electricity, but why?”

“I want to catch lightning in a bottle! And Seraphina here—“

“Of course you named it.”

“—is going to do it for me! Oh, and don’t look so glum, Doc. You don’t need to do anything but wait!”

“…fine.”

Settling down onto his hooves in a crouch, Doc couldn’t help but look around Zed’s front yard with concern. “Are you sure this place is mob proof? I can see a lot of shadows.”

“Don’t worry! X himself came over and certified it. I’ve got the paper somewhere in here.”

As he began rooting around in his pockets and Doc tried to count the number of forks on Seraphina, no-one heard the nigh silent footsteps of a creeper… well, creeping below the contraption.

And storm decided just then to send a bolt of lightning.

The creeper never saw it coming, but thankfully, Zed and Doc saw it easy enough. The surroundings were certainly dark enough for it.

“Hey Doc? Doc, why is the creeper glowing?”

“Don’t ask me, man! It’s your science!”

Zed began backing away very, very slowly. “I think it’s the creeper’s science now, mate.”

“You don’t say.”

“I mean, we kill it. Right? See what the lightning did to the insides?”

“No… No. This is your problem now.” Doc got up and pulled out a compass. “The nearest nether portal is a hundred and twenty blocks that way…”

Zed waved him a happy farewell. “Suit yourself! More science for me!”

In that time, the creeper had approached, creeping as best it could while glowing like a lantern. And then it did what creepers do.

-

Zed woke up the next morning in a lot of pain everywhere on the back of his body. It was a fascinating pain, like normal explosion remnants but somehow worse. He hurt especially badly on the back of the head and on his rear end, but it wasn’t anything debilitating. Yet.

Opening up his comms box, he found people conversing normally, Doc cursing his name for all to see, and Scar pinging him at least twice a minute.

goodtimewithscar: Zed

There was probably no use in replying.

goodtimewithscar: Zed

Probably.

goodtimewithscar: Zed

Okay, fine.

goodtimewithscar: Zed

Zedaph: Yes, Scar?

goodtimewithscar: Finally! Did you get the lightning?

Huh. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Scar wasn’t actually mad.

Zedaph: No

Zedaph: Creeper got the lightning, and creeper got me

goodtimewithscar: Oh

goodtimewtihscar: Did you do science?

He smiled. Maybe it was worth the pain.

Zedaph: Yes! Lots!

[doyalikejazzz]

I just am at a loss at the phrase "an individual’s immutable biological classification as either male or female".

I just can't grasp how anybody with a beating heart could maintain such a black and white outlook on life.

And, for the most part, I don't think anyone does. I think people can have a black and white outlook that they impose on others, but when it comes to their own lived experience the rules inevitably trend towards the grey mush that life actually is. A lot of people will impose rules and standards on others that they cannot uphold themselves.

I'm so sorry to anybody in the US whose sex or gender doesn't align with the "immutable biological classification(s)... male or female".

I'm sorry to anyone in the coming year who has to get an ID that states their government assigned 'immutable sex" and not their preferred gender marker.

I hope any trans and intersex people, 'LGB' people and allies who voted for Trump are taking a hard look at this and realising that what they voted for is going to cause a lot of harm to people they know and love.

I hope that there are enough legal protections in place to render this (and the other, terrible) executive orders toothless. I hope they are throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks, and that it all slides pathetically to the floor.

I'm glad I don't live in the US, even though many countries politics are wildly influenced by US politics. For anyone affected by the recent executive orders, or for anybody who is worried that they will be affected, I'm sorry. Please know that there are so many people both in the US, and throughout the world, who support you. Please stay safe, and if you need help, ask for it. We will be here; that is what a community is for.

[ellzilla]

Had a hell of a time trying to upload this lmao. Doodles to accompany a ramble about my silly horrorverse/metathesiophobia/worldbuilding ramble that's very large so it's under the cut. It's as much Ella lore as it is Elliot lore :3c there might be some grammatical errors but idc I've tried to upload this 7 times now and don't wanna reread it lol

"Most organizations classify them as extinct, caused by villages hunting them and a lethal mutation in the survivors saliva, there are theories there are a few hidden surviving members, their numbers being merely in the single digits. Lycanthropy is not a 'one size fits all' type of curse/disease/parasite, it's classification is still being debated today, and it adjusted both according to it's host and to it's surroundings when it developed.

Before the lethal mutation, an infected person's lycanthropy could vary extremely in the first few months as it got a grasp on what was a normal environment for the individual. All recorded cases fit the 'true' werewolf classification. For people who gained Lycanthropy through genetics, bloodline werewolves, a vast majority were only slight variations of the 'true' werewolf.

-

The 'true' werewolf was most rampant back in the medieval ages, up until the mid 1800's, as to the Lycanthropy it was the peak time one could live 'naturally' and also a lack of constant danger while also having a sense of community. Although they were still bloodthirsty monsters, they held themselves back from ravaging people their host knew and hunted only strangers, even avoiding children if the host's morals were strong enough. They only hunted what they needed for the night, a person or two at most. True werewolves had very mild control of their curse, only being able to transform on command in dangerous situations. These transformations were relatively quick, taking less than 20 seconds, but remained agonizing as let the host take control until they were able to calm down in a safe area.

Sometimes an extreme burst of negative emotion could make part of their body rapidly transform to physically deal with the source of the stress, but it would result in the skin tearing due to the speed of it. Lycanthropy will only rip itself apart when it senses an emergency, a knee-jerk reaction if you will, to something in front of it. The last recording of a 'true' werewolf was in 20██, █████, Australia, however she had been found dead in her home. The cause of death was blood loss, caused by a silver laced bullet wound. For details about this report, please send a request to Dr. A. Whitelock.

-

Socialite werewolves are an extremely modern and elusive mutation of Lycanthropy. They are the sole reason the theory lycanthropes could still be alive today holds any water. Unlike 'true' werewolves, who could be anyone, all Socialite werewolves have been people who have lived in lavish luxury for the important developmental years in a bloodline werewolf's life. They are physically the weakest recorded mutation. The main theory for this is that the Lycanthropy adapted to learn that social power among regular humans is far more valuable for survival than hunting them for sport and changed to make transformation less intensive and more 'suitable' for it's new survival strategy. They were able to transform in around ten seconds on average, one recorded process shows them morphing with little to no pain visible on their face. The host confirmed that the Socialite werewolf's transformation is far less painful by saying: "A muscle cramp is only a touch more painful." This has enabled the few recorded individuals to amass groups around themselves, as they all publicized their lycanthropy. Most simply saw them as role-players with good 'fur suits' due to the fact the host's hair style remains unchanged while turned.

The last recorded socialite werewolf was in 19██, a popular rock star who had unfortunately overdosed on theobromine, the news had covered it as a 'normal' drug overdose and were forced forge it as a cocaine OD.

-

Brute werewolves are a debated topic, as some think we should classify them as Werebears instead, but all recovered remains confirm that their bone structure was far closer to a wolf than a bear's.

They are also debated to be a separate anomaly all together as they were initially thought to be a prehistoric megafauna before the bones were carbon dated to be only a few hundred years old. The term 'werewolf' was only applied to these bones upon the recovery of a library curated by a 'true' werewolf back in 1874.

According to literature in the library that claims to be history, Brute werewolves were thought to be lycans who had gone mad or were born to an accursed mother. Additional notes glued to the book claimed that they were simply those in the bloodline who had been tormented for a prolonged period of time, through they admit the 'cursed mother' could be part of it. Brute werewolves were described to be barbaric, rabid beasts that would rip apart anything with a heartbeat in front of them, only being satisfied when it had gorged itself on fresh meat and then some. There are drawings of Brute werewolves fighting packs of 'true' werewolves and descriptions of Brute werewolves being the cause of many deaths.

Despite the descriptions diminishing them as low intelligence beasts, they were said to speak in wails, attracting anyone to try to help the supposed person in danger, unknowing that they were the person in danger themselves.

Their transformations were said to be horrific as bone popped skin that ripped off muscle, their size was far to large to properly form from a regular human body. It is described to be a 'painfully long' process, so we assume it took over a minute for them to fully transform.

There has never been a case of an alive Brute werewolf, let alone a fresh corpse. We believe that if they are truly a mutation of Lycanthropy, they were the fist subsect to go extinct due to their heightened aggression that would have made it impossible to survive within the past 200 years. We hope that is the case."

7- █ - 202█ - Author Dr. Abigail Whitelock. Sources - ██████ - ██████████ -██████

[aetherglade-reborn]

Despite the mass indoctrination that capitalism must prefigure into, there is still a wilderness inside that lies dormant within people. The mass domestication of society has caused an illusionary disconnect between people and nature when in reality, humans are a part of nature and all forces on the planet are intrinsically connected.

This domestication and captivity ultimately is a result of colonialism attempting to dehumanize and "civilize" indigenous populations.

Mass civilization and scientific reductionism attempt to quantify and police our very bodies and minds and reduce us to components within an technocratic kyriarchy, an intersectional techno-imperialist machine that always continues to consolidate power to the top. Reductionism is at the very core of atomization.

Rulers view anything not able to be dominated or exploited as something to fear, bodies not able to be quantified into binaries, cultures that defy monolithic configurations, even the whole biosphere itself defying to be reduced to a statistical model.

Hierarchical civilization defies the very nature of emergent system dynamics and fails to grasp the full picture of behavior and thought within. Hierarchies breed monoculture, attempting to destroy anything labeled foreign to that culture, land, or ideology.

Holism rejects the idea that systems can be reduced into its components in isolation, instead focusing on each component within the context of the whole system. An example of holism is when attempting to observe a quantum effect, the observer becomes a part of the quantum system, thus quantum systems cannot be reduced in isolation.

Mass society attempts to reduce systems complexity whereas distributed anarchic systems increase complexity due to the principles of emergence. This increase in complexity textures and emboldens the strength of the network as the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

An anarchic system must embrace diversity to its maximal degree, embracing beings of all species, identities, and backgrounds. Thus one could conclude that Anarchic systems are inherently against humanism and any forms of species, ethnic, or regional centrism. By extending the principles of solidarity and diversity to their maximal conclusions, anarchic structures are strengthened.

The dichotomy between individual/collective, nature/technology, space/earth and person/animal are all false dichotomies. What gets classified as what is an arbitrary line in the sand that constantly moves and fluctuates. Many things defy classification, yet still hold value outside of a quantifiable worldview.