#Particulate Material

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

"Dispersion"

In "Dispersion," particles spread under the influence of an unseen fluid. Like Roman de Giuli's work, filmmaker Susi Sie creates macro images that look like ice floes, deserts, and river deltas viewed from above. This similarity of patterns at both large and small scales is a specialty of fluid physics. Just as artists use it to mimic larger flows, scientists use it to study planet-scale problems in the lab. (Video and image credit: S. Sie et al.) Read the full article

[chalkythetalkie]

With it being the driest year on record here + all the forest fires + the heat wave, it's absolutely impossible to spend any time outside without suffering with all the smoke and low humidity

[evilvillain123456789]

Hey man, don't even worry about me and the newly formed membrane of skin covering my unnaturally huge, permanently open mouth that prevents me from speaking in anything other than muffled, vibratey grunts. It's not a bad deal at all- I recently found out that I can use it to filter various particulate matter from the air, and that it's all actually quite delicious, and nutricious. And, well, I'm always hungry nowadays, and those particles arent worth much .....So I'm just gonna sit myself down right here under the breezeway and never move from this spot in order to concerve calories. And maybe once I'm at a surplus I can use the growth of my body to anchor myself in, incase the wind picks up too much for me to handle. And maybe others like me will congregate here and as our flesh begins to touch, it won't seperate, and we'll gradually form a grand structure, one akin to coral, here in the remains of the city. And at the same time, other structures will form too, in other places, rising like skyscrapers dotting the horizon over the course of decades, centuries, thousands of years, eventually leaning in, touching eachother for the structural support and aerodynamicysm, melding, growing, reproducing. Until at last the air is completely free of all germs, pollutants, aeroplankton, all that good stuff, bringing on the long process of our colonies starving one by one, starting from the top where the air is thinnest, down to the bottom where our numbers are greatest, eventually rotting, the rest of us calcifying, leaving fresh materials for the newest batch of mobile life on earth, but by the time the luckiest of this new life gains sapience, the strong wind will have already eroded at our bones, spreading it all amongst the now rich soil, leaving not even a legend of what had happed before.

[mawofthemagnetar]

The door to Doc’s lab squeaked open, and Etho shuffled in lazily. The man himself was standing at a lab bench, fiddling with something- on the bench beside him, a machine the size of a filing cabinet was whirring away noisily. Etho paid it no mind.

“Got the last of ‘em for ya.” He said, holding up a jar of blue slime and giving it a shake, “The last artifake.”

“Perfect,” Doc rumbled, peering in at something through a microscope.

“So, uh, do we have an answer? About the Iskallium eye?”

“Hmm? Yeah, we do. That’s definitely Iskall’s eye. Same materials, same composition, same power supply- matches all the diagrams he gave me when asked. Only difference is, all the artifakes are beat to hell. I don’t know what could possibly have caused these dents, man. Does Tango-?”

“Tango is saying the same thing Tango said yesterday, which is, quote, “they came with the dungeon!��� Etho rolled his eyes, leaning up against a workbench that was cluttered with his hard-won artifakes, “So, ah, any luck? I’m risking my life in there for this, you know that, right?”

“You’ll respawn,” Doc muttered, holding a hand out and waggling his fingers. Etho dropped the jar of speedy slime into Doc’s metal palm with a clank, and Doc moved whatever he was examining off the microscope and set about preparing another slide.

“So,” Doc said, “There is a commonality, across all items.”

“Oh?” Etho echoed, hopping up on a bench and shoving a well-loved pickaxe out of the way, “And what’s that?”

“A dusty...residue...thing. Tastes and smells like spent gunpowder, like a rocket that’s just been fired,” Doc said, dropping a slipcover on top of the slide, “It’s fine, particulate residue.” Doc shrugged, and slid the sample of slime onto his microscope, peering in for a closer look.

“And it’s...EVERY artifake, you said?”

“And every artifact, I’ll bet. Keralis’ slippers were a goldmine- just choked with the stuff. Seriously. I put them into a bag and shook them and a ton of that dust came out.” Doc twiddled the focus knobs, and sighed.

“There's more of it. Man, and it's even, like, mixed into the slime! I’m gonna have to ask Jevin for a sample when he’s around next so I can compare.” Doc nodded, and Etho smiled behind his mask.

“Soooo... that’s it, then? The mystery of where the heck Tango got all these artifacts from is...magic dust, I guess?”

The machine dinged, like an egg timer, and printed something out on a long strip of paper. Doc extracted it, and started to read over his results.

And as his eyes scanned down the page, he went very, very still.

“Doc? What’s happening?”

“Etho. Composition of this dust...it’s rock.” Doc said slowly.

“...Rock dust? And?”

“Roughed edges. This rock has never seen water.”

“...Which means...?”

“This rock hasn’t been oxidized. Predominantly...reduced. No clay, no mica...which means...”

“Doc!” Etho sighed, “What are you trying to say, here?”

“Every single one of these artifakes is covered in moon dust.” Doc said flatly.

Etho swallowed.

“Wherever the dungeon is getting these artifacts-” Doc started, hands trembling.

“-Is someplace we didn’t get lucky last season.” Etho finished, "Ah. O...kay."

Both men stared at the jar of slime in silence.

“...Cool. Well, anyway, have fun with your crisis. I’ve got three more frozen shards left!” Etho said cheerfully, and he skipped out the door.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 05: Buried Alive

Simon Riley x gn! reader

A/N: Laptop finally fixed but now I'm sick!! Motivation at zero too but I hope y'all enjoy.

You woke gasping for air, coughing as your lungs filled with dust particulate. Taste was the first of your senses to return, an unpleasant mix of ash and plaster stuck to the linings of your mouth. 

Your head aches something fierce and though your vision is still slightly blurry you can still see the blood that covers your fingers from after you’d touched your hairline. The ringing in your ears is almost unbearable and it makes your head ache even more.

Your memories are even hazier than your vision and it takes more than a few minutes before you remember where you are. You remember Gaz’s voice, far more frantic than was typical of the usually cool man, as he’d yelled at you to get out of the building. 

You think you’d only made it about halfway down from the top before the bomb went off. In hindsight, it’s probably the reason you’re still alive and not completely buried under five floors' worth of building materials. 

Some might call it lucky that you hadn’t been outright crushed or even blown up in the initial blast. But as you lay there in pain unable to do anything but slowly die you can’t find it in yourself to agree. 

Though you’d probably die soon, whether from blood loss or lack of oxygen, there’s a sudden groan from the structure surrounding you and for a brief moment you think you might just get crushed after all. 

Tears slip from your eyes both from the pain and despair. You don’t want to die, not like this, cold and alone buried beneath tonnes of cement, but you know you will. 

The little movement you have in your neck is used to try and orient yourself to your surroundings, the darkness and dust greatly hindering your efforts. Any more attempts to move are instantly thwarted by a mix of sharp pain and weight bearing down on your body. Specifically your left leg, it’s too dark to see all that well but you can tell your leg is pinned by a slab of what used to be the wall. Or maybe the ceiling.

It was so painful that you quickly gave up, not wanting your last moments to be spent in that much pain. All in all, you were fucked. 

As you lay dying you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your lieutenant. You wondered how he’d react to your untimely death. As terrible and selfish as it was for you to even consider, you hoped he’d mourn at least a little. 

Simon Riley had wormed his way into your heart and you doubted he’d ever leave. You just wish you could have told him, told him that to you, he was the sun. 

There’s a slight crackle and through the ringing in your ears, you hear what you think is Price’s baritone echoing around the space. Somehow your radio has survived the blast, but as you try and pinpoint its location it quickly becomes clear you won’t be able to reach it to respond. 

You almost don’t even try, it’s not until you hear Simon yelling that an ounce of your energy returns. Maybe if you could just reach the radio… then you could tell him how you felt. 

Reaching out, you stretch your fingertips through the darkness, your muscles straining and shaking in protest. There’s a concerning creak and more dust and gravel sprinkles over you in another shower as your movements unsettle the collapsed pile surrounding you. 

Still, you refuse to stop and eventually, your fingertips clasp over their target and you pull it close, even as something in your pinned knee cracks and you let out a shriek of pain. Dragging the radio towards you shakily you manage to form two words before the pain catches up once more. 

“East stairwell.” Instantly there's chaos over the coms once more, hardly anything you can make out over Price barking orders and Soap’s colourful swearing. Black dots are splotching in your vision and your lungs work in overtime to collect air once more. 

The pain is blinding and you want so badly to just pass out and be free from it all but your traitorous body won’t let you. 

Above you, Simon is digging through the rubble furiously, blood roaring in his ears as he screams at his teammates to help him. His throat is raw and his fingers are bloody but he refuses to give up, continuing to speak through the comms, to let you know that he was coming for you. 

Simon has had a lot of shitty, earth-shattering moments in his life but as he sifts through cement and rubble in a desperate search for you he thinks this might be the worst. From the moment it had become clear you hadn’t made it out in time it was like the earth had been pulled from beneath his feet. 

His face is wet, and it’s not until Soap and Price collectively manhandle him away from the rubble that he realises he’s crying. He’s screaming at the both of them, words he can’t even hear and Soap’s right eye is already starting to blacken from where Simon had socked him. 

They’re trying to talk him down, getting him to sit and breathe but Simon doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body anymore. He can’t hear anything through the ringing and pounding, can’t see anything except the image his brain conjures of you lying dead or dying and so alone. 

He wonders if you’d called for him. You always did, even if nobody else realised. Whenever you were overwhelmed, stressed or in danger it was his name that came to you first, and he always answered. Always. 

He’s standing once more, trying to push past his captain and Soap who are still trying to corral him away from the site. He didn’t understand why they were preventing him from helping you. Simon would always come when you called, he needed you to know that he’d come to save you. He needed-

Gaz is shouting something and it takes the two men holding him back by enough surprise that Simon manages to muscle his way through. He doesn’t hear what Gaz said, but as he gets closer he realises it doesn’t matter because he can see you. 

Bruised, bloodied and covered in dust and ash but he can see you. 

He drops to his knees by your side, ignoring the sting of whatever sharp object he’d landed on and cups your face with shaky hands. Gloved fingers run delicately over your skin as he wipes away the grime. He’s begging you to open those pretty eyes, to let him see that you’re ok. 

You don’t hear or answer his pleas, and Simon remains rooted to the spot, desperately taking in every last inch of your face and committing it to memory, even as your blood stains his pants and gloves. 

[catboybiologist]

Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

:)

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

[grandturtleperson]

In the way Tolkein's Lord of the Rings is a 'profoundly Catholic work' not despite but because it itself contains no churches, temples, priests or religious rituals, so His Dark Materials is not an anti-religious text although it often, especially in its last volume, indulges in anti-clerical rants and atheist militancy. What makes the trilogy sing, what brings it alive, is its openness to the wondrous. It is, like many classic fantasy novels, fascinated with the relationship between transportive pre-modern religious subjectivities and 'buffered' modern bourgeois sensibilities; its case against the church - as sexually prudish, using concepts of sin to oppress and harm people, as prideful and overmighty - is not an attack on the transcendent wonder and magic of the pre-modern world in which the church was dominant, but on the contrary on the uses of domineering political power characteristic of buffered modernity. Suffusing throughout is 'Dust', the particulation of transcendence itself... That the universe is not the handiwork of a creator God does not mean that the universe is not wondrous. On the contrary, Pullman's cosmos is immanent with magic and wonder.

Adam Roberts, Fantasy: A Short History, Bloomsbury, 2025.

[ms-demeanor]

have yall ever gotten lead poisoning from all that

Nope. Large Bastard had to get a ton of blood tests, including a heavy metals test, before the transplant and there was nothing elevated - we asked about it specifically and everything was normal; I have lower lead exposure than he does so we haven't done a blood test for me.

The thing is that big chunks of lead is a much lower exposure risk than working with particulate lead, so it's a lot scarier to deal with stuff like lead paint than it is a pot with a gallon of hot liquid lead in it. The people who clean up the bullet blocking material at indoor shooting ranges are dealing with much nastier stuff than people who are loading bullets.

It's a good idea to wear gloves and minimize skin contact when you're working with any lead, and to wear respirators in certain conditions. You certainly shouldn't handle lead if you're not familiar with how to do so safely, and you should definitely be concerned about recalls associated with lead paint or lead contamination in makeup or food products.

A big chunk of lead sitting in your hand for a minute or two once in a while is unlikely to be a problem; lead powder in makeup that you put on your skin or in paint on plates or toys is a big, big problem.

[avatar-anna]

Classic Fall Fun

my mind is empty. i bought a halloween squishmallow and decorative pillows for fall. so i wrote a blurb about it. enjoy!

"Baby...What...?"

"I can explain!" you blurted, rushing over to your fiance.

"I hope you can," Harry murmured as he picked up a throw pillow from the couch. "I can hardly see the sofa under all these."

"There was a sale," you began. "I was only going to the craft store for puzzle glue because I finished my puzzle this morning and I wanted to hang it up, but then I saw the Fall and Halloween section and..."

"And you turned our living room into Halloweentown," Harry said.

"You remembered!" you said, trying to shift the subject off all the Fall decor that now lived in your home.

You really didn't mean to buy all the decorations—the throw pillows, the blanket with pumpkins and candy corns and warm toned leaves on it, the welcome mat that said, Hocus Pocus!, and all the little decorations that were perfectly arranged on the kitchen counter. You'd been proud of how perfect your home looked, how everything tied together so nicely. Now that Harry was here, though, you worried you'd overdone it. Or worse, he'd make you take it all back.

"Course I remember," Harry said. "You've only made me watch it every year since we've been together."

"I—I know it's a lot," you said, trying to hide a stuffed vampire holding a little pumpkin spiced latte behind you and out of his eyesight. "But you know I love decorating, I mean I did the whole house when we moved in—very tastefully, I might add—and I love the holidays an—and themes, and—You're laughing at me."

Harry shook his head, chuckling softly. He took your face in his hands and kissed your forehead. That was definitely not the reaction you were expecting. Some light teasing? Sure. Insisting you take at least some of it back? Probably. But you mentally crossed your fingers that you could keep it all. Right down to the mummy mugs and ghost candle holders.

"I've been waiting for this day, if I'm honest. I'm surprised it didn't come sooner. Starbucks changed their menu two weeks ago."

Blushing, you held Harry's hand as it rested on your cheek. "Do you hate it? If you hate it, I can scale it back."

"I love it," he said. "And I love you."

He led you to the couch where he took the same stuffed vampire you tried to hide and held it against his stomach. You took the blanket that rested on top of the couch and draped it over yourself and Harry, snuggling up close to his side. You kissed his cheek a couple times, stomach flipping when you felt his grin beneath your lips.

"No Halloween movies yet, because it's not October, but..."

"Way ahead of you," Harry said, reaching for the remote and firing up Netflix on the TV.

"I knew you liked the show as much as I do," you said with a grin.

"You realize it's actually quite hot out, right?" he said, but pulled you closer anyway as he made himself more comfortable.

You shushed him as the theme song played. You'd thought of that already, and the air conditioning was already pumping through the vents to make it the perfect temperature for hiding under the fluffy blanket. And drink warm drinks. And cuddle in bed with the twinkly lights you put up earlier while listening to music.

"I know it's silly. I know it's...a little over the top, but—"

"Hey, I think it's cute how excited you get over the holidays," he said. "And, just because I know how much you love Autumn, so I got you something."

"Autumn," you repeated, imitating his accent. "What did you get?"

"An appropriately themed seasonal puzzle that we can complete together."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "You bought us a puzzle?"

Harry kissed you repeatedly, his fingers holding your chin lovingly. "I happen to like this season too, you know. Not as much as you, but I do. And puzzles. And you. Easy math."

You sighed and rested against his chest, kissing him over the soft material of his shirt a few times. Harry said it was fine, but you could admit that your love for this particular season was a little intense. But you loved putting a room together, making it feel warm and inviting and festive. And each item you put in your cart was part of a vision you had, and once you had said vision, you had to make it come to life. It was how you ended up putting all the rooms together in the house when you and Harry moved in. He had input of course, but he knew you had a knack for decorating and trusted your judgement.

And you couldn't help but think of the future too. Yours and Harry's. You wanted to do this for your kids, to raise them in a home that was cheery and fun. It was something neither you nor Harry had yourselves growing up, so you wanted something new. New traditions that you could start together.

You couldn't wait to share a lifetime of feeling cozy and cuddling festive pillows with Harry. You couldn't wait to watch movies and do puzzles and make pumpkin flavored baked goods with him for the rest of your life, or sew costumes for your kids because what they wanted couldn't be found at the party store. You wanted all of it, and you wanted it with him.

"I really do love this show, you know. I'd never heard of it, and now I can quote it," Harry mumbled. His eyes were trained on the show playing in front of him while his fingers traced patterns on your arm idly. Then, he looked down at you and smiled. "Our first real tradition, don't you think?"

Your heart squeezed with delight. You knew Harry loved you, that was never a doubt in your mind. But hearing him say that, knowing that he had lofty visions of the future too, made you hold him just a little bit tighter.

[beautifulmars]

Dunes in Northern Summer

This dune field formed near the base of the North Polar cap. Dunes require a source of loose particulate material to form. The source of the northern dune fields around the polar cap may be from the layers of dusty ice that are eroded by strong polar winds. 

This image was taken during the Martian northern summer, so there is no frost present on the dunes. The dunes closest to the base of the polar cap are long and parallel, indicating strong winds from the direction of the cap. As they get farther away from the polar cap, they start to form more crescent shaped dunes, called barchan dunes.

Repeated observations by HiRISE of dunes like these show measurable changes in some locations. This discovery adds to the growing evidence that there are active processes happening all over the surface of Mars today. 

ID: PSP_009840_2745 date: 1 September 2008  altitude: 318 km

NASA/JPL-Caltech/University of Arizona

[kalopsicanna]

seasons

the four seasons of Iori Utahime, through the eyes of Gojo Satoru

(art is def not mine)

Gojo Satoru first saw her in the spring. how could he have not?

she was stunning.

her luscious black hair was carefully put in two pigtails held by ribbons. her miko outfit, though strange to him then, was clean and free of any wrinkles. the tiny pout she had as she talked to one of his classmates, Shoko, was what really did it for him.

he knew then.

he wanted to go up there where they were. he wanted to coolly flirt with her like he normally did with the other girls. he wanted to make her laugh, maybe ask her out too in the same breath. but all it had taken was a locked gaze with her big brown eyes for just a split second and he had frozen up.

his tongue was heavy and his breaths were short. his brain short-circuited and he couldn’t even form words, let alone sentences.

still, she smiled so kindly at him and the warm feeling in his chest exploded.

“your cursed energy is barely there. you grade two?” he found himself saying, almost instantly putting his foot in his mouth. of course, he had panicked and resorted to a stupid taunt.

her soft, pink lips, the same ones he had likened to a delicious fluff of cotton candy in his head, twisted up in an ugly shape.

she was angry yet her voice was calm as she spoke to him.

“you shouldn’t talk to your senior that way”

he was in trouble.

he liked her face, all red and flushed, as upset as she was. he liked it a whole lot more than he was aware he ought to.

“senior? not when you’re this tiny”

he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him when she started scolding him about manners with Shoko trying to calm her down and Suguru, who had materialized beside him, doing absolutely nothing to help.

though she was yelling her heart out, he knew, somehow, that she would be in his life for a long time.

maybe even forever.

he truly felt spring then.

the weather was warmer. the trees were greener. the air was cleaner. everything felt alive. vibrant. the sun’s warm rays felt unbelievably fantastic on his skin and the birds above chirped away merrily.

he never acknowledged any of these things before. he thought them to be trivial. unimportant.

but as the cherry blossoms on the trees all around them bloomed, so did something else in his heart, something so small yet so deeply seated.

a liking for the older girl before him.

the summer was about to end.

school would begin soon. he hated it. he hated just how short the break was. hated that he would have to get back to killing curses soon.

but there was one thing he didn't completely hate.

“the fireworks will begin soon” Geto coolly said, holding up his lighter for Shoko to use on her unlit cigarette.

“i’ll go find Utahime” he volunteered, though no one asked of her.

she wandered off with nanami a while ago but he wanted more than anything to watch it with her.

there were all sorts of people at the summer festival they had gone too. a lot of couples too.

he didn't walk for long before he found her.

she was alone.

“takoyaki?” he offered, extending the plate of fried batter to her.

he knew she liked it. it was all she could talk about when Shoko had asked her to tag along with them. that and the fireworks show happening at the peak of the festival.

that was why he wanted to watch it with her.

more specifically, he wanted to watch her. wanted to share something she found so special with her. even if she had no idea of his plans.

she eyed him suspiciously, presumably confused as to why he was being so nice to her when he usually taunted her until she turned as red as a cherry.

“take it while i’m still feeling kind” he added, so as not to give himself away.

she just rolled her eyes but took one anyway.

“why’re you alone? nanami had enough of you?”

“no!” she vehemently denied, not caring about her full mouth.

her denial let him know that he was somewhat right. nanami was too polite to ever say something like that but with haibara’s death weighing down on him in particular, it wouldn't be too far off to say that he didn't want to be around people.

it was a wonder how shoko even convinced him to show up in the first place.

“right” he deadpanned, a hint of a tease in his tone and she huffed, taking another ball of takoyaki.

“oh, it’s time!” a girl beside him squealed and that got his attention.

he looked up and indeed the fireworks show had started, with a few being set off already.

he neither had the time nor the opportunity to process what was happening before Utahime grabbed his hand.

she held it. more specifically, his wrist.

she took off running and he had no choice but to follow.

“w-where are we going?” he managed to get out, despite his brain quickly turning into mush from the sudden skinship.

he was panicked.

he didn't want her to realize what had happened. how he had no infinity up around her like he did everyone else (save for Geto and Shoko). how he was burning red at just the touch of her hand. how he was quickly losing awareness of his surroundings just because she held him.

he was hyper-aware of her palm enclosed around his wrist. he could feel it all. every ridge, every bump. it was hot. like she was burning her print on him.

he couldn't say it would be unpleasant if she did.

much too soon, she stopped at a clearing of some sort, a ways from the crowd of people, and let him go.

“there's a better view here,” she told him with a kind of smile that made his heart go into overdrive.

surely, she couldn't have been smiling at him.

“huh?” he blurted out but before she could even begin to answer him, another firework exploded into brilliant colors in the dark sky, taking her attention.

he watched her throughout the show, carefully taking in every single fraction of every reaction she gave to it.

her yukata, baby pink and blue, was a wonderful contrast to her fair skin. her hair, though still left in her signature ponytails, somehow made her look far younger than she actually was now. maybe it was the childlike beam on her face, so bright and dazzling that it rivaled the flashing lights.

he took a secret joy in being the person to see her like this.

not Nanami. not Geto and certainly not Shoko.

just him.

he only moved his gaze once there was nothing but darkness around them.

“you are such a kid, Utahime,” he told her, grateful she couldn't see his own growing smile in the dark of night.

no, he couldn't possibly hate this.

the fall came with a sad rush.

Geto had defected.

he’d been slowly suffering silently and had just finally snapped and massacred an entire village of nonsorcerers.

Gojo Satoru had been none the wiser.

he didn't know what hurt more. that he had been so oblivious to his best friend’s agony. or that his only friend couldn’t even confide in him until the very end.

just thinking about it made his chest throb painfully.

exhausted, he placed his arm lazily over his eyes, shielding them from the sun.

he'd only been in that position for a little over five minutes when he felt something cold be pressed against his cheek.

“got some time?” Utahime, the guilty party, asked, an eyebrow raised.

she‘d brought an extra can of cola alongside her beer and she held it out to him, which he accepted.

she had a small smile on her face but there was no hint of amusement in her features.

“sure” he mumbled and she took a seat beside him under the shade of the tree that was quickly browning in the autumn season.

they sat in a natural silence.

she peacefully sipped on her drink, eyes following the falling leaves in a sort of childlike amazement. he, on the other hand, held onto the can, though its coldness was biting and his fingers would go numb soon.

maybe he would feel something other than the hurt in his heart.

“how are you doing…really?” she started, carefully, like she was thinking about her every word.

he didn't answer. he couldn't. what could he possibly say? that he was anguished?

even the thought of it almost made him laugh.

Geto Suguru, his friend Suguru, had completely caught him by surprise and gone rogue. that's all there was to it. all he was feeling towards it was immaterial at the moment. he knew that very soon, he would get the call and he would have to hunt down the one person he once considered a brother.

the one he still considered a brother.

“yeah, it was a stupid question,” she thought out loud and laughed a bit.

she was a bit different, he noticed, now that she wasn't a student anymore.

her hair was out of the pigtails and now in a half-up half-down style with a bow to finish it off. her eyes didn’t glow like they used to back when he had first met her. the only thing that didn’t change was her miko outfit and that too didn’t look quite the same.

she looked almost…sad.

he wanted to ask if she was okay. wanted to ask how she had been doing. wanted to ask how teaching in the same school she had attended was. but he just couldn’t get the words out.

“we’ve really never been friends, you know…?” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

a gust of wind blew and shook up the tree so some more leaves fell out of it. a few landed on his white hair and she gingerly picked them out while she continued talking.

“but i’m here. right here” she paused to take a breath. “if ever you want to talk”

she placed her hand on top of his for just a fraction of a second before retracting it.

“anytime” she added and he finally met her eyes.

his sunglasses were nowhere to be found and she was able to see how redrimmed his six eyes were. able to see how actually bothered he had been about the whole ordeal.

she feared he would be next. feared he would snap next. that they would lose him too.

he knew it took a lot for her to offer him such comfort. she didn’t exactly hide her distaste for him. no, he wouldn’t take her up on her offer. but hearing those words from someone he trusted as much as her, it made him feel just the tiniest bit better.

“please”

or maybe he would.

the winter was biting.

his lips were numb and he knew that if it wasn't for the cherry lip balm in the pocket of his coat, they would be chapped too.

Gojo Satoru shook off the snow that had piled on his shoes and stuffed his hands into his pockets too. he was sure that if he stood outside for an extra minute or two, he would be well on his way to being the first-ever human popsicle.

“i’m here!” a feminine voice called and he whipped his head around so fast that he almost got whiplash.

Utahime, swaddled in a large coat, a thick scarf, and even mittens, pranced down the street to the white-haired man with a scowl on his face.

“did you wait long?” she asked him once she was close enough.

“yes. i’m all frozen” he sulked like a kid, dramatically sighing.

“sorry. my mom wouldn't let me go”

she hooked her arm with his, giving him the most apologetic smile she could muster.

“warm me up with a kiss?”

she flushed a bright red, eyes darting all around them to see if anybody had heard them.

“we’re outside” she pointed out and he laughed like she'd said the funniest thing ever.

“no one cares, Hime”

with that, he leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her lips, further flustering her.

“hey!”

her scolding only made him laugh even more.

they continued on the way to Shoko’s apartment where they were supposed to meet up with the others without any other incidents, just catching up on all that had been going on in their lives.

it was only when they got there that he turned to give her the most mischievous smile.

“what is it now?” she asked him, exasperated with all his antics.

he only pointed upwards and mouthed,

“mistletoe”

Nanami, Shoko and Ijichi had been busy decorating the tiny apartment with seasonal props when they heard a very loud

“Satoru!”

[seat-safety-switch]

Nowadays, we have access to more manufacturing capability than ever before. Weirdos working in their basements can quickly order professional-looking products. A single drunken whim can activate a factory half a world away, to pump out something that would have been impossible for even the hardest-working hobbyist even twenty years ago. Sometimes you can do it at home.

Obviously, this is great. All your strange little joke projects can be near-instantly materialized into reality. You can add to the world's surplus of shit that nobody needs for mere pennies. Total nirvana, right? Wrong: the next thing you want is more capability. It's incredible what you can already do, sure, sure, but now I want to be able to laser cut aerospace-grade titanium in my living room.

This sort of tension between can-do spirit and can't-do reality is what has gotten us this far, however. Even now, there are sleep-deprived hobbyists working hard on making sure that I can fill my entire house with noxious gases and fine mineral particulate. They want to help me construct a toaster entirely out of an alloy that we once had to trick the Soviet Union into letting us buy to turn into stealth bombers.

This is what real progress is, not that false thing that happens outside my house, at the place called "work." Here, no manager is going to stand over me and tell me that an inert nitrogen-purged atmosphere is probably not the same thing as a shag carpet for the purposes of welding. Thank you, hard-working weirdos.

[darkmaga-returns]

“However, this low‐altitude strategy requires three times more injection than high‐altitude SAI, and so would strongly increase side‐effects such as acid rain,” the study’s authors warn​.

Rather than developing new, specially-designed aircraft to reach the ideal 65,000 feet altitude, researchers from University College London and Yale now propose dumping sulfur at just 42,000 feet—within the existing capabilities of modified 777s​.

The ironic catch?

At lower altitudes, sulfur particles would rain out of the sky much faster—meaning a massive increase in the amount of pollutant dumped into the atmosphere.

Instead of solving anything, their plan could flood the atmosphere with even more toxic material, accelerating the very environmental destruction they claim to be fighting.

The study projects injecting 12 million metric tons of sulfur dioxide per year​—comparable to the volume released by the Mount Pinatubo eruption in 1991, which famously cooled the planet temporarily but also triggered severe acid rain​.

In fact, the researchers admit outright that this new strategy would mean “a proportionate increase in the side-effects of SAI per unit cooling, such as human exposure to descending particulate matter.”

The new proposal to retrofit Boeing 777s to spray sulfur mirrors the large-scale atmospheric modification that anti-geoengineering expert Jim Lee shows is already being carried out daily through commercial aviation’s sulfur-doped emissions.​

A Blueprint for Accelerated Environmental Collapse?

Billed as a “shortcut” because it could use existing jets instead of waiting a decade for new aircraft, the UCL-Yale plan effectively opens the floodgates for rapid, poorly regulated deployment.

[bestanimal]

Round 2.5 - Cnidaria - Octocorallia

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our first Cnidarians are the anthozoan class Octocorallia. It comprises three orders: Alcyonacea, Helioporacea, and Pennatulacea, containing marine animals with the common names “blue coral”, “soft corals”, “sea pens”, “sea fans”, and “sea whips.”

Like other corals, octocorals are colonial organisms, with numerous tiny polyps embedded in a soft matrix that forms a visible structure. The matrix is composed of mesogleal tissue, lined by a continuous epidermis and perforated by numerous tiny channels. The channels interconnect the gastrovascular cavities of the polyps, allowing water and nutrients to flow freely between all the members of the colony. The skeletal material, called coenenchyme, is composed of living tissue secreted by numerous wandering amoebocytes. Although it is generally soft, in many species it is reinforced with calcareous or horny material. Octocorals resemble the stony corals in general appearance and in the size of their polyps, but lack the distinctive stony skeleton. Each polyp has only eight tentacles, each of which is feather-like in shape, with numerous side-branches, or pinnules. The polyp is largely embedded within the colonial skeleton, with only the uppermost surface, including the tentacles and mouth, projecting about the surface. The mouth is slit-like, with a single ciliated groove, or siphonoglyph, at one side to help control water flow. They are filter-feeders, with individual polyps catching plankton and other particulate matter using their tentacles.

Octocorals reproduce by coordinating a release of sperm and eggs into the water column; this may occur seasonally or throughout the year. Fertilized eggs develop into larvae called planulae which drift freely as plankton before settling on the substrate and developing into the more sessile corals, cloning themselves over and over to become a colony of polyps.

Octocorals have existed since at least the Ordovician Period. The Cambrian Pywackia has been interpreted as an octocoral in the past, though this is disputed.

(source)

Propaganda under the cut:

Bioluminescence is found in 32 octocoral genera, a trait estimated to have evolved 540 million years ago and evident in fossils, the earliest emergence of bioluminescence in a marine environment!

Blue Coral (Heliopora coerulea) is the only octocoral known to produce a massive skeleton. The skeleton is formed of aragonite, with individual polyps living in tubes within the skeleton.

Some octocorals contain algae, or zooxanthellae. This symbiotic relationship assists in giving the coral nutrition by photosynthesis.

Many animals depend on octocorals for shelter. Pygmy Seahorses not only make certain species of gorgonians their home, but also closely resemble their hosts, making them well camouflaged. Two species of pygmy seahorse, Hippocampus bargibanti and Hippocampus denise, are obligate residents on gorgonians. H. bargibanti is limited to two species in the single genus Muricella.

[earthstellar]

Currently combing through the Transformers Exodus novel, as I often do.

Some notes, by which I mean, this is going to be long:

Using an Abandoned Hydraulic Mining Facility as a Battle Arena: This Sort Of Happened in Real Life -- Know Your Labour History

The building in Kaon that is used by Megatron for gladiatorial battle is an abandoned hydraulics works, and on the page prior to this it refers to extremely deep slag pits, which indicates this hydraulics facility was almost certainly used for mining. The location is given specifically as "to the south of Kaon's centre".

This makes me wonder if the now-abandoned Orgreave Coking Plant may have been some inspiration to someone somewhere in building the backstory; A coking plant uses massive amounts of hydraulic machinery and components, and the location of this specific facility is to the south of the centre of Rotherham.

Plenty of Brits work on Transformers, and I wonder if any English people who may have been on the team for developing the Aligned Continuity bible/character backstories might have thought of Orgreave as some kind of inspiration.

It's worth noting Orgreave Coking Plant was famously the site of a huge labour dispute which turned into a borderline Battle of Harlan situation, called the Battle of Orgreave in 1984.

Which makes it excellent potential inspiration, both visually and in terms of historical significance in union/labour and working class struggle against the oppressive upper class- A significant theme in Transformers.

Nearby, there is also the abandoned Orgreave Colliery, and while all abandoned collieries would fit the mechanical and dark, heavy design of Kaon, Tarn (the location, not the bot) and so on, it's still worth pointing out that Orgreave has plenty of industrial ghosts (abandoned industrial facilities).

That having been said, hydraulic mining works could also refer to actual hydraulic mining methods rather than just any hydraulic machinery present, which would also explain the large pits that Orion Pax sees at the site in Kaon, and would add another level of horror: Using fluids to carry out this type of mining would be a huge hazard to bots. I'd imagine rusting was a common problem, not to mention gradual armour/frame wear, increased fall/slip hazards for most frame types, etc.

CONTENT WARNING: Here's where some medical conjecture begins, you might want to skip this section if you're sensitive to medical discussions! There is no detailed comparison to any particular real world cases in this segment, however there is brief mention of ableism in a fictional context.

This would also account for the description of optics and audials needing more frequent repair even prior to suffering any gladiatorial damage--

--In some frame types, these components/sensory systems may be more exposed to the environmental pollution as mentioned in the text, but also, would be sensitive to abrasive damage from spray back/high pressure soil/stone/crystal like particulate materials present in Cybertron's surface and sub-surface layers acting essentially as sand paper against their bodies as they worked in any such hydraulic mining sites.

This is the type of shit Kaonite workers in these mining facilities were likely exposed to on a regular basis, because they are Cybertronians and could physically tolerate this kind of thing without dying-- At least, not right away.

A combination of repeated extreme wear, chronic overwork, likely poor medical resources, and complicating factors like questionable access to healthy fuels etc. would have inevitably resulted in a generally very unwell population with high workplace casualty rates.

This was the type of life most low class/caste heavy labour designated frame types were assigned to, under the Functionist system.

I've talked about my headcanons re: hearing disabled Megatron before, and it's kind of interesting to see that canonically here, that's very much possible. Audial damage from mining, audial damage from the fighter's ring.

But in general, the Kaonite population is seriously at risk, especially medically. Same deal with other low class/caste designated regions across Cybertron. Much like many Appalachian mining populations, where COPD is as common as flies in summer, the chronically poor health of this population would be staggering in comparison to better-off polities like Iacon.

Rust in their optics, rotting their optical components from within, likely leaving many workers sightless--

--At which point they were probably deemed "useless" under the ableist Functionist system, as they would then likely be unable to work their prior jobs or would only be able to work in limited or different capacities; Any system that determines worth by perceived functionality is inherently ableist, and Primus knows there were almost certainly no disability accommodations provided or available potential repairs/treatments in places like Kaon on Cybertron.

As a result, these newly disabled bots were likely left unemployed and therefore without any income source for Shanix, therefore left to their deaths via fuel deprivation etc.--

--Unless they fell in with mob-controlled sources of materials or aid, as a last resort...

Apparently Megatron Displaced The Local Kaonite Mafia: Pit Bosses Could Be Mob Bosses Too

This is also a real thing, as a lot of productive industrial facilities (not just mining, but textiles etc.) were often tied into in local black market raw material goods and organised crime shit, owing to less than moral site owners and company bosses. (At least in the USA, it may have varied in other countries or from region to region.)

This is because if you have a productive facility, you can make a fuckload of money bypassing any common sense safety rules or proper waste/product handling or disposal protocols etc. and skip the whole regulated market and just go right to making a fuckzillion moneys from whoever will buy this shit illegally.

(This is part of why a lot of Appalachia is polluted to hell and back-- Even at the time, a lot of these industrial works and companies knew perfectly well that dumping coal ash and other horrible shit into every single river and creek available was a bad idea. They did it anyway. Why? It saved money overall and they didn't have to pay for more long distance drivers to reach actual approved waste sites etc.

For those of you who may not be familiar with this USA specific shit, let me introduce you to the concept of a Superfund Site. It's depressing. Most are former industrial illegal waste dumping sites. These places are so fucked up that even the American Government was forced to acknowledge how bad it is. Some of them are straight up literal nuclear waste sites.)

This has been a huge problem in American industrial history, because America can turn out some very, very productive sites using very, very unsafe and cruel means to force workers to work. Paying in scrip etc. were all methods to ensure a workforce could not leave. And so on.

Not to mention the horrendous impact on Native populations, the poor in general, immigrants in general, etc. who were all subject to the worst possible treatment throughout.

And there are many modern examples too-- Not just in the USA, but in many places around the world, such as Peru. Note that capitalism is often the facilitator of mistreatment, pollution, etc. and serves as the motivating factor for much of this fuckery worldwide. This also includes factors like western companies wanting to appear more "green", so they simply go abroad to abuse people in other nations and exploit their labour and raw labour products instead.

Capitalism is the root problem, on Earth and evidently, likely on Cybertron as well.

Can you imagine the amount of Shanix these fucking Kaonite mob bosses were making, possibly from selling raw materials and energon crystals mined in Kaon to other polities with fewer natural resources, arranging illicit under the table deals with large energy distributors etc. in other regions? Depriving Kaon of its own natural goods and stealing the near-entirety of their labour, constantly, endlessly?

(If this all reminds you a bit of Marx's Theory of Alienation, you are correct.)

Much of Kaon is, essentially, a Superfund Site. Dangerous industrial waste, materials, and abandoned facilities, all affecting the population in all sorts of ways into perpetuity even long after one industry dies and another rises-- Or a new industry never comes along, and you end up with even worse off sections of an already brutally deprived area, living in the remnants of an equally hellish past that was just marginally better enough to make some bots yearn for the good old days of having a job to be worked to death at.

If this is relatable or frustrating to you, you are correct. These are all real world problems. It's easy to relate to the plight of the Kaonites-- Megatron, at this time, is still largely a sympathetic figure to many.

Because of course, even from the outside, it is clear that this degree of suffering cannot be sustained. Even Orion Pax recognises this, despite his own total lack of exposure and lack of class awareness at the time in which he initially starts speaking with Megatron.

Anyway. Briefly back to our real world example, because it's important here:

All of this capitalist corruption is another example of systemic level rot; A lot of the time regulators knew that facilities were engaging in illegal dumping and worker rights abuses etc. but couldn't do anything about it due to a lack of federal involvement and lack of means or resources to raise a larger case or investigation on the scale that would be needed.

And of course, some regulators and investigators were paid off. Sigh.

It's genuinely impressive that Megatron was able to run off an industrial crime syndicate, because that shit goes very deep and has lots of tendrils that tie into pretty much everything else going on in a given area, especially in towns or regions where only one or two industries make up the entirety of everything.

It doesn't surprise me at all that Megatron gained such a large following so quickly.

Nobody else in Cybertron was willing or able to acknowledge (let alone try to address) the horrible abuses going on in Kaon.

Endless, brutal labour, often resulting in horrible deaths. No reward for any of their work, with much of their meagre pay going to the mob and likely to companies based in other polities around Cybertron, so none of the materials or money ever stayed local. No care was put into their living conditions or standard of living, with most bots being used up and worn down with nothing to show for it but the industrial hell that consumed their own region.

And by getting the organised crime rings out of the local industries and community, by turning this abandoned facility into a gladiatorial ring, that provided both a more personally rewarding use of their physical skills developed through hard manual labour and gives an opportunity to gain legitimate funds and potentially fame-- Granting a social status previously completely unattainable to Kaonites, while clearly being built up on the legacy of all of their prior labour.

No wonder the appeal to follow Megatron was so strong, even in the early days.

Not even Primus helped these people, none of the Primes helped these people--- But Megatron did.

And that is powerful, to be liberated by one of your own, someone you know truly understands the difficulty and suffering and misery of a cruel, unending grind.

All that most of these bots could ever look forward to previously was dying in a hopefully not-as-painful way.

Now, there is potential for a genuinely tangibly better future, quite possibly for the first time in Kaon's history. Certainly for the first time within living memory.

Megatron turned an immiserated local population with no hope and no prospects beyond being worked to death into up-and-coming athletic stars with a burgeoning sports industry, using their local culture and previously disparaged frame types to prove the inherent wrongness of the class/caste system to a literal mass audience.

Megatron essentially took waste from the Cybertronian equivalent of colliery spoil tips and used it to forcibly create some kind of real hope and better future for every Kaonite, both individually and gradually on a larger regional scale, while living under an oppressive system that was just as likely to kill him in the same way as it had been killing everyone else around him his entire existence.

Megatron turned an industrial hell into a revolutionary city-state.

And he started local, he started with the injustices closest to him, what was visible rot to him in the environment he grew up in. Start small, strategize, your morals are your fuel-- In part because they keep stealing the fuel we mine. Does that seem fair? Does that seem just? What sense does it make, to have a system in which your most important workers are kept deprived and struggling into perpetuity?

He is the perfect Cybertronian revolutionary, he is the figurehead the people of Kaon needed, and his words were heard planet-wide from an arena he facilitated the building of himself, that he reclaimed from decay and loss.

From the bare frame structure of an abandoned mining pit, Megatron spoke words that inspired the downtrodden and lifted up countless impoverished populations through solidarity, the collective power of the working class, the low caste bots, the low class frame types.

The people that were previously discarded, were now using their means and their frames for their own purposes, gradually weakening the grip of the Council, gradually proving to more and more bots that this system is broken and this world can be better and we deserve better, and by any means, we will obtain better. We will make it better, with or without your permission.

No wonder Megatron became so powerful, so quickly.

He appealed perfectly to his people and others in similar living conditions, he articulated perfectly the flaws in oppressive Cybertronian society, he showed that different frame types can and do have multiple uses beyond the classist interpretation of their build schematics--

--All Megatron did, fundamentally, was care.

He cared about what was happening around him, he did not buy into the idea that life has to be miserable and this is the way things are and it can never change or get better, he saw and lived the awful conditions and suffered discrimination and understood that working together for each other would improve things for all.

And he acted on this understanding. There is always someone who is first to act, because there must be.

And Megatron does not act in half-measures.

I like that they mention him getting rid of the crime syndicates, here; It gives you a good idea of his morality pre-war.

It would have been easy to collaborate with these crime syndicates for some time, to secure funds for a new gladiatorial ring.

But instead, he took out the crime syndicates entirely and opted to build his arena inside an abandoned facility.

No capitulation to capital.

No money was exchanged, not a single Shanix, no deals made. No fucking around. This is Kaon, and you are no longer powerful here.

Megatron is increasingly powerful, however, because he embodied to the people the collective power of the people; He reflected themselves and their experiences back at them. But actions like this also played a large part in gaining that trust, in proving his skills and worth as a revolutionary and potential leader. It's not enough to be like everyone else. You have to prove you're not just another asshole looking to exploit everyone for influence or other personal benefit.

If you want a collective movement, it has to be about the collective. And for Megatron, it very much was. And things like this helped him prove that from very early on.

The Council and the mobs effectively have no authority anymore; They are losing control. Megatron, very quickly, becomes the accepted authority. Kaon becomes a freed city-state, it escapes the grasp of Functionism.

Standing up to one crime syndicate may not seem significant in the grander scheme of things, knowing how things occur in the story from this point onward.

But it is hugely significant-- It is a very important thing to highlight.

Because it is "smaller" things like this which are actually massively important and impactful.

And each "smaller" thing built up, and improved things for people to the point where Kaon could function entirely independently with a better off population of previously severely oppressed peoples.

Every "smaller" thing counts. Every "smaller" thing is the entire world to someone, or to a lot of someones.

How many lives were saved and debts erased, when Megatron took out this one crime syndicate?

How immediately did that improve a lot of lives, how quickly did that endear those people to him, to his ideology, to his plans for their collective future? How fast did they start listening, when he started speaking?

This is how revolution happens.

--

Anyway, thank you as always if you read any of this-- I know this got very long and it is nearly 2 AM now where I'm at, so it may have lost a bit of coherency here and there.

tl;dr labour history is important, fuck capitalism (this includes fictional capitalism), and intersectional solidarity is key to collective survival in general but especially among the working class and all groups subject to systemic oppression/discrimination in various forms

[essektheylyss]

It's very interesting that both Allura in this episode and Essek in 2.124 frame the Luxon as a pre-Founding entity that has been in Exandria since before the Primordials or the pantheon, because it really does complicate the idea of gods as a single unified classification. Discussions around, say, the Raven Queen's ascension and Artagan's godhood are interesting of course, but lend themselves to a hierarchy of being and power—mortals and archfey must be elevated to a higher position to reach a place among the gods—but the Luxon throws a wrench into the hierarchy itself.

Fandom discussions around the Luxon referring to it as an entity tend to feed into this hierarchy as well, even when framing the Luxon in a positive light, by placing the classification of god or deity as a literal higher power in a contemporary and very sociopolitical conceptualization of "power," positioning anything in that role as inherently oppressive, and I think this also does the conversation a disservice. A better metaphor, in my opinion, is to compare deities to the fundamental forces of physics.

The way that dunamis has been said to intertwine with reality on a minute level and the Luxon's extension of divine power without direct communication suggests to me that its power in relation to other deities is somewhat akin to gravity itself—gravity is the weakest of the fundamental forces, but much farther reaching, and therefore it exerts a massive influence on the cosmos in spite of that lesser strength.* This echoes the complexities of trying to rely upon a hierarchy of being in this discussion, because such hierarchies are always constructed and imposed, not inherent. Sometimes they are constructed by those positioned at the top, and other times not, but from any angle, regardless of field, they tend to be used to justify some moral stance and standing.

This is utterly negated by the Luxon's existence. Whatever can be said about it as an entity, it seems to be an inherently amoral being—it does not seem to concern itself with moral questions, and very possibly has no capacity to do so. At the same time, dunamis seems to be enmeshed within the reality of the Material Plane and the Weave itself, perhaps even the Skein of Fate—as described, dunamis may well be the very particulate matter comprising the choices of everything in the cosmos and how those choices intertwine.

The Raven Queen, as an ascended mortal, can look upon the individual heroes of the story and acknowledge them, validate them, but the Luxon has no inherent position from which to look, and as such evades any positionality within the constructed hierarchy upon which the questions of this campaign hinge.

*Complicating this metaphor is the fact that gravity's weakness means it doesn't exert significant influence on a micro scale, but I do not ever purport to suggest that dunamancy is a one-to-one mirror of the realities of quantum mechanics, not least because Matt is definitely no more a physicist than I am.