#how am i supposed to function under these conditions

[debbiechanclub]

Day 5 of no escape from bloody Gabe photos

[azuregiggles]

Me: watching a stream

Streamer: so my wife's doctor asked her "what about being tickled? have you ever been tickled to the point of passing out?"

Me: *chokes on nothing*

[seascapesandsalt]

tfw you've got the brain sads but none of your emotional support fics have updated lately

[bonjaminfranklin]

Category 5 adhd event: misplaced my best sticky notes

[ottoslab]

IM SHITTING MY PANTS READING YOUR TAGS ON MY POSTS RN AGHFDGSKJJDFGJKJKGJDKFGDFSKJ THANK YOU I AM SO GLAD I ACTIVATED THE CRAZY SWITCH IN YOUR MIND <3

I’m having a hard time explaining exactly how cartoonishly quick my brain skidded to a fucking halt upon seeing that post . Your stuff is so cool dude i need to sit down when I’m more awake and pick thru all the details and give a proper run down of how much I like the designs bc like holy SHIT they’re so good man. Something is awakening in me and it might be the psychonauts fixation that has been lying dormant in my brain for the past few months

I will Try to clean these up later but it’s nearly midnight and I need to sleep soemtime soon.

[orcelito]

I'm tired of the mood swings man like wtf is my problem

[shinybulbasaur]

finally back from christmas pt 3, time to relearn how to be a human being again

[spaghettioverdose]

people are discovering I'm an evil tankie lmao

anyways the second one is particularly dumb. you speak of the concept of ml transfems like they're this wacky sort of weird rare position that no one really has. are you aware how many popular posters on this site are transfem MLs or transfem ML adjacent? moreover, based on what do you know that MLs are the most transphobic people on the left? like not talking about a subreddit or a discord server, or even CPGB. I'm talking about the movement as a whole. and if there is, a trend where marxism-leninism is especially transphobic (hint: there is not) is that due to the ideology itself being inherently transphobic or is it the people living in particular material conditions that lead to them holding out reactionary ideas?

I could bring up a million arguments to refute this like the incredibly progressive new family code in Cuba, or East Germany's progressive LGBT policies, or how people were already lamenting how many rights they were going to lose from the reunification, or the general trend of modern socialist states to make gains when it comes to LGBT rights and protections, but this has been brought up a million times and you are all still stupid.

Tell me anon, who am I, as a transfem, supposed to side with politically? Liberals who have all shown to be willing to throw us under the bus in record speeds if they believe it might get them three more votes? Anarchists who are utterly incapable of forming any kind of cohesive movement, incabable of holding powe for longer than 2 years, and incapable of organising the economy in any that helps anyone? Am I meant to become a trotskyite or a leftcom so I can whinge about stalinism all day and never do anything useful? What ideology should I fucking be anon? I've was a liberal and I was an anarchist and they both were shit. And believe it or not, anon, anarchists aren't as inherently good to transfems as you think either.

But besides even all this, you deeply misunderstand why I'm even an ML. I believe that marxism-leninism provides a scientific lens through which economy and politics can be analysed to produce analysis with actual predictive power. This is a quality that is very much absent from every non-marxist ideology. Every newer liberal economist that suddenly discovers a basic function of capitalist economy and who is then lauded as a genius, has been playing catch-up with Marx and they're still very far behind. Keynes discovered the concept of "in an economy that runs on commodities being bought, when no one has money to buy said commodities, the economy collapses" is something that scientific communists knew for since the later half of the 1800s. Marxism-leninism is the only form of leftwing ideology that has been effective. Marxism-leninism, when applied, has almost universally raised the standards of living, industrialisation, life expectancy and women's rights. I'm not an ML because I think of ideologies as sports teams, cliques, or fun little labels to add to myself.

[balioc]

Oh, boy! It's Education Theory o'Clock again!

...I have a lot of thoughts on this topic. At some point, when I'm less busy and tired, I should probably try to write them up. Natively, I'm one of the school-is-a-nightmare-prison people, like so many others in this little discourse-sphere -- but I'm married to a middle school teacher, so I regularly encounter both the good arguments from the other side and the facts on the ground, and those things have altered my perspective somewhat.

But I am, in fact, busy and tired. So for now I'll just content myself with saying:

School is an institution that serves many, many, many purposes at the same time. A lot of those purposes are load-bearingly important. (A couple of years ago, I wrote this about college, and...it's double-plus true for primary and secondary schools.) If you don't try to account for all of that stuff in your theory of What School Is and How School Works, you will generate incoherent garbage thoughts. If you have a New Concept for school entailing top-down design that is optimized for a single function (like "increasing test scores" or "causing kids to love learning" or whatever), you'd better have a plan for how you're going to do all the other important things that schools do. And even if you think that some of those things aren't actually important or necessary, you'd better have a plan for dealing with all the people who disagree. Because...

-----

...school, as it exists today, is an inherently political institution. Both in the "soft" sense that everyone has strong opinions about what it's supposed to do and how it's supposed to work, and in the "hard" sense that it is actually controlled by democratically-accountable governments. (This is double-plus true in the US, where it is controlled by local governments, and therefore doesn't even have the protective insulation of a massive bureaucracy.) Everything about the way schools work is a compromise brokered amongst ideologues and self-dealers. Everything about the way schools work involves a lot of decision-makers trying not to get yelled at by the yelliest people around. If you're looking for elegant purpose-driven top-down design, you won't find it. You could probably make a case that any elegant purpose-driven top-down design would be better than the thing we actually have, but getting there would require finding a way to remove the political element.

-----

Most importantly: public schools are (1) compulsory, (2) universal, and (3) for children. [People who are legally children, anyway, whether or not they are actual children in whatever sense matters to you.]

This means that they cannot let students leave, and they have to keep control of all the students that they aren't allowing to leave.

In the most literal not-a-judgment-but-a-fact sense, they are indeed prisons. They are coercively keeping people inside. They have to do that thing, as per their most fundamental mandate within the current system. The alternatives involve letting kids run around unsupervised, and/or failing to give some kids even the most cursory kind of education, and those things are absolute non-starters under present conditions.

All the normal institutions-for-adults operate on the principle of -- If you really don't want to be here, you can leave, and deal with whatever consequences there may be for leaving. This is not an option for schools, and that fact accounts for...everything.

Classroom structure is built around the necessity of keeping the most-hostile, least-engaged student in the class present and supervised, and then trying to prevent him from disrupting things for everyone else. Because the obvious solution that any other institution would use -- "just cut him loose, he doesn't want to be here and we don't want him here" -- isn't available.

(I once talked to my wife about the rationed bathroom access thing, which is one of the most flagrant nightmare-prison aspects of the school experience. Her response was, "If you let kids use the bathroom whenever they want, as much as they want, then you don't have mandatory universal education anymore. Some of them will never return to the classroom, because they don't want to be there." Which is...obviously true.)

So you have something that replicates many of the features of prison, because it has to accomplish the same basic tasks that prison accomplishes. Yay, Foucault.

[trickstump]

new fall out boy today. new paramore tomorrow. the looming chekhov's gun of new mcr on friday. how am i supposed to function under these conditions?

[communistkenobi]

Obviously art does not rest on methods, media, or the amount of effort a person exerted in making it, but I think AI art is yet another way that capitalism is changing the form and function of art (separating artworks from their original meaning on a different and even larger scale) and given that it is made by exploiting workers (the original artists and the people they pay pennies to sort through it to remove disturbing images) it makes people feel yet more powerless in the face of corporations so there is a big negative reaction to it. This negative reaction may not be articulated in the way you want but I think it's very understandable that people have reactionary feelings about large scale corporate exploitation.

just for the record before I respond, I am replying to this ask in good faith just as you are asking in good faith, I’m not angry at you and many of these questions I’m asking are rhetorical, for the purposes of reflection. So please no slapfighting in the notes, thank you!

First: I’m not disputing exploitation. in fact privileging AI as uniquely exploitative handwaves away the massive amount of exploitation that artists already endure and have endured for a very long time, as well as the horrific amounts of labour exploitation involved in mass producing the ‘tools of the trade’ so to speak.

But this is, again, a non-sequitur to my argument, which is that art produced under exploitative, destructive, “lazy” or politically repugnant conditions is still art. MCU films are art regardless of the fact that they are 3-hour long informercials for the American empire and require massive labour exploitation from CGI animators, actors, film set workers, and everything else: advertisements are art: AI art is art. Horrifying, trite, unoriginal, bad, socially destructive, maybe all of those things are true and we can talk about the merits of those claims (I certainly have strong opinions about them), but what is politically gained from saying bad, unoriginal, horrifying, or trite art isn’t art? Whose definitions are we using here, and if those definitions should be universalised, what does it mean for artists who are only unoriginal, only bad, only whatever else?

I return to my original example: are children not qualified to be artists if they only make “bad” art? I used to trace movie stills from Harry Potter photo books as a child because I loved the characters - am I a fraud for doing so? Am I given grace for my incompetence and “theft” on the basis of me “still learning how to do real art”? When does this grace period end? If we argue that only struggle can produce art, what level of struggle? Struggle for whom? Drawing isn’t difficult for me because I was taught how to hold a pencil, read, write, and draw by a western industrial publicly-funded primary school by a teacher paid with public tax dollars, supplemented with help every night from my mother and father, two married cishet middle class people in a mostly stable (if miserable and verbally abusive) marriage - all of which is resting atop stolen indigenous land. Under what historical conditions can arguments for artistic struggle be made? When we argue for struggle(/hard work/whatever) as the basis of art we are pre-supposing a universal subject whose struggle is globally standardized and calculable - which in all of these discussions on here is (implicitly, though sometimes explicitly) a white able-bodied settler living in a western state who benefits from universal primary education that teaches them the foundational skills of how to make art. You can probably add university educated to that too, given how many of these arguments seem to be swarmed by undergraduate students.

Arguing that there needs to be some threshold for method, labour, intent, or message for art to ‘actually be art’ is politically reactionary and is what I am responding to. It requires transcendental claims about the Artist as a unique labourer set apart from and superior to all others, one whose skills are universalised and whose intent is always observable and present in their work. So if people want to talk about exploitation they should talk about exploitation, not the definition of art. It’s not my fault people can’t stay on topic!

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day four: public sex!

BETTER THAN ICE CREAM ♡ GETO SUGURU

fem!reader x geto suguru

ingredients: somehow, someway geto manages to coax you into having some fun with him in public

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: public sex, fingering, mentions of geto x reader x gojo, reader is principal yaga's adoptive daughter because her blood parents threw her away, dubcon (just to be safe!)

sugar level: 2.4k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: hello, hi, i am suffering from geto suguru brainrot, if you couldn't tell.

bon appetit!

depending on who you asked, you either had good or bad luck. your cursed technique manifested at an abnormally early age, six months old, and on top of that, you were born to a non-sorcerer family who thought to themselves "what else are we supposed to do when our child has some supernatural ability that no one can explain?" so they abandoned you. they wrapped you in, bless them, the softest cotton blankets in the house, laid you in a cardboard box, then threw you away.

thankfully for you, though they had no idea where they dropped you off of, it was in front of tokyo jujutsu tech.

it was a hot spring day when yaga masamichi found you. he just came back from a mission in shibuya, taking solace in the school when he heard a loud wailing noise from somewhere off campus. he could recognize it was a baby, but he just assumed that the cries was because of a more normal situation so he felt no need to intervene.

he trained some more, rested some more, all the while ignoring the sounds of weeping from outside. he forced himself to not pay attention to it "the kid's parents probably have it under control. don't stick your nose in other people's business." until he couldn't anymore.

you've been crying for too long, there was definitely something seriously wrong.

he walked out of the training room, jogging to where the sound came from with more than twenty questions in his head, and that's when he found you. all of a sudden, those twenty questions in his head multiplied. he could sense the cursed energy that you exerted, how old were you? and more important than that, where were your parents?

he took you to the police after that, not quite knowing what the proper thing to do in that situation was. they tracked your parents down, only to deliver the news that they didn't want you, again, bless their heart, they didn't tell the officers the real reason why they didn't want you, instead lying and saying it was because they couldn't support you financially. after all, they did still love you. there was just too much fear in their hearts about what you are. they took the legal action against them, and left yaga two choices: he could either surrender you to the adoption system, or take you in as his own.

he was only twenty years old at the time, not at all mature enough to be a father, but at the same time, he had no idea what would happen to you if you were put into the adoption centers. you could potentially hurt someone without meaning to, and they would hurt you. they would have no idea how to properly take care of you, given the fact that they don't even know about your atypical condition. so he decided to adopt you right then and there.

being his daughter meant you were more advanced than most of your classmates. your cursed technique manifested earlier than theirs did, and your father had a knack for teaching. it also meant that he was a lot stricter than most parents, making you "less fun", as some people would say it. he brought you up as a well-functioning member of society, and your sometimes friend, sometimes pain in the ass gojo satoru would put it, "a goodie-two-shoes."

you don't mind it now. no matter what they said, or how they viewed your hobbies, you still had a lot of fun doing the things that you love, even though it might come across as boring to them.

living the sorcerer life was enough excitement and adrenaline anyway.

as jujutsu sorcerers, you barely got any moments of peace. the fight and blood and, inevitably, death, was a part of your everyday life since you were a child.

it was only in moments like this where you're able to get some semblance of the peace you will never get.

it's six in the morning, the sun is up in the sky to rain golden sunshine on you and your boyfriend, suguru. it was unusually quiet, and you blamed it on the time. it was a saturday, and you knew that most people wouldn't be out and about until three more hours. not you and suguru. he insisted on going on a small walk, and while you contemplated about rejecting his proposition, you thought about how jujutsu sorcerers' life spans are shorter than the average human being's and agreed, wanting to spend as much time with him as you can.

the birds chirp happily above you, while cherry blossoms fall all around you, the vibrant green leaves on the surrounding trees sway lightly in the wind and everything looks picture perfect, including you and suguru, holding an ice cream cone each.

was it too early for ice cream? probably. did either of you care? not really.

you deserved the treat.

"let's sit." suguru said for the first time in a while. earlier, he felt no need to fill the comfortable silence between the two of you. the way his hands, so powerful and strong, softly held yours and the way his eyes, so intense and passionate looked into yours said more than a thousand words could ever hope to do.

you plopped down as close to him as you could get on the bench, winding your arms together while you laid your head against his shoulder.

neither of you said nor did anything, just enjoying the atmosphere silently, sometimes humming the melody of a song stuck in your head before it fades away into the cold air. that was until a stripe of your ice cream drips down the cone and onto your bare lap.

in an action that suguru would describe as helpful, and nothing but demure, he runs a finger through he sticky liquid and sticks the digit into his mouth, sucking it off. "mmm, that's good ice cream." he murmured, as if frightened that if he were to talk any louder, he would shatter this moment into piles of sugar glass and he'd find himself in the heat of battle, with people who are not his priority crying out for him and his grace.

"let me taste some more."

there was no more ice cream trails on your lap, so that statement in and of itself should have already warned you that geto suguru was up to no good. your second warning came in the form of him complimenting the short tennis skirt you wore that day. "have i told you how much i love this pretty skirt of yours?"

"s-suguru, not here."

two of his fingers, his index and middle caressed further up your thigh making your breath hitch in your throat and eyes to flutter shut. "lemme just make sure i got all the ice cream, alright princess?" he puts his fingers on his tongue again. "no ice cream here."

"fuck, sug'"

"how about over here?" at this point, his large hand is under your skirt, grabbing at the fat and muscle. the motion makes your stomach churn in a familiar way and you close your eyes tighter. one of your hands grab onto his bicep and grips.

it's embarrassing how you were already so worked up, but suguru just knew you like the back of his hand. he knew how to make you bend and break to his control and he loved it.

his fingers trace indiscernible patterns on your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him, but still, you were out in the open, in a park that's frequented by people of all ages.

with your other hand, you held onto his. "suguru, not here." your head's fogged up as you say the words that deny you of pleasure. you would've loved to let him have his way with you, but not here. sure, there weren't a lot of people yet, it's just a matter of time, though. in a few more minutes, you're certain that people will come strolling through one by one until the park's in full swing.

"it's just us here, baby. you don't have to worry your pretty little head."

you have no idea what happened to his ice cream. you don't even have a smidgen of an idea what happened to yours. one second, it was in your hand, the next, what you were holding was suguru's hand.

"we're going to get caught." you try to say confidently, but your shaky resolve shows in your equally shaky voice. your hand wasn't holding its own anymore, instead, letting suguru do whatever he desires, with it a ghost on top of his. "no we won't. i promise, kay?" you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head and that makes it harder to resist than before -- and suguru's hands on you was already hard to resist in the first place; he's never broken a promise before.

he runs his warm hand over your clothed cunt sending shivers down your spine and making you clench around nothing. "d'you really think i'll let someone else see you like this?"

you swore you wanted to answer yes. he's done it before; share you. one of his filthiest fantasies was to have you and satoru at the same time and you had no problem giving him that, because that was private, confined to the four walls of your bedroom and wherever satoru runs his mouth, but the man shuts up quickly when suguru shoots him that look.

you weren't able to say anything to suguru's rhetorical question. the bastard started to rub your clit with back and forth motions with his finger before you were able to get a letter out.

it was so unfair.

you couldn't see him. though your fighting spirit was more or less nothing but a heap of quickly melting ice cream on the grass, it'd weaken even more if you were to glance up at him. he'd shoot you a half lidded look he knows always works and you'd be wrapped around his finger in no time. it was like continuing to taunt the opponent when they already have the sword to your throat; a loss, but a determination through it. you weren't willing to admit it to yourself even if you already knew it in the back of your mind.

"there's no one here, kay, sweet girl? you've been working so hard lately, lemme spoil you a bit." you recognize the way he drew hearts on your clit before running it down your slit and back up again. "you're always so tight." he chuckled. "in more ways than one. you should loosen up a bit, hmm?"

you could feel the wetness pooling in your panties, the urge to moan out his name, but if you were gonna do this, you could at the very least stay quiet, so you gave him a nod, a signal that you were answering in the affirmative.

"ah, ah, ah," he breathed out right next to your ear. his finger on you slowed down to a cruel, teasing pace, just putting enough pressure to have you lowly mewling at his side, but not enough to give you proper satisfaction. his words was just as teasing "i wanna hear words."

you gritted your teeth, both in annoyance and focus so you wouldn't end up moaning instead. "f-fuck you, suguru."

his chest vibrated as he laughed heartily, shaking you with it. "that's not a stop or a keep touching me, suguru." he punctuated the sentence with a soft pinch to your clit through the fabric making you yelp and your upper body to hunch forward.

your reaction only made him laugh harder.

as each second passes, your brain gets foggier and foggier. it was harder to speak now than it was seconds ago; harder for your head to think of the words that'll grant you pleasure, and harder for your mouth to cooperate with your head. your hips had a mind of its own now, mindlessly grinding against his hand, spreading the wetness that have already seeped through your skirt all over the park bench.

"k-keep touching me, suguru, fuck, pl-please." you panted.

thankfully, with those six words, suguru decided to grant you mercy.

his fingers slipped under your panties, and went straight on your clit, making you go limp against the bench and your boyfriend's side.

"there you go, sweet girl." he murmured softly, gazing at the look on your face; your eyes closed in utter bliss, though scrunched up at the corners - it crumpled deeper in time with your thighs twitching - your mouth in a relaxed O, only to close whenever you gulped. "just relax onto me, yeah?"

it didn't take much more for you to get close. after all, the knot in your abdomen has been coiling since the moment he first put his hands on you.

suguru knew that too; knew you wouldn't last much longer if he continued to touch you like that.

the last straw was when he nudged the hood of your clit with his index finger while his middle and ring continued to thrust in and out of your wet cunt.

you came harder than you have in a long time. you don't know what exactly it was that made it so, whether it was the excitement of being in public, or whether it was the edging, but whatever it is, to some extent, you're glad it's there.

you saw bright white flashes behind your eyelids, and miraculously, you were able to keep quiet - at least as quiet as you can be - biting your lip as you came.

you were busy gathering yourself when suguru spoke again. "hmm, this may not be ice cream but it's just as delicious." when you meet his eyes with a glare, he smiles his crescent moon eyed smile at you. "actually, i think i prefer this one over the ice cream." he finished licking your arousal from his fingers.

"you know you're gonna pay for this, right?" you quirked an eyebrow at him, arms crossed on your chest. it didn't intimidate him one bit though. "sure thing, sweetheart. i'll be looking forward to it."

i get: reblog

you get: finger lickin good ice cream

[man-i-love-folklore]

PHEEBS THERE ARE SO MANY NEW HD PHOTOS DROPPING I'm not gonna make it through the day!!!

OH MY GOD I KNOWWWWW like how am I supposed to function under these conditions???

im crazy. andrew please im going it-will-come-back levels of feral right now oh my lordy lord.

god bless iHeart radio for getting this man back on the red carpet!

[autopsyfreak]

i need my supply to wake up because how tf am i supposed to function under these conditions without constantly being told how great i am?

[gnosticinitiation]

Chapter: The Antichrist

Dazzling intellectualism, as the manifested functionalism of the psychological "I," is without a doubt the Antichrist.

Those who suppose that the Antichrist is a strange personage born somewhere on the Earth or coming from this or that country are certainly completely mistaken.

We have emphatically stated that the Antichrist is definitely not a particular person, but all people.

Obviously, the Antichrist itself exists deep within each person and expresses itself in many ways.

Intellect which is placed in the service of the Spirit is useful; intellect which is divorced from the Spirit becomes useless.

Villains arise from intellectualism without spirituality: a vivid manifestation of the Antichrist. Obviously, the villain, in and for itself, is the Antichrist.

Unfortunately, the world today with all its tragedies and miseries is governed by the Antichrist. The state of chaos in which modern humanity finds itself is undoubtedly due to the Antichrist.

The iniquitous one, of which Paul of Tarsus spoke in his Epistles, is certainly the harsh reality of our times. The iniquitous one is already here. It manifests itself everywhere; it certainly has the gift of ubiquity.

It argues in cafes, negotiates at the United Nations, sits comfortably in Geneva, conducts experiments in laboratories, invents atomic bombs, remote-controlled missiles, asphyxiating gases, bacteriological bombs, etc., etc., etc.

The Antichrist, fascinated by its own intellectualism, which is absolutely exclusive to know-it-alls, believes that it knows all of the phenomena of Nature.

The Antichrist, believing itself to be omniscient, is trapped in the decay of its own theories. It directly rejects anything resembling God, or that which is worshipped. The self-sufficiency, pride and arrogance of the Antichrist are unbearable. The Antichrist mortally hates the Christian virtues of faith, patience and humility.

Everyone bows before the Antichrist. Obviously, it has invented ultrasonic aircraft, wonderful ships, splendid cars, amazing medicines, etc. Under such conditions, who can doubt the Antichrist?

In this day and age, anyone who dares to speak against all the miracles and wonders of the Son of Perdition condemns himself to everyone's ridicule, sarcasm and irony; he condemns himself to be classified as stupid and ignorant.

It is hard to make serious and studious people understand the former statements. They in and on themselves react and offer resistance.

Clearly, the intellectual animal mistakenly called human being is a robot, programmed at kindergarten, primary and secondary school, college and the university, etc. No one can deny that a programmed robot functions according to its programming. In no way could it function if the program were removed. The Antichrist has produced the program with which the humanoid robots of these decadent times are programmed.

Making these clarifications, emphasizing what I am saying, is frightfully difficult, as this is not in the program. No humanoid robot would admit things that are not in the program. The absorption of the mind is so tremendous and serious a matter that a humanoid robot will never even remotely suspect that the program is useless; he has been organized according to that program and to doubt it seems like heresy, something incongruous and absurd. For a robot to doubt its own program is absurd, an absolute impossibility, because its very existence depends upon that program.

Unfortunately, things are not as humanoid robots think they are. There is another science, another wisdom, which they find unacceptable. The humanoid robot reacts, and rightly so, as it is not programmed to deal with another science or another culture, or anything else that differs from its well-known program.

The Antichrist has prepared the programs of the humanoid robot and the robot humbly prostrates itself before its master. How could a robot possibly doubt the wisdom of its master?

A child is born innocent and pure. The Essence expressing itself through each child is exceedingly precious. Without a doubt, Nature deposits in the brain of newborns all the wild, natural, sylvan, cosmic and spontaneous information indispensable for the capture or comprehension of truths. These are contained in any natural phenomena perceivable by the senses. This means that a new born baby can discover by itself the reality of each natural phenomenon. Regrettably, the Antichrist's program interferes with it, and the marvelous qualities placed by Nature in the brains of the newborns are soon destroyed. The Antichrist prohibits different ways of thinking; all babies that are born must be programmed by order of the Antichrist.

There is no doubt that the Antichrist mortally hates that precious sense of the Being known as the 'faculty of instinctive perception of cosmic truths.'

Pure science, different from the decaying university theories which exist here, there and everywhere, is something inadmissible for the Antichrist's robots.

Many wars, famines and diseases have been propagated by the Antichrist throughout the world, and no doubt they will continue to be propagated before the arrival of the final catastrophe. Unfortunately, the hour of the great apostasy has arrived (that time announced by all the prophets), and no human being will dare to rise up against the Antichrist.

-Samael Aun Weor from his book, "The Great Rebellion: The Only Remedy for Suffering"

[ferrocyan]

ffxiv write day 10 - stable

yaana startles herself awake. she rubs her eyes and rolls her shoulders, wincing in pain from how she slept on it. she checks her watch: 1:40 am. she stayed to wait for tart, but the backroom is still empty. what the hell, did he leave without her? though honestly, knowing the guy he'd probably settle in and take a nap too. not that she'd even meant to sleep here, yaana grumbles to herself.

souleater had his bout against brute bomber yesterday, so of course yaana attended as tart's second. then there was the championship ceremony, and--eutrope crashing that event to challenge tart to a fight. shit, too much happened in such a short time. yaana hasn't seen eutrope again, either--she almost hopes her sister would come see her here, but the idea scares her at the same time. what would they even say--

never mind that! her missing partner is more important right now. after a match, contestants can visit arcadia's medical wing to recuperate--injuries don't usually stick around after coming down from oversoul, unless they're really severe. like losing limbs and stuff... tart had all of his intact, she thinks. although it's not like he had oversoul to begin with--

"shit," yaana gets up and books it to medical. there's no way anyone can fight eutrope and walk away without injuries, not even souleater!

the arcadion is eerily quiet, completely absent of people. yaana hates it. she always used to ignore her parents' warnings and sneak out to visit here, just to see eutrope train. the place is supposed to be open at all hours and have visitors crowd its halls. spectators waiting for the next match, employees keeping the show running, fighters training or holding exhibition matches--there's not even any exhibition matches anymore! not since king zoraal ja's decree. it still pisses yaana off, even after the king's dead.

she arrives at the medical wing quickly, and her irritation isn't helped by the attending physician she sees. ugh, great. she greets the woman, "hey, mel."

"hi, cat," replies dr. melantha. "here for your pal?"

"yuppers. is he good?" yaana approaches her at her station, with tart lying unconscious on the bed to its right. there's a number of electrope sensors attached to his body, but not much else, so he's probably just being observed right now. mel gives an affirmative, and with her unspoken permission yaana glances at the patient chart on her desk. her stomach drops.

in studying about personal training and fitness yaana learned a lot about human bodily functions (some from mel, she's gotta admit). she can intuit how different conditions can feel from her experience, too. and just looking at what happened to tart gives her a chill that runs down her spine. 'he should be dead' is putting it lightly. "...that's not good," she says weakly, to which mel shrugs. "he's got levin sickness?"

"a minor case, perhaps? his circuits would've kept deteriorating otherwise, but the vitals are all good now, see. oh, and do you want to hear something interesting?" mel starts excitedly. being from a family of machinists she has a habit of going off on likening her patients to machinery, so yaana waits until she concludes in a way that makes sense. "...which means souleater has near perfect control of his aether! as long as he's conscious, i assume, since it all fell apart the second he collapsed. neat, huh?"

"huh," yaana echoes. she's really familiar with the concept of aether control, of course--that's the same principle under feral soul enhancement. but the thing keeping that control isn't the person, it's their regulator. fighting an opponent with feral oversoul is less about killing them and more about chipping away that control--this is extremely obvious even to an amateur if they just watched souleater's matches. she glances at tart. "then that makes his body itself the regulator."

fuck, no wonder he doesn't need one to fight. this fucker has the final word on when he dies. yaana shakes her head. unbelievable. does wearing a regulator make you give up this control? is she now disconnected from her own aether, relying on the device to keep her soul and body connected? ...and is that bad?

something at the bottom of the chart catches her eye. oh, son of a bitch--yaana snaps towards mel, "you marked him green?"

"hm? oh, yes. he's stabilized, after all, and i've fixed the wounds. is there a problem?"

"nope," yaana says instead of yelling at her. she's even smiling. "hey, so that means we can leave, right?"

"no." yaana sees it dawn on her. "cat, i'm just following protocol," mel reasons. yaana shrugs.

"and i'm following mine." she walks around the station to reach tart and shake him by the shoulder. "wake up, buddy. heeeey. can you hear me?" it takes a while, but he opens his eyes and slowly comes back to himself. yaana doesn't stop talking to him as she packs his belongings. "you feel okay? you can stand, right? awesome, let's ditch this place!" mel gives yaana a look, but she lets them go.

as she steps outside with her partner in tow, yaana exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding. for the first time in her life she feels relieved to be out of the arcadion.