#Variable Data Labels

[creativeera]

Variable Data Printing Labels Market is Estimated to Witness High Growth

Variable data printing (VDP) labels are adhesive labels customized for individualized use. These digitally-printed labels change their visual properties such as text, graphics or images based on the item or transaction. They offer various benefits such as reduced shipping time, improved flexibility in design, and enhanced brand visibility. The e-commerce industry has been adopting VDP labels widely due to their ability to print a unique label for each product. This reduces costs associated with pre-printing large label rolls and allows customization for different product variations. The Global Variable Data Printing Labels Market is estimated to be valued at US$ 18.89 Bn in 2024 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 13.% over the forecast period 2024 to 2031. Key Takeaways Key players: Key players operating in the Variable Data Printing Labels are Mondi Plc, HP Inc., R.R. Donnelley ; Sons Company, Xerox Corporation, Canon Inc., 3M Company, Quad/Graphics Inc., Avery Dennison Corporation, WS Packaging Group, Inc. Key opportunities: The growth of the e-commerce industry and focus on enhanced customer experience are expected to offer numerous opportunities for VDP label manufacturers. The technology is finding increasing usage in diverse industries such as food & beverage, pharmaceuticals, consumer durables and logistics. Moreover, integration of digital technologies such as IoT and AI is likely to open up new application areas. Global expansion: North America currently dominates the Variable Data Printing Labels market Demand  due to high demand from verticals such as food and beverage. However, Asia Pacific is anticipated to witness the fastest growth on account of rising e-commerce activities, growing middle-class population and improving economic conditions. Key players are expanding their footprint in developing economies to tap the potential offered by emerging markets. Market drivers: The robust growth of the e-commerce industry has been a key driver for VDP labels. As e-retailers deal with huge volumes of shipments on a daily basis, VDP labels help in creating a customized unboxing experience for customers. This improves brand stickiness and repeat purchases. Moreover, they enable inclusion of vital shipment details reduce errors and eliminate extra costs associated with pre-printing large label rolls.

PEST Analysis Political: Increasing regulations regarding labeling of products is creating opportunities for variable data printing labels market. Many countries have made it mandatory to mention country of origin, ingredients used, expiry date etc clearly on packaging. This is positively impacting demand. Economic: Growth in e-commerce industry is Variable Data Printing Labels Market Size and Trends growth. Rising number of online shoppers is increasing need for customized labels with shipping details. Growth in retail industry where products need to clearly showcase pricing is another major driver. Social: Changing consumer preference towards more personalized products is a key trend. Customers want products showcasing their name, events etc. rising demand for this is benefiting market. Awareness about ingredient listing and nutrition facts is also supporting market growth. Technological: Advances in digital printing technology like inkjet, laser etc allow for on demand printing of labels with variable data. Integration of design software with printers enable real time customizations. IoT technology is enabling connectivity of devices for remote monitoring and control. The market is concentrated in North America and Europe owing to presence of major end use industries like food and beverages, personal care, pharmaceuticals etc and established retail sectors. The US holds largest share for variable data printing labels market in terms of value. The Asia Pacific region is witnessing fastest growth and emerging as lucrative market. Rapid growth of economies, expanding middle class population and rising packaging and labeling demand from industries like consumer goods are driving APAC market. China contributes largest revenue share in the region supported by wide manufacturing base and growing domestic consumption.

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About Author:

Ravina Pandya, Content Writer, has a strong foothold in the market research industry. She specializes in writing well-researched articles from different industries, including food and beverages, information and technology, healthcare, chemical and materials, etc. (https://www.linkedin.com/in/ravina-pandya-1a3984191)

[packagingworldinsights]

Domino Presents New Monochrome Inkjet Printer at Labelexpo Southeast Asia 2025

Domino Printing Sciences (Domino) is pleased to announce the APAC launch of its new monochrome inkjet printer, the K300, at Labelexpo Southeast Asia. Building on the success of Domino’s K600i print bar, the K300 has been developed as a compact, flexible solution for converters looking to add variable data printing capabilities to analogue printing lines.

The K300 monochrome inkjet printer will be on display at the Nilpeter stand, booth F32, at Labelexpo Southeast Asia in Bangkok, Thailand from 8th–10th May 2025. The printer will form part of a Nilpeter FA-Line 17” hybrid label printing solution, providing consistent inline overprint of serialised 2D codes. A machine vision inspection system by Domino Company Lake Image Systems will validate each code to ensure reliable scanning by retailers and consumers whilst confirming unique code serialisation.

“The industry move to 2D codes at the point of sale has led to an increase in demand for variable data printing, with many brands looking to incorporate complex 2D codes, such as QR codes powered by GS1, into their packaging and label designs,” explains Alex Mountis, Senior Product Manager at Domino. “Packaging and label converters need a versatile, reliable, and compact digital printing solution to respond to these evolving market demands. We have developed the K300 with these variable data and 2D code printing opportunities in mind.”

The K300 monochrome inkjet printer can be incorporated into analogue printing lines to customise printed labels with variable data, such as best before dates, batch codes, serialised numbers, and 2D codes. The compact size of the 600dpi high-resolution printhead – 2.1″ / 54mm – offers enhanced flexibility with regards to positioning on the line, including the opportunity to combine two print stations across the web width to enable printing of two independent codes.

Operating at high speeds up to 250m / 820′ per minute, the K300 monochrome inkjet printer has been designed to match flexographic printing speeds. This means there is no need to slow down the line when adding variable data. Domino’s industry-leading ink delivery technology, including automatic ink recirculation and degassing, helps to ensure consistent performance and excellent reliability, while reducing downtime due to maintenance. The printer has been designed to be easy to use, with intuitive setup and operation via Domino’s smart user interface.

“The K300 will open up new opportunities for converters. They can support their brand customers with variable data 2D codes, enabling supply chain traceability, anti-counterfeiting, and consumer engagement campaigns,” adds Mountis. “The versatile printer can also print variable data onto labels, cartons, and flatpack packaging as part of an inline or near-line late-stage customisation process in a manufacturing facility, lowering inventory costs and reducing waste.”

Code verification is an integral part of any effective variable data printing process. A downstream machine vision inspection system, such as the Lake Image Systems’ model showcased alongside the K300, enables converters and brands who add 2D codes and serialisation to labels and packaging to validate each printed code.

Mark Herrtage, Asia Business Development Director, Domino, concludes: “We are committed to helping our customers stay ahead in a competitive market, and are continuously working to develop new products that will help them achieve their business objectives. Collaborating with Lake Image Systems enables us to deliver innovative, complete variable data printing and code verification solutions to meet converters’ needs. We are delighted to be able to showcase an example of this collaboration, featuring the .”

To find more information about the K300 monochrome printer please visit: https://dmnoprnt.com/38tcze3r

[mailingsdirect4]

How Mailings Direct Helped My Candle Business Shine with Printed Postcards and Labels

Starting a handmade candle business from home felt exciting but also overwhelming. I knew how to make candles people would love, but I didn’t know much about promoting them. Selling online helped me at the beginning, especially with friends and family sharing my products. But after a few months, sales slowed down. I needed something different—something real that people could hold in their hands. That’s when I discovered the power of print through Mailings Direct, and everything began to change.

It all started with a postcard. One day, I got a postcard in the mail from a local pet store announcing a new product line. The postcard was colourful, friendly, and it had a discount. I kept it on my fridge for weeks. That’s when it hit me—if a postcard could make me stop and remember a pet store, why couldn’t it do the same for my candles? I went online and looked for printing companies in the UK, and that’s how I found Mailings Direct. From the first click, I knew I had found the right partner.

I was especially drawn to their experience with personalized postcards UK. I liked the idea of sending postcards that felt personal, like a note from me to my customer. The team at Mailings Direct walked me through every step. I explained my business style—natural, calming, homemade—and they helped me create a postcard that reflected that perfectly. It featured a soft background, a picture of one of my best-selling candles, and a short message inviting people to try it with a discount code. The postcard also had my logo, website, and social handles, which made it easy for new customers to connect with me.

I didn’t have any experience with graphic design, so I was thankful for their support with postcard design UK. They showed me examples and asked thoughtful questions about my brand. We chose a design that felt warm and elegant, which matched the look of my products. I never realized how much thought goes into postcard layout, from where the image goes to how the text flows. Mailings Direct made the process stress-free and enjoyable. Seeing the final design made me proud of my small business.

After printing the postcards, they helped me deliver them to potential customers in nearby towns. I live in a small village, but I knew people in nearby cities would appreciate handmade candles too. Within a few weeks, I started receiving new orders with the discount code from the postcards. Some customers left kind messages saying the postcard made them curious, and they loved the scent they ordered. One woman even ordered more candles as gifts for her family. That single postcard helped me reach people I never could have reached online.

That experience opened my eyes to how print materials could build trust and increase awareness. I wanted to do more. My next step was improving my packaging. I had always printed labels at home, but they didn’t look very professional. Some even smudged or peeled off. I wanted something better, especially for gift orders. Mailings Direct told me about their custom label printing services, and it felt like the perfect next move.

They helped me create custom labels for different candle scents. We chose a matte finish that looked clean and upscale. Each label had a scent name, a small icon, my logo, and contact info. When I received the labels, I couldn’t believe how beautiful they were. My candles looked so polished and professional. Customers noticed too. Several of them mentioned that the labels looked “boutique-style,” and some even said the candles were too pretty to burn right away. That’s when I realized just how important packaging really is—it tells your story before the product is even opened.

A few months later, I prepared to launch a limited-edition holiday candle collection. I had four different scents and wanted to send targeted postcards to customers who had previously purchased similar items. That’s when Mailings Direct introduced me to their variable data printing services. This service allowed me to change names, messages, and images on each postcard depending on the customer. It felt like sending a custom note to each person, which is exactly the kind of personal touch I value in my business.

For example, if someone had ordered a vanilla-scented candle before, their postcard would say, “We thought you might enjoy our new Holiday Vanilla Glow.” It made the message more personal and helped customers feel remembered. The results were amazing. I received repeat orders from people who hadn’t shopped with me in months. One customer even messaged me saying, “I loved how you remembered my last order. It made me feel special.” That moment stayed with me and reminded me why I love what I do.

I now use Mailings Direct for nearly everything print-related. They’ve helped me create business cards, thank-you notes, and inserts for product packaging. Each project has been handled with care, clear communication, and creative support. What I appreciate most is that they take the time to understand small businesses. They don’t treat you like a number—they treat you like a partner. That’s rare these days, and it’s the main reason I keep coming back.

As my business has grown, so has my confidence. I used to hesitate before trying new ideas or marketing strategies, afraid they would fail. But now I know that with the right support, I can test ideas without fear. Print marketing has become a reliable way for me to connect with customers. It builds trust and shows professionalism. Even in a digital world, something as simple as a postcard or label can leave a lasting impression.

Looking back, I’m grateful I didn’t ignore that postcard from the pet store. It opened my mind to the possibilities of print, and it led me to discover Mailings Direct. They’ve helped me grow from a home candle maker to a trusted small business with loyal customers across the UK. Whether it’s postcards, labels, or personalized print campaigns, they’ve been there for every step. Their guidance and services have helped my business shine brighter than I ever imagined.

If you’re a small business owner looking for ways to grow and connect with customers in a more personal way, I can’t recommend Mailings Direct enough. They understand the challenges we face and offer real solutions that make a difference. Print may seem old-fashioned to some, but for me, it’s been the key to creating lasting relationships and making my business stand out in a crowded market.

Every postcard I send, every label I place, tells part of my story. And thanks to Mailings Direct, that story is being heard by more people than ever before.

[jetsci]

Order Jetsci® Global Digital Label Printing machine 

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[kwalityoffsetprinters]

Kwality Offset Printers has been offering label printing services to leading companies for over 50 years now. We have been following our legacy of providing exceptional quality and services to our clients. As one of the leading labels specialists of India, we cater mainly to FMCG companies including liquor, food and healthcare.

[jeszrosse]

🧬 “Deviation”

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MANIPULATIVE!Albert Wesker x Reader | One-shot AU | Reader Unaware | Deep Psychological Control | Obsession-Slowburn

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⚠️ Possessive behavior • Surveillance • Delusional Justification • Isolation tactics • No reader realization • Smut • Stalking

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🧬 1. [Observation]

It begins, as most things do with Wesker, in silence.

Your first day on the team, you barely warranted a glance in the surveillance feed.

Another lab technician. Another replaceable assistant. Another insignificant moving part.

But then you lingered.

Stayed late. Came early.

Read the case files beyond your clearance level and didn’t flinch at the corpses.

You passed the first test.

Not that you knew there was one.

You thought it was coincidence that no one sat beside you in meetings.

That your access card opened doors you never requested.

That the intern who made a joke about your smile was transferred within the hour.

It wasn’t coincidence.

It was calibration.

He was isolating the variables.

And you, you became an anomaly worth noting.

He began compiling minor reports on your behavior, tucked into encrypted files labeled with meaningless acronyms—justifications for your existence in his system. He logged your arrival times, the hesitation in your speech, the way you handled scalpel trays with a certain… reverence. Clinical on the outside, but with the sharpness of someone who wanted to understand.

You weren’t like the others—those limp, nodding bureaucrats or ambition-hollowed researchers. You read between lines. You saw things. You didn’t ask for approval.

It should’ve been threatening.

But instead, it was fascinating.

---

🧬 2. [Containment]

Wesker doesn’t trust easily.

He trusts data.

Outcomes.

Silence.

But you unsettled the metrics.

You moved differently. You saw things. You questioned protocols he didn’t authorize you to read.

And he watched.

The way your fingers hovered over a scalpel you didn’t need to touch.

The way your reflection lingered in the biohazard glass.

The way your laugh, rare as it was, made low-ranking guards look up.

So he changed the guards.

Restricted hallway access.

Reassigned co-workers.

Built your world to orbit only him.

And still—still you never noticed.

Not when your new desk faced his office.

Not when your login synced with his terminal.

Not when your lunch orders began arriving, already paid.

You thought it was protocol. Efficiency. Company structure.

It wasn’t.

It was obsession.

Even your chair was adjusted—replaced with one designed to support your back based on posture data from security footage. Your lighting changed imperceptibly across weeks, tailored to prevent eye strain and keep you awake longer, sharper.

He scheduled briefings when you were most alert.

Redirected minor crises to ensure you'd report directly to him.

He watched the way you blinked when you were confused.

Memorized the twitch of your mouth when you were about to ask something risky.

Your coworkers left one by one. Transferred. Fired. Reassigned.

Those who got too familiar? Disciplined. Quietly.

You didn’t wonder why your inbox felt so clean.

Why no one interrupted your concentration anymore.

Why the company started feeling like a corridor, narrowing around you.

---

🧬 3. [Degradation]

It got worse.

Or—closer to the truth.

He found himself pausing the security feed just to watch the curve of your spine as you bent over notes.

He rewound your voice recordings, cataloguing the inflections in your “Good morning, sir.”

He deleted the word sir from your tongue in his mind.

He didn’t want your respect.

He wanted your obedience.

Your trust.

Your presence, constant and unrelenting.

You belonged in his space, like air belonged in lungs.

He just hadn't told you yet.

Sometimes, you left behind small things—sticky notes, paperclips, coffee cups. Harmless. Forgettable. But he kept them all.

The mug with a faint mark of your lip balm.

The pen you once clicked while reading virology samples.

A typed memo, crumpled, with a single word scratched out and replaced. "Necessary."

He examined them not with sentiment but calculation.

These were not keepsakes.

These were proofs of proximity.

You were slipping under his skin molecule by molecule, and he needed evidence of your presence in his domain.

But there were moments—dangerous ones—when calculation gave way to something darker.

Moments when you reached for a dropped stylus beneath the lab table and the hem of your coat pulled taut across your thighs.

Moments when you tilted your head to read something over a microscope and exposed the soft column of your neck.

Moments when the feed from the surveillance cameras caught just enough.

He knew every angle of your body from security footage.

The way your blouse sometimes gaped slightly when you leaned forward.

The way you stretched without thinking, unaware of how it framed you.

Unaware of the man watching—memorizing.

It was a weakness.

A flaw in his design.

But sometimes he would watch the footage at half-speed, eyes burning, jaw clenched, and tell himself it was for behavioral monitoring.

That the brief tightening in his chest wasn’t arousal, but concern.

And yet—when you bent to pick up a file one night, alone, late, and the back of your skirt lifted just slightly—

—his fingers had twitched.

Not from irritation.

From restraint.

From the raw, silent thought that he could take you. Right there.

Not in fantasy. Not in dream. But in brutal, clinical, breathtaking reality.

He could fuck you against the sterile counter and no one would stop him.

No one would even know.

But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was control. Discipline.

He filed the footage.

Encrypted it.

And watched it again the next night.

Hands behind his back.

Jaw locked.

Throat tight with the sick, hungry coil of desire he refused to name.

You didn’t know.

Didn’t see.

Didn’t feel the weight of a man who no longer saw you as a subordinate or asset—

—but as something already his, simply awaiting the correct time to be claimed.

---

🧬 4. [Denial]

You never caught it, but he looked away first.

Every time.

Every instance your gaze met his, however briefly.

You assumed it was deference. Coldness. That clinical thing he wore like a second skin.

But it wasn’t.

It was containment.

Because the sound of your voice—the precise cadence in which you said “Understood, Doctor Wesker”—lit up some dormant, vile thing in him.

Something untested.

Something monstrous.

He was not above temptation.

He was simply better at dissecting it.

The way you smiled at your coworkers, never at him?

He noticed.

The way you stood just a fraction closer when anxious, fingers tightening at your sides?

He filed it away.

He let others believe you were isolated by accident.

But he'd engineered that loneliness. Curated it.

Suffocated anything that threatened to pull your attention elsewhere.

You never got that offer for project co-lead.

Never received the anonymous gifts left at your desk by interns.

Because Albert intercepted them.

Silently. Strategically.

You didn’t know it was his hand pulling you toward him, only that every direction seemed to fold inward until he was the only constant.

The only man who saw you.

Who understood you.

He watched you trace your notes, watched your lips form silent syllables, and all the while he denied himself.

Denied the heat pooling in his abdomen.

Denied the cruel ache behind every “Goodnight, sir” you uttered.

Denied the nightly compulsion to run simulations of what you would sound like begging.

And when he couldn't sleep, he listened to your voice on the lab’s intercom archive.

Just to hear it.

To pretend.

To substitute control for contact.

And still—he told himself he had not crossed the line.

Not yet.

Because you were still untouched.

Still pure, in the way only someone unaware of their ownership could be.

---

🧬 5. [Possession]

He began to see it in everything.

The way others looked at you—a threat.

The way you spoke about your family—a liability.

The way you said “thank you” when he passed you reports—intolerable.

You didn’t thank him.

You didn’t understand him.

You couldn’t.

But that was fine.

Understanding would come later.

He started curating your tasks more delicately.

Steered you away from field ops, too dangerous.

Assigned you exclusively to him, citing “performance optimization.”

You didn’t protest.

You thought you were being promoted.

But in truth, you were being drawn in.

Woven tighter.

Placed carefully, perfectly, exactly where he wanted you.

In his office.

In his world.

In his reach.

Your name was embedded in his daily reports. Your security log-in pinged his terminal every time you swiped a door.

The other researchers stopped referencing your work without Wesker’s express permission. He had erased your reputation as independent—you were his now.

And no one questioned it.

Not when his gaze burned through the glass walls of the lab.

Not when he stood beside you in meetings like a shadow wearing a tailored suit.

Not when his hand briefly brushed yours while reviewing samples, and he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t need to pull away.

He had already claimed what he wanted.

---

Now, his fingerprints existed on more than your reports.

He’d rewritten your schedule to end near his. Aligned your meals. Synced your lab hours. Even your breaks were subtly shifted, your elevator stops timed perfectly with his descent.

You didn’t see it.

But he did.

Every day you returned to your workspace slightly adjusted—your chair moved back in, your pens restocked, your personal mug rotated exactly one degree counter-clockwise.

“We’re optimizing,” he’d say.

“For your convenience.”

He'd begun accompanying you to biometric checks. At first, a coincidence. The second time, an excuse. By the third, he was inputting your medical logs himself.

His voice was always calm. Always formal. Always patient.

But his gaze lingered.

His presence loomed.

And his hands—always gloved—brushed against the small of your back far too often for protocol.

---

And he watched.

From behind glass. From dark monitors. From still frames and slow replays. When your blouse sat a little too low. When your eyes wandered where they shouldn’t.

You were careless with your innocence.

But he would be careful for you.

He adjusted the brightness of the surveillance feed. Zoomed in. Studied the way you leaned too close to your keyboard.

Imagined your breath fogging the screen.

Imagined how easily that breath could hitch. Could falter. Could beg.

You have no idea, he thought.

But you will.

Not yet.

But soon.

Understanding would come later.

---

🧬 6. [Infection]

The final stage was the most dangerous.

You said his name once.

Not “sir.”

Not “Wesker.”

Just:

“Albert…?”

His gaze snaps up from the report.

You’re standing in the doorway of his office, the heel of one shoe slightly kicked back, as if you weren’t sure whether to enter. The folder in your hand trembles slightly—an involuntary twitch you don’t even notice. But he does.

He notices everything.

The breath that stutters in your throat after the name escapes.

The flicker of hesitation in your pupils when his expression doesn’t immediately soften.

The way you shift—defensive, unsure—before you correct yourself:

“I mean—sir. Sorry, I meant—sir.”

But it’s already too late.

The damage is done.

You spoke it aloud.

Not in passing.

Not as a slip of protocol.

Not with bitterness or irony.

But with concern.

Soft. Tentative. Almost gentle.

And that… that is what undoes him.

You don’t know he has a file buried six levels deep into a server no one else can access—labeled with your name, storing every image of you captured on internal footage.

You don’t know he’s wiped out four internal transfer requests that would have pulled you from his floor.

You don’t know he personally selects your meals for team events—ensuring your preferences are always met, even when no one else notices.

You don’t know he’s kept you here, orbiting him, perfectly placed, under the illusion of promotion.

And now you’ve said his name like it belongs to you.

Like he does.

“Sir,” you try again, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Apologies. I—I didn’t mean—”

He stands slowly, measured, the desk separating you like a fragile boundary he’s had to respect for far too long.

“No need to apologize,” he says coolly. “You simply… surprised me.”

But inside? His thoughts are nothing but static.

He replays the syllables.

Not just the sound, but the shape of your mouth when you said it.

He files it into memory. Deep. Permanent.

And he knows—sooner than even you do—that this is the beginning of the end for the illusion.

Because from this moment on, you’ve stopped being a project.

Stopped being a subject.

You’ve become a trigger.

A fixation.

An opening he hadn’t anticipated—but cannot ignore.

You said his name once.

You won’t realize until it’s far too late:

You’ll never say it the same way again.

Because you didn’t know what you’d done.

You didn’t hear it the way he did.

Like it was already yours to say.

Like he wasn’t a god.

Like he was a man.

A man who had already rewritten every security protocol to keep you near.

A man who eliminated colleagues who made you uncomfortable.

A man who—if you ever truly looked—might shatter the illusion of “normal” with one cold sentence:

“You’re not here by accident.”

“You’re here because I designed you to be.”

But you don’t know.

You smile politely.

You offer your reports.

You drink the coffee that arrives on your desk precisely how you like it.

You go home.

You live your life.

While he rewatches your day in full.

While he listens to your voicemails and deletes names from your inbox.

While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

While he reminds himself that love is irrelevant.

Control is what matters.

And he already has it.

---

He’d timed every entry and exit.

He knew how long you took in the restroom.

Which hallway you paused in to check your phone.

What time of day your voice grew tired.

He saw it as clearly as he saw cell degradation under a microscope.

That slow unraveling.

That quiet compliance.

You were adapting.

Your posture had shifted. Subtly. You walked faster when alone. Slower when near him. You dressed differently—more reserved, perhaps without realizing. You avoided eye contact with male superiors.

Wesker approved.

He didn’t speak of it.

Didn’t need to.

The conditioning was holding.

You had stopped asking questions.

Stopped challenging schedules.

Stopped requesting to work from other wings.

You had folded into the environment he designed—one where he was a constant hum beneath your daily routine. Where his name lingered at the back of your tongue. Where his voice set your pace and his silence set your nerves.

---

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he muttered to himself, watching the security footage replay. While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

There you were again. That exact moment. Your eyes soft, confused, lips parted: Albert…?

He paused the video.

Leaned back.

Let the sound echo in the sterile quiet of his office.

It was not an accident.

Not some sweet slip of tongue.

No.

It was the infection taking root.

Your body catching up to what your environment had long accepted.

Dependence.

Deference.

Attachment.

He could work with that.

Love was messy. Emotional.

But dependence—he could mold.

He could reinforce it, reward it, create just enough tension to keep you needing his approval.

To keep you needing him.

---

(A/N: should I make a part 2??? I mean- I already have it. I just wanna hear it from you dirty sluts;>)

[hummingbird24220]

The Ace Effect (Part 2)

One Piece x Reader

You were trying to be scientific about this. Objective. Measured. Data-driven. But science had failed you. You’d run every test, logged every variable, and the conclusion was clear:

Portgas D. Ace was too hot.

An adorable, freckled, emotionally catastrophic hottie.

He smiled too easily. He leaned too close. He listened when you spoke like you were explaining the secrets of the universe—even if it was just about your favorite pasta shape (it was cavatappi, for very good, very passionate reasons).

So, you’d decided to distance yourself.

Emotionally.

Mentally.

Physically.

You now spent most of your time in enclosed spaces, like the crow’s nest. Or the fridge. Or the bathroom with a blanket over your head.

Robin had stopped offering you tea. She just slid you calming herbs and whispered, “Breathe.”

Currently, you were hiding in the observation room with your notebook, furiously scribbling page after page:

“Romantic Threat Assessment: Portgas D. Ace”

Smile lethality: 9.5/10.

Freckle density: unreasonable.

Sweat glisten under direct sunlight: I’m suing.

Eye contact duration average: 3.7 seconds. Heart rate spike detected.

Potential danger to emotional stability: catastrophic.

You were about to add “Dangerous himbo energy” to the weaknesses column when the door creaked open behind you.

You froze.

“…Y/N?” a voice called.

It was him.

Of course it was him..

You slammed the book shut like it owed you money and spun in your chair. “Hi! Hello! What a surprise! How did you get in here?!”

Ace blinked. “The door was open.”

You nodded. “Right. Doors do that. Open. Yes. Physics.”

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, smiling that smile—the one that turned your brain into pudding.

“I was looking for you,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I—I haven’t—I mean I’ve just been—researching.” You grabbed a paper nearby and held it up. “Did you know swordfish can swim up to sixty miles per hour?”

He tilted his head. “That’s cool. But you’re kinda sweating.”

“No I’m not,” you lied, absolutely glistening.

He sat on the bench beside you, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, watching you with infuriating softness. “Y/N,” he said, voice low and sincere, “are you okay?”

You looked at him, really looked, and the truth fell out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“No. Because you keep smiling and talking and being shirtless and I think I’m in love with your stupid face and I hate it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Okay,” Ace said slowly, blinking. “That’s a lot. But… good?”

You frowned. “Good?”

“I was worried you were mad at me or something. But if it’s just that I’m too hot, I can work with that.”

Your eye twitched. “You are infuriating.”

“And you’re adorable.” He grinned and poked your cheek. “You drew me with a flower crown on Slide 14.”

You gasped. “You looked through my slides?!”

“I had to! Sanji said there was a whole chart of me kissing a sword and I had to know.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Kill me. Please.”

Ace chuckled and tugged your hand down so you’d look at him.

“You wanna know my favorite slide?” he asked.

“…Is it the one where I seduce a sword?”

“Nope.” He tapped your nose gently. “It’s the one where I’m standing next to you. You look happy. I like that one.”

Your heart tried to explode. You coughed like a dying Victorian child.

He stood up and offered you his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do something totally unscientific.”

You blinked up at him. “Like what?”

He grinned. “I dunno. Sit under the stars. Hold hands. Maybe kiss a little.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered diving out the window. Then, slowly, you took his hand.

Later that night, Robin passed by the deck and spotted you both under a blanket, giggling like kids, faces close in the moonlight.

She sipped her tea and murmured to herself with a smile:

“…Hypothesis confirmed.”

-

You’d hidden the folder. You swore you’d hidden it.

Labeled innocently as “Botanical Thermodynamics (DO NOT OPEN),” it was buried three subfolders deep in your cabin’s desk drawer, under your more boring research—like “The Migratory Patterns of Sea Chickens” and “Cloud That Looks Like Sanji.docx.”

So of course, Ace found it.

You came back from the galley with snacks—for bonding, nothing suspicious—and froze in your doorway.

Ace was sitting on the floor of your room, cross-legged and wholly entranced by the contents of your secret folder. Pages everywhere. Scribbled notes. Diagrams. Charts. Several graphs comparing the ratio of shirtlessness to your heart rate. A few pie charts. A Venn diagram titled “Ace’s Personality: Golden Retriever vs Arsonist” with a big overlap labeled “Dangerous to My Sanity.”

He looked up.

Your soul left your body.

“Hey,” he said, grinning, holding up a page. “So, quick question—how did you get this accurate of a sketch of my back muscles? Did you use mirrors or…?”

“…you were napping,” you croaked. “And I made estimations based on your shoulder width. And science.”

“Hmm.” He flipped the paper over. “Didn’t know science used glitter pens.”

You screamed internally.

Ace shuffled the pages again, pulling one out like it was damning evidence. “Also, this one? The flow chart titled ‘Why Ace is Probably Flirting With Me (But Also Might Just Be Nice)’—very thorough.”

You snatched it, horrified. “That one’s a draft!”

“Sure.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Y/N, there’s a six-page case study in here comparing me to various fire-based deities.”

“They’re thematic parallels! It’s literature!”

He held up another sheet. “And this?”

You groaned. “That’s Slide 12. The Compatibility Matrix.”

There were at least 23 names on it. Sanji, Zoro, Robin, the sword again, one very romantic dolphin you met on that weird island. All color-coded. Each had stats listed beneath: chemistry, aesthetic, emotional synergy, cuddle probability.

Yours was at the bottom.

Labeled “Me (Accidental Participant??)”

Next to it:

“Blush Index: Catastrophic.”

“Response Time to Flirting: Delayed.”

“Viability: Unknown.”

“Risk of Heart Failure: Elevated.”

“Desire to Kiss: Redacted.”

“Hair Compatibility: Excellent.” (underlined twice)

Ace didn’t say anything for a moment.

He just looked at you.

Not laughing now. Not teasing.

“...So,” he said, voice quieter. “I’m not imagining this, right? This… thing between us.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, “according to the data—”

“I don’t care about the data,” he said softly. “I care about you.”

The room spun.

Ace scratched the back of his neck, glancing at one of your messier pages. “You’ve been overanalyzing this so hard you forgot to just… feel it.”

You blinked. “That’s not very scientific.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “but it’s honest.”

He was in front of you now, close enough that your brain short-circuited.

“I like you,” he said, simple and devastating. “Freckles, flirt crimes, and all.”

You swallowed. “Even the page where I tried to calculate what your hugs would feel like?”

“…Especially that one.”

You blushed so hard your ears burned. “I labeled it ‘Theoretical Warmth.’”

He leaned in, smiling. “Want to make it empirical?”

You stared.

Then nodded.

He pulled you into a hug—warm, safe, a little too perfect. Your knees nearly gave out.

“New variable unlocked,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked.

Outside, Robin passed the door and paused.

She heard muffled giggling. A thump. A very undignified squeal.

She sipped her tea with a knowing smile.

“…Hypothesis upgraded,” she murmured. “To fact.”

-

Sanji found the folder two days later.

You were still reeling from The Hug. Ace had gone back to his own ship for a few days to handle “logistical stuff” (you didn’t ask; you were too busy trying not to combust every time you remembered how warm his arms were).

So when Sanji burst into your room holding your Ace Compatibility Research Binder 2.0™, cheeks pink and eyes wide like he’d just found holy scripture, you didn’t even try to lie.

“Have you seen how detailed this is?” he gasped. “Y/N. Y/N. You measured his SMIRK RADIUS. You calculated the gravitational pull of his hip dips.”

“It’s called dedication to the craft,” you muttered, snatching a loose sticky note labeled ‘freckle constellation patterns (my death is imminent)’ and shoving it back in.

Sanji placed a reverent hand on the binder.

“…Can you run a compatibility chart for me?”

You blinked. “With who?”

He gave a suspicious shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Hypothetically. For science. Maybe the hot marine waitress in Shells Town. Or, you know—” (he looked away dramatically) “—anyone who finds me devastatingly attractive but emotionally complex.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you mean you?”

“I always mean me,” he said proudly.

You sighed.

Then grabbed a pen.

It became a thing.

You and Sanji, hunched over the table like mad scientists, surrounded by half-eaten snacks and glitter pens, arguing over whether eye crinkles or jawlines were a higher compatibility asset. The charts grew. The equations got complex. You started adding variables like “voice timbre” and “mid-battle sexiness.”

He brought you coffee. You brought him lipstick-stained rating stickers.

At one point, Robin passed by, saw the two of you laughing with ink on your faces, and whispered to Chopper, “I think they’ve finally snapped.”

Zoro just muttered, “I told you they were weird.”

The folder became… massive.

Color-coded.

Tabbed.

Glossy cover.

You laminated it.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

It was everything.

And then.

Nami found it.

She flipped through it once.

Then twice.

Then closed it.

And threw it off the ship.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” “MY DATAAA!” “MY HEART MAPS!!” “MY MIDRIFF METRICS!!!”

You and Sanji leapt over the railing like widowed scientists. You held each other in grief. Sanji sobbed dramatically. You actually considered diving in after it until Brook gently pulled you back.

“It’s over,” Nami said, brushing off her hands. “You two need help.”

“But it was a work of art,” Sanji sniffled. “You don’t understand. We mapped emotional compatibility by season!”

“I was a (Starsign),” you whispered, glassy-eyed. “Ace was a Leo. It made sense.”

“It’s literally astrology,” Nami deadpanned.

“SCIENCE,” you hissed.

That night, sitting on the deck in a towel like a war survivor, you stared up at the stars and sighed.

“…I think I was using science as a shield.”

Robin hummed beside you. “Mmm. Defense mechanisms often wear lab coats.”

“I spent so long trying to define it. To label it. Ace makes me feel like I’m on fire and floating all at once, and I kept trying to call that a chemical reaction.”

“Maybe,” she said, “it’s just… chemistry.”

You looked at her.

Then stood up, shaky but determined.

“No more analysis. No more charts. No more math.”

Robin sipped her tea. “How revolutionary of you.”

You turned toward the edge of the ship—and right on cue, Ace was arriving back, hopping from his little boat, a wide smile on his face and wind in his hair, like the universe had heard your dramatic declaration and queued his entrance.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly. “I missed you.”

You didn’t say anything.

You ran.

And then jumped.

Straight into his arms.

He caught you effortlessly, laughing against your shoulder as you clung to him like a starved scientist to the truth.

“No more variables,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his.

“No more equations,” he agreed, cupping your cheek.

You kissed him.

It was messy.

Uncalculated.

Absolutely beautiful.

Somewhere, Sanji sighed longingly as he watched from the kitchen window.

“…I should’ve laminated my feelings.”

-

The folder—the last folder—sat in Ace’s hands like it was ticking.

Nami stood over you both like judgment incarnate, arms crossed, hair glinting like fury under sunlight.

“You promised,” she said to Ace. “We’re putting this weird phase behind us. Burn it. All of it.”

You looked up at him, heart cracking like paper held too close to a flame. “It’s fine,” you said, voice small. “She’s right. It’s time to move on. No more graphs. No more compatibility tables. No more glitter pens.”

Ace looked between you and Nami. Then down at the binder. It was a Frankenstein’s monster of data—he’d added his own notes in the margins. Compliments on your hair. A post-it that said “Y/N’s laugh: better than fire.” Another by your graph titled “Back Muscle Density vs Hug Quality,” where he’d written: “Can confirm. Hugged subject. Results: glorious.”

He smiled gently.

Then, very deliberately, pulled two pages out—your drawing of the two of you smiling, and the back muscle chart—and tucked them inside his vest.

Nami narrowed her eyes.

Ace grinned. “Sentimental value.”

You sniffled. “Scientific value.”

Nami rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The rest goes.”

He nodded. And then, with a flick of his fingers, fire danced across his knuckles. You both watched as the paper edges curled, then ignited, flames licking away hours of analysis, overthinking, insecurity.

You stood beside him, watching it burn.

Not sad, exactly.

Just… letting go.

Your fingers brushed his.

You didn’t pull away.

That night, you sat side by side on the deck, legs swinging off the edge, bare feet over calm water. The sea shimmered with stars, and the moon painted his freckles like constellations.

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded. “Feels weird. Like I’ve been wearing goggles for so long, and I finally took them off. Everything’s clearer. A little blurrier, too.”

“Real life usually is.”

You glanced at him.

Ace was leaning back on his palms, head tilted toward the sky, hair wind-tossed, and you were ruined. By him. For life.

“You kept the drawing,” you said, nudging him lightly.

“I like how you drew me smiling,” he said. “And the eyelashes you gave yourself. Accurate.”

You flushed. “Shut up.”

“I also kept the back muscle graph,” he added. “For… fitness purposes.”

You laughed. “Of course.”

The silence that followed was warm. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just two people sitting together, a spark glowing softly between them.

Your hands found each other again, fingers interlocking naturally this time.

No fanfare.

No charts.

Just feeling.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “I think I like you.”

He smiled.

“I know,” he whispered. “I like you too.”

And under the stars, no graphs, no hypotheses, no research—just two hearts, fluttering and new—young love bloomed quietly. Sweet. Simple. And maybe just a little bit inevitable.

[cicerfics]

Having A Silly Thought about this post:

I think, at some point, Q-branch becomes very absorbed in the discussion of how Evil Overlord and Evil Consort are clearly two separate genders which bear no relationship to the gender binary of masculinity vs. femininity. A cis man can certainly be an Evil Consort! A nonbinary individual or a person whose gender presentation leans more toward the femme side of things can certainly be an Evil Overlord! These things are complex and variable and must not be restricted based on the artificial confines of the gender binary!

There is much discussion on this topic (a very normal topic of conversation in Q-branch, TBH). People begin analyzing themselves to determine whether they are more on the 'Evil Overlord' side of the spectrum or more on the 'Evil Consort' side.

(Soon, a small group insists that a third gender of 'Evil Henchperson' must be created as well, and this is accordingly done. A few other 'evil' genders pop up, too, as some techs choose a different label for themselves. But most people in the department are trying to decide whether they're more of an Evil Overlord or an Evil Consort.)

Graphs and charts are created to analyze the ratio of responses and to sift for patterns in the collected data. (Again, this is a very normal extracurricular activity in Q-branch.)

Q, everyone agrees, is an Evil Overlord and not at all an Evil Consort! This is understood. (Q does not speak to this himself, because he is busy finishing the annual budget, but his minions feel confident that they have assessed him correctly.)

And at some point, 007 turns up in Q-branch and wants to know what's going on with the white board that says 'Evil Overlord' and 'Evil Consort', with tally marks underneath it.

One of the bolder interns explains the matter to him. (Half the techs are now feeling very awkward and avoiding his eyes. How frivolous they must seem to a man who puts his life on the line for England every day!)

But Bond listens very solemnly and then tells them to put a tally mark under 'Evil Consort' on his behalf, because he is UNDOUBTEDLY that type. He is confident that he would look SPLENDID in a skintight black leather outfit, lounging across his overlord's lap while a traitorous minion is brought in for punishment. He would be EXCEPTIONALLY good at climbing out of the water, gleaming and dripping, in a tiny swimsuit, while his Evil Overlord makes evil phone calls on the deck of an evil yacht. He knows EXACTLY what the duties of Evil Consort would entail, and he could perform them with APLOMB. He would bring tremendous style and panache to the role!

...This is probably the point when Q pops out from his office to see what all the ruckus is about, and why Bond is loitering in Q-branch with a bunch of rapt technicians hanging on his every word.

When Bond explains, very seriously, that he is contributing his personal data for use on this important project (he is 100% an Evil Consort, and yes, Carstairs, he WILL fill out your form and offer supplemental data for additional analysis! glad to help!) Q sputters. He tells Bond to stop being ridiculous.

Bond, very seriously, informs Q that he cannot help being so good at smirking, smoldering, and sashaying around in risque outfits. Don't hate the player, Q. Hate the game.

Q is silent for a long, exasperated moment. Then he heaves a sigh and returns to his paperwork.

Meanwhile, the minions nod at each other solemnly, and silently agree that Bond would be an excellent Consort for their beloved Overlord.

...Just another normal day in Q-branch!

[covid-safer-hotties]

You won't see me posting any "news" about covid "dropping" to the 10th most common cause of death (Still a BAD THING) because I understand that

1. Not listing covid as a cause of death was causing statistical issues *BEFORE* when covid was still ranked no. 3

2. Hospitals haven't been required to report *any* covid data since February, artificially decreasing reporting in general.

3. Remember how "with or from covid" was a literal fascist talking point for all of 2020-2022? Why is it an acceptable variable all of a sudden? Has something changed about the Overton window, perhaps?

lying with statistics is incredibly common, and I'm not surprised, but I also won't be talking about those lies except for this post. Deaths from long covid have skyrocketed (and seldom labeled long covid on a death cert), and that is a death *from* covid even if it wasn't acute covid. This useless bickering is just manufacturing consent for constant mass-infection and death. We could have a better world. All we have to do is cover our faces to stop the spread. Studies have shown that even just 80% of people wearing a baggy blue surgical mask in public would decrease covid spread by nearly 97%. Whatever happened to "flatten the curve"?

[todays-xkcd]

People may complain about readability, but even with jpeg compression, extracting the data points is usually computationally feasible if there aren't too many of them.

Compact Graphs [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Left: graph of points plotted along two axes, headered by:]

Variable 1: X Axis

Variable 2: Y Axis

[A arrow pointing to the right.]

[Various semi-transparent numbers in different colors stacked on top of each other, headered by:]

Variable 1: Hue

Variable 2: Label

[Caption underneath:] Design tip: you can make your graphs more space-efficient by using hue and label for the first two variables, instead of only turning to them once you've used up the X and Y axes.

[pro-yearner]

I wholeheartedly believe that people around Jayvik in Piltover had their bets on these two regarding the whole “will they or won’t they” situation. Especially any people they hired as lab assistants. And I don’t mean it in an AU way. You can’t tell me there wasn’t a single person they worked with who didn’t pick up on the tension canonically. Runeterra doesn’t have homophobia either so it’s not unlikely to happen. Very many thoughts to be thunk.

And it not only is something that is born out of frivolity. Reminding everyone that they are all scholars here, surrounded by scholars. And many of these people tend to be quite oblivious to flirting and just romantic notions in general. So what is the idea of betting on whether Jayce and Viktor will fuck born out of? The study of human behaviour.

You have a young researcher that jots down Jayce and Viktor’s interactions in meticulous charts like they are trying to collect data focused on physical proximity, and how fast Jayce and Viktor are at finishing not only each other’s sentences but also their equations.

Another one that studies psychology in their free time is quite observant and ends up rooting for Jayce’s impulsive idealistic tendencies to make him fall for Viktor’s quiet and orderly pragmatism.

Then one time Viktor hires a mechanical engineer one that used to work with steam-powered systems and is from Zaun, and this one gets obsessed with assigning the principles of thermodynamics to Jayce and Viktor’s dynamic. Entropy Spike, they label a particularly bad argument that doesn’t get resolved right away. Jayce and Viktor bicker and they think of the phrase ‘classic exo & endothermic interplay’. What’s the verdict you may ask?

Jayce and Viktor are a closed system, trading energies but God forbid any external forces try to interfere.

Heimerdinger is aware of all of this by the way. He just has 307 years of lethargy to not really give much fucks? I guess? Dk but Mel though… hm, she doesn’t bet. She’s not particularly fond of gambling. She watches and doesn’t make her move on Jayce for the longest time lest she gets rejected and see, she strikes the moment there’s a gap because she’s clever like that.

There’s also a thesis written by some grad student who doesn’t get a green signal on their paper on a case study of human eroticism and tension as implicit variables when it comes to collaborative genius. It’s a marvellous paper. Heimerdinger keeps it in one of his drawers.

[mysticstronomy]

A MISSING PIECE IN THE BIG BANG THEORY HAS SURFACED??

Blog#411

Wednesday, June 19th, 2024.

Welcome back,

Combining different pieces from Big Bang cosmology could help explain an issue we have today.

The Hubble constant, the speed of expansion of our universe, is not observed with consistency.

These scientists suggest that not-well-understood quantum gravity could account for the gap.

In research published earlier this year, physicists from the University of Hyderabad in India say they’re on the path to solving one of the universe’s biggest outstanding problems. Since Edwin Hubble realized the universe is always expanding nearly 100 years ago, scientists have used the “Hubble constant” in calculations on virtually every scale in the universe.

But today, estimates for the Hubble constant don’t always align, with a difference of up to 10 percent between calculations made using different methods. (When someone at NASA mixes up meters and yards and loses an entire spacecraft, that’s not even a full 10 percent deviation.)

The paper appears in the peer reviewed journal Classical and Quantum Gravity. The journal has an ongoing, periodically updated “focus issue” specifically about this measurement tension, and the editors explain the problem there—scientists can’t say for sure that the different Hubble constants measured are actually different, rather than just observation or calibration issues.

But the authors of the new paper, physicist P.K. Suresh and his research fellow (referred to as just Anupama B.) say that most measurements taken now are reliable. Instrumentation only continues to improve—we’ve all seen those generation-defining, poster-quality photos of the far-out planets, for example. If the measurements on the local and faraway levels are indeed sound, then something is missing.

It’s here where they introduce quantum gravity as a possible factor. This variable—which, to be honest, is another enigmatic “placeholder” in some ways—could close the gap in Hubble constant observations. That’s because, as the authors propose, quantum gravity could have affected the rate of change at which the universe expanded itself. When a constant can have a variable rate of change, it’s easy to see why researchers tend to drop the ‘constant’ label and instead call the fatcor simply H0, H1, and so on to designate which version of the measurement is in play.

The researchers explain that during inflation—the rapid growth of the universe immediately following the Big Bang—there may not have been a single, uniform inflation zone. Instead, more and more scientists are theorizing around the idea of “multi field” inflation. The idea originated to explain another measurement discrepancy: the number of particles in particular places or times, compared with the massive speed of inflation overall.

If a theory could help explain one gap in our codified equations for how inflation works, it makes sense to try that theory to find other missing pieces. These researchers used what is called the hybrid inflationary model, which describes two fields: one inflating and one rolling over like a waterfall. By accounting for quantum gravity, they found they were able to reconcile H0—the current Hubble constant—with both H1 (during inflation) and HT (during phase transition). Just one adjusted equation with a parameter for quantum gravity could draw a curve that includes all three data points.

Originally published on www.popularmechanics.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, June 22nd, 2024)

"WHAT IS THE OLDEST BLACK HOLE IN OUR UNIVERSE??"

[packagingworldinsights]

Domino launches K300 inkjet printer at Labelexpo Southeast Asia 2025, boosting biopharma packaging, glass pharmaceutical packaging & labelling.

[garmgeyr]

ENIGMATA: The Path of Storytellers, Skeptics, Poets, and Possibilities

(And Propagandists, but this meta looks at Enigmata through a more positive light)

Enigmata is - and will likely remain - a poorly understood path. Its philosophy, after all, defies the concept of “certainty” in favor of endless possibilities, so to understand it fully would be to eliminate Enigmata itself. So far the only factions we know of are the History Fictionologists, who embellish the past with fiction in order to inspire future possibilities, and the Riddlers, who use metaphors, riddles, and other circuitous language to forge multiple meanings in communication. This is not simply “the path of liars and misinformation,” as the fandom has taken to believing. That would be better fit for Elation. Enigmata is instead the path of “what if,” and sits in direct opposition to the cold, systematic omniscience of Erudition.

Defying Erudition does not mean that Enigmata necessarily aims to destroy knowledge or knowing. I would argue that “theory” is an acceptable concept within this philosophy because “theory” itself is innately uncertain. A theory is a theory because there exists the possibility for it to be proven wrong, given enough evidence, the right tools, and time. Instead, Enigmata reminds Erudition that nothing can ever truly be 100% known, and that science is filtered through biases, variables, imperfection, and misattribution. On top of that, reality is created on the individual level, and every single creature in this world experiences it differently. To the Enigmata pathstrider, it is in fact impossible to explain the world with generalizations.

Giving up certainty does not come at the expense of intellect, however. “To stop questioning is to ask pouring rain to relinquish its faith in the glittering stars” is the quote for Enigmata in the data bank, written by a poet who presumably follows the path. The quote itself obscures its meaning with metaphor and leaves its interpretation up to the reader, but also highlights the act of questioning, which by itself creates the unknown and opens the door to speculation. Enigmata is therefore the path of skeptics. Don’t take words at face value, it says. Even Gallagher, one of our only examples of an Enigmata pathstrider at the moment, is described at least once as being skeptical, and frequently warns the Trailblazer not to believe what they see. This is not the path of brainlessness, even if Mythus is represented as a jellyfish, but is ironically cerebral. If there is nothing left to question, doubt, or wonder about, then there is no Enigmata.

Like all the paths though, whether or not you find the followers of Enigmata “good” or “bad” is a matter of perspective. Altering historical records might be offensive to a Candelographo, while writing a story that embellishes the past would otherwise be seen as a work of art. As stated above, Enigmata is not merely a path of lies, insofar as fiction is not foremost labeled as a lie. This is, after all, a path of poets and storytellers, and most of us don’t throw away books because they veer from what we know of reality or truth. Historical fiction presents to us both fact and fiction simultaneously, and asks questions like “what if 17th century Europe had dragons?” Engaging with fantasy in this way allows us to indulge in a whole plethora of alternate worlds that are paradoxically real and fake.

For this reason, there is no better way to introduce Enigmata to us than with Penacony’s dreamscape, which represents dreams, imagination, and memory. All of these things leave real impacts on us, even if they don’t reside in the part of the world we call reality. While just about all of us would agree that dreams and imagination are inherently full of possibilities, what about memory? The path of Remembrance governs memory, and believes that it can be captured and preserved 1:1. Mythus was born from the aeon of Remembrance, however, and represents one of the ways in which memory fails: when we forget details, our brain naturally plugs holes up with fabrications. Enigmata’s corrosion (and it is indeed called such in game) is usually harmless to memory in small quantities, but larger holes lend themselves to more impactful fiction. There is a famous psychological study conducted by Loftus and Palmer in the 1970s that revealed how leading questions and false information can affect eyewitness accounts of car crashes. New information has the potential to overwrite memory - a green car suddenly becomes red in testimony - and Dr. Blues’ quest line illustrates this phenomenon: a person whose body has been “forgotten” by the dreamscape becomes an origami bird with Enigmata’s (Gallagher’s) help. Unlike its defiance of Erudition, Enigmata is a facet, rather than an enemy of Remembrance.

This whole post was actually inspired by the Otherworldly Delights readable, which I haven’t even touched on yet and probably won’t spend much time going over it anyway. This readable describes how one of the Luofu’s storytellers acquired a parrot from a mysterious fan, and how the parrot learned to recite and eventually create stories of its own. This parrot was Youci (the Pure Fiction bird), and while not outright stated to be related to Enigmata, its penchant for reinventing the past all but confirms it to be some sort of History Fictionologist, even though its owner doesn’t believe it has the capability of thought and imagination that humans possess. This story and the description on the Jade Feather (tl;dr : a Candelographo was discovered to have fabricated all of the history she’d recorded since creating a quill from the feathers of her dead parrot) have something notable in common beyond just the parrot: a writer or storyteller acquires some kind of muse that coincides with when they begin creating fiction, but the writer themselves is never attributed as a History Fictionologist.

Mikhail was a prolific storyteller and most of his work was based on his own history. Despite everything he created being clearly fiction, he’s never described as a History Fictionologist. Gallagher is though, and is frequently represented as the statue of a hound. Mikhail even calls him "[his] hound." So I had to wonder — might he have been Mikhail’s “parrot?” Gallagher's purpose would have been to reinvent Penacony’s history, and he does that twice that we know of (first in turning the planet into the “Planet of Festivities,” and second in freeing it from the Order). As we see in Otherworldly Delights, Youci becomes a storyteller itself by first mimicking its master, and then observing the world around it. This echoes Gallagher’s character stories, which shows through a series of notes how he’s created his persona by observing people in Penacony. If he’s not the History Fictionologist himself, then he was a gift from one to Mikhail during the War of Independence. Under this theory, Mikhail - and likely Micah - both knew what Gallagher was, and relied on him for the power his stories held within the dreamscape.

This has gone on too long now, and I still have other theories to write out at some point, but all this is to say that Gallagher continues to be a phenomenal representation of the path of Enigmata: who and what he is remains full of endless possibilities in the face of so much information.

[jetsci]

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[ceciliasthings]

Tw IF YOURE NOT COMFORTABLE W THE TOPIC OF EDS PLEASE IGNORE I LOVE YOUR WORK KISS KISS Id love to see a Eugene ed/body issues comfort if you’re okay writing something like that maybe reader is struggling with feeling control since the apocalypse and wants to find control in anything or just body issue stuff

"Out of Control, Still Yours"

You hadn't eaten much that day. Or the day before. The apocalypse was good at handing out chaos like Halloween candy, but it took away the small comforts—normalcy, safety… control.

And lately, your body had started to feel like one more thing spiraling out of your grasp. You found ways to regain that grip. Skipping meals here, tightening your belt there. Small decisions that felt like victories. Until they didn’t.

You didn’t mean for Eugene to find out. But he always noticed more than people gave him credit for.

“Uh… permission to address a somewhat sensitive subject of a corporeal nature?” he asked gently one night, his voice more nervous than usual, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

You blinked at him from your spot on the couch. “Uh… sure?”

“I have engaged in some pattern recognition. And the data—well, it suggests a… a worrying trend. Namely, your intake of sustenance has diminished. Severely. Statistically abnormally, I’d say. And not in a survival-rationing kind of way.”

You looked away, jaw tight. “It’s nothing, Eugene.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re not nothing,” he said quickly. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to override your autonomy or anything of that nature, I just… You mean a great deal to me. And seeing you hurt—especially by something internalized—it makes me wanna smash things. In a science-adjacent, constructive way, of course.”

You let out a choked laugh. Damn him for making you laugh right now. “It’s not about food. It’s about control.”

“I… comprehend that. At least theoretically. The world turned into a blender full of zombie guts. Sometimes the only thing that feels like it’s yours is… your body. Or the lack of it.” He stepped closer, carefully, like you might break. “I used to hate mine too. Still do, on off days. Thought it made me weak, ridiculous. Didn’t help that my physique resembled an undercooked breadstick and I had all the charisma of a wet sock.”

You snorted softly, and Eugene looked emboldened. “But Corinne… she told me my body was strong. Capable. Deserving. Even if it didn’t look like some comic book cover. And I believe her. Because she sees me. And I see you.”

He knelt in front of you, his blue eyes earnest and stormy with concern. “You don’t have to earn rest. Or food. Or care. Not from me. Not from anybody. You’re allowed to just… be. And I know control is hard to give up. But maybe we can share it, like a science experiment. One variable at a time. Together.”

Silence stretched between you like a held breath, heavy but not suffocating.

“Together sounds okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he said. Then added, “Also, I made you soup. And I cut the carrots into tiny stars because apparently that’s my coping mechanism now.”

You smiled, despite the weight in your chest. “You’re such a dork.”

“I prefer ‘culinary astronomer,’ but I’ll accept dork.”

Bonus:Eugene's Soft Apocalypse Support Protocol™:

1. Starts “accidentally” complimenting you every time you pass by

“You’re exhibit A in my thesis on post-apocalyptic beauty. Also, you smell vaguely like cinnamon and heroism.”

2. Creates a coded journal just for you

It’s titled something like “Operation: Hotness Recovery & Confidence Restoration, Vol. 1” and filled with quotes, jokes, observations about how amazing you are, and the occasional doodle of a muscular squirrel fighting body insecurity.

3. Builds you a little “control station” corner in the house

Organizers, labeled drawers, a planner, a checklist board… He even makes you a rotating “affirmation of the day” device with a crank handle. It clicks and delivers things like:

> “You’re not just surviving. You’re thriving with flair.”

4. Knits you a weighted vest

Okay, maybe “crochets with improvised leather straps” is more accurate, but it helps you feel grounded, and he says it’s "custom calibrated to calm human nervous systems with max comfort and minimum itch."

5. Makes weird but weirdly helpful metaphor charts

He explains how the human body isn’t an enemy—it’s the vehicle you ride into battle. He draws your “battle mech” on graph paper. There are flames. There’s a mini you piloting it with sunglasses on. It's adorable.

6. Leaves you random food shaped like hearts or stars

You once found a perfectly carved potato wedge with a smiley face etched in mustard. He pretended it was “pure coincidence,” but he’s got a whole folder labeled Emotional Snacks Strategy.

7. Listens—without fixing (unless you ask)

He learns quickly when to offer science and when to just shut up and let you cry into his shoulder while he holds you like you’re the last good thing in the world.

8. Does self-deprecating confessionals to make you laugh

“I once spent six weeks convinced my ears were uneven and wore a headband to bed to ‘realign them.’ So. We’re all fighting stupid battles in this war, darlin’.”

9. Draws a body outline on a wall with affirmations written in marker

He adds one every day. “This shoulder helped carry Glenn’s gear,” “These legs kicked in a door and saved Rosita,” “This belly held laughter when we thought we’d never feel joy again.”

10. Asks if you want to train or just yell

“I have both weapons and pillows prepared. We can rage into the void or I can let you smack a dummy labeled ‘societal standards.’ Your call.”

11. Replaces your old mirror with a “magic” one

He tapes messages around the edges like:

> “Objects in mirror are more badass than they appear.”

“This reflection survived the literal end of the world.”

12. Refers to your body as “combat-optimized organic armor”

“You ain’t soft—you’re strategically padded for comfort, endurance, and aesthetic superiority.”

13. Shows you his own insecurities

He opens up about the things he hated about himself before the end of the world—his social awkwardness, his cowardice—and how you helped him see he was worth more.

14. Says “I love you” without using those words every day

Sometimes it’s “You’re my statistical anomaly.”

Sometimes it’s “Don’t go into that supply run without gloves.”

Sometimes it’s just a cup of coffee, a soft forehead kiss, and a look that says everything.