#temporal-cycle

[timeandart]

Connections: Time, Landscape, and the Art of Andy Goldsworthy

Artwork | Goldsworthy | UK

Menuhin, E. (2023) ‘Connections: Time, Landscape, and the Art of Andy Goldsworthy’, Architectural design, 93(5), pp. 60–69.

Bring attention to seasonality by combining / contrasting different times of natural materials.

Engages with processes of change over time such as themes of decay or melting.

The works themselves have a temporal dimension, often only lasting for a short moment when they are captured in photography before they disappear.

Attention to temporal cycles of life and death in nature.

Brings past into conversation with present (e.g. dry stone wall traversing urban landscape).

[traumatizedimmortals]

I looovveee cycles. I love it when a characters repeats the same mistake and fail in the same way forever and ever and ever. characters who consciously or otherwise engage in destructive behaviors which are detrimental to themselves and everyone around them. because they think they can do it better this time. because it's what's familiar. because that's all they know how to do.

[lumindaeva]

[ The Villainess Cycle ] -- Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Page

Summary:

Asterin witnesses a murder, but surely that's the worst her night can get, right?

SMASH!

Asterin jolted, kicking her legs out and knocking over a trash can. She leapt forward, catching it before it could crash to the ground.

As she readjusted the can, ignoring the smell of moldy food and the maggots that slipped onto her gloved surroundings, she listened intently to her surroundings. This has been the best sleep she’d had in months—what could have possibly interrupted it?

“If we don’t do this, who is to say you won’t kill us next?”

Asterin brought her cloak closer around her as she peered deeper into the alley, towards where the markets met the slums that she frequented for her day jobs but otherwise she tried so hard to steer away from in the dark of night. Yet it seemed fate had other plans, pusher her closer to its shrouded depths that she may never return from.

Three figures stood underneath the small lamp that lit the one entrance to the brothel. Asterin shifted a bit closer, leaning against a chain-link fence that served as a physical border for the change in districts.

Two women dressed in overly extravagant finery leaned over a mousy fellow. He extended his hands out to them.

“No, listen, please! I promise it was nothing like that. Just let me go. Let me go and we—we can all forget about this, right?” His voice heightened to a higher pitch at the end.

Asterin winced, rubbing her ears. Still, she watched the interaction, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

One of the women scoffed and pointed something at him. Asterin narrowed her eyes, noting how the object reflected the light.

A gun?! Her heart raced.

“Look, it was just one whore. None of you liked her anyways. Why would you ca—“

BANG!

Asterin’s eyes widened as the man’s body slumped forward.

The women knocked on the back entrance. It swung open to reveal a burly fellow waved them in. They walked with a skip in their step, one of them twirling the gun in her grasp.

Once the door closed, Asterin moved away from the fence, only to be ripped back and almost fall onto her arse. She looked back to see the glove of her left hand caught in the metal chains.

Cursing to herself, she wrenched her hand away. But the fence fought back and took her glove, leaving her skin bare and her Mark out and proud for everyone to see.

I’ll deal with it later. It shouldn’t prove a problem tonight.

Asterin sidled over to the body. She wasn’t proud of it, but she hoped he had something on his person that would help her eat something that didn’t have insects or mold in it. After all, all of her money was going towards saving to get out of the Skies—food was a necessity she could skimp on quality for.

She paused as she realized just what she was doing. She wanted to curse the Skies, Parliament—hells, her ex-husband especially. She used to have the entire Skirion court wrapped around her finger, even called one of the heroes of the realm her fiancé; and now her she was, working for crime bosses and riffling through the remains of a dead man in the hopes of finding something worthy enough so that she could have a proper meal.

Shaking her head, Asterin fiddled with the lapels of the suit, flipping the jacket open and running her fingers against the inner linings. They brushed against something hard. A bit more inspection revealed a metallic card.

Bringing it more into the light, Asterin dropped it with a gasp, recoiling from the body as though it had come back to life.

She cursed under her breath. The Gods must be laughing at her. She needed to leave before—

“Ambassador Ailadon?” A voice called from the end of the alleyway in the slums. “The Council has requested your presence on the Surface.”

Asterin scrambled away from the body. Her heart thundered in her ears, draining out all of her other senses. The need to go, to run, coursed through her. If she didn’t, they would think she did it. She would be brought before the Guardians for judgment, and they would recognize her.

Then she would be turned over to Parliament and—

She released a long breath, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn’t spiral. She wouldn’t spiral. Right now, she needed to get out of there.

“Ambassador?” The person called again, a hint of worry in their voice.

Asterin scrambled for the other end of the alleyway, towards the bazaar that boasted its nightly crowd.

“Uncle?” She heard just as she broke through the exit. “Uncle?!”

She weaved her way through the masses, keeping her eyes forward.

“Do you smell that?”

“By the Gods, have you ever heard of a shower?”

“This is surely in the jurisdiction of the Guardians, right? Why would they let rodents out on the streets?”

Asterin ignored the murmurs, though her face betrayed her as it grew several shades darker until it resembled a plum. She tried to move to the less-crowded sidewalks, but a bouncer for one of the late-night clubs pushed her. She fell to the ground, her hood falling back and revealing her face.

She winced as pain spread across her bottom. Months of malnutrition left her slower than normal, but she still needed to go before—

The bouncer narrowed his eyes. “Horns?” He whispered to himself. “Violet eyes like the Void itself…”

Shit. She hastened, clambering back upright and bringing the hood back over her head.

Before she could step away, a large hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her backwards.

The bouncer leaned over her, a wicked grin on his scarred face. He appraised her, a knowing light in his eyes that had Asterin’s stomach curling inwardly.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the false heir,” he sneered, bringing himself close enough to sniff at her. He grimaced. “Needs a bit of a bath, but I know quite a few people out there who would pay a pretty price for your head… among other things.”

Asterin thrashed against his grip to no avail. If this were before, she would have smashed his face into the building and sprinted off, but now she struggled to even keep herself on her own two legs. Gods below, she wished she could rip that smugness right off his face and feed it to a valhound.

“Now, how about we get you into the—“ Just as he pulled her closer into the entrance of the club, a shout from down the street paused the crowd.

“Stop!”

A tingle ran through Asterin’s body as she looked in its direction—finding everyone around her, including the man holding her, frozen in place. At the end of the street, close to the alley she had come from, a younger looking man leaned against the brick wall of the old garment shop. 

Sweat lined his brow, but his gaze never left Asterin as he stood taller, wiping what looked like blue blood away from his mouth.

The Voice. A form of magick very few could command. To the point that in her half-a-millennia of living, Asterin had yet to see someone else wield. With just a simple command, they overtook a person’s control of themselves. To do so to an entire street… Asterin didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out just how powerful they were.

She took advantage of the bouncer’s stillness, ripping herself out of his grasp.

The Guardians on either side of the Voice-user seemed frozen as well. Asterin reckoned that in his haste he hadn’t considered directing it properly. And by the way he struggled to walk in a straight line—repeatedly falling into frozen bodies and tripping over his own feet—she figured she had a much better shot at running now than she did before.

Asterin rushed through the crowd, weaving between the bodies. The further she got, the more she saw telltale signs that they were regaining control of themselves. A few muscle twitches here, an eye rolling there, and even a gasp escaping one person.

From what she remembered from the arcane books she would study alongside her brother—rather than completing the mundane work her aunt insisted upon—those subjected to the Voice were fully aware of themselves even when they were under its spell, they just couldn’t do anything. The thought alone of it happening to her left a queasy feeling in her stomach as she reached the other end of the street.

“Stop!” Another rush of energy washed over her, but she continued to move.

How am I unaffected?

She reasoned that it didn’t matter as she ran into a nearby side street.

Yet the thought continued to linger in the back of her mind as she rushed further into the heart of the city—the man’s voice continuing to echo until it was eventually lost to the hustle and bustle of urban life.

[reticent-fate]

Coping with divinekin related feelings by making a spreadsheet and trying to think about a tarot deck based on exomemories again 🙏

//inhales deeply//

-Nova

[theplotmage]

Principles and Laws of Magic for Fantasy Writers

Fundamental Laws

1. Law of Conservation of Magic- Magic cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed.

3. Law of Equivalent Exchange- To gain something, an equal value must be given.

5. Law of Magical Exhaustion- Using magic drains the user’s energy or life force.

Interaction and Interference

4. Law of Magical Interference- Magic can interfere with other magical effects.

6. Law of Magical Contamination- Magic can have unintended side effects.

8. Law of Magical Inertia- Magical effects continue until stopped by an equal or greater force.

Resonance and Conditions

7. Law of Magical Resonance- Magic resonates with certain materials, places, or times.

9. Law of Magical Secrecy- Magic must be kept secret from the non-magical world.

11. Law of Magical Hierarchy- Different types of magic have different levels of power and difficulty.

Balance and Consequences

10. Law of Magical Balance- Every positive magical effect has a negative consequence.

12. Law of Magical Limitation- Magic has limits and cannot solve every problem.

14. Law of Magical Rebound- Misused magic can backfire on the user.

Special Conditions

13. Law of Magical Conduits- Certain objects or beings can channel magic more effectively.

15. Law of Magical Cycles- Magic may be stronger or weaker depending on cycles (e.g., lunar phases).

17. Law of Magical Awareness- Some beings are more attuned to magic and can sense its presence.

Ethical and Moral Laws

16. Law of Magical Ethics- Magic should be used responsibly and ethically.

18. Law of Magical Consent- Magic should not be used on others without their consent.

20. Law of Magical Oaths- Magical promises or oaths are binding and have severe consequences if broken.

Advanced and Rare Laws

19. Law of Magical Evolution- Magic can evolve and change over time.

20. Law of Magical Singularities- Unique, one-of-a-kind magical phenomena exist and are unpredictable.

Unique and Imaginative Magical Laws

- Law of Temporal Magic- Magic can manipulate time, but with severe consequences. Altering the past can create paradoxes, and using time magic ages the caster rapidly.

- Law of Emotional Resonance- Magic is amplified or diminished by the caster’s emotions. Strong emotions like love or anger can make spells more powerful but harder to control.

- Law of Elemental Harmony- Magic is tied to natural elements (fire, water, earth, air). Using one element excessively can disrupt the balance and cause natural disasters.

- Law of Dream Magic- Magic can be accessed through dreams. Dreamwalkers can enter others’ dreams, but they risk getting trapped in the dream world.

- Law of Ancestral Magic- Magic is inherited through bloodlines. The strength and type of magic depend on the caster’s ancestry, and ancient family feuds can influence magical abilities.

- Law of Symbiotic Magic- Magic requires a symbiotic relationship with magical creatures. The caster and creature share power, but harming one affects the other.

- Law of Forgotten Magic- Ancient spells and rituals are lost to time. Discovering and using forgotten magic can yield great power but also unknown dangers.

- Law of Magical Echoes- Spells leave behind echoes that can be sensed or traced. Powerful spells create stronger echoes that linger longer.

- Law of Arcane Geometry- Magic follows geometric patterns. Spells must be cast within specific shapes or alignments to work correctly.

- Law of Celestial Magic- Magic is influenced by celestial bodies. Spells are stronger during certain astronomical events like eclipses or planetary alignments.

- Law of Sentient Magic- Magic has a will of its own. It can choose to aid or hinder the caster based on its own mysterious motives.

- Law of Shadow Magic- Magic can manipulate shadows and darkness. Shadowcasters can travel through shadows but are vulnerable to light.

- Law of Sympathetic Magic- Magic works through connections. A spell cast on a representation of a person (like a doll or portrait) affects the actual person.

- Law of Magical Artifacts- Certain objects hold immense magical power. These artifacts can only be used by those deemed worthy or who possess specific traits.

- Law of Arcane Paradoxes- Some spells create paradoxes that defy logic. These paradoxes can have unpredictable and often dangerous outcomes.

- Law of Elemental Fusion- Combining different elemental magics creates new, hybrid spells with unique properties and effects.

- Law of Ethereal Magic- Magic can interact with the spirit world. Ethereal mages can communicate with spirits, but prolonged contact can blur the line between life and death.

- Law of Arcane Symbiosis- Magic can bond with technology, creating magical machines or enchanted devices with extraordinary capabilities.

- Law of Dimensional Magic- Magic can open portals to other dimensions. Dimensional travelers can explore alternate realities but risk getting lost or encountering hostile beings.

- Law of Arcane Sacrifice- Powerful spells require a sacrifice, such as a cherished memory, a personal item, or even a part of the caster’s soul.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine, Sunday and Ratio w/ a Memokeeper...? 👀

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us”

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Memokeeper!Reader, Character Study, Existential Themes, Introspection, Emotional Growth, Intellectual Tension, Mysticism, Loss, Haunted Past, Unresolved Regret, Journey of Self-Discovery, Temporal Manipulation

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Trauma, Philosophical Discomfort, Emotional Weight Vulnerability in Characters, Mature Themes (regret, guilt, and self-worth).

Ratio, with his signature plaster sculpture concealing his face and his wavy hair cascading just past his shoulders, was a figure both revered and feared within the Intelligentsia Guild. His sharp eyes, the color of fading twilight with a ring of yellow at their core, saw everything and everyone, evaluating, analyzing, dissecting.

It was here that you, a Memokeeper from the Garden of Recollection, first encountered him.

You had come to this world, as you did with every other, to preserve memories, to seek out moments that spoke of the lives lived, the forgotten faces, and the stars that fell into oblivion. In the endless cycle of existence, you had learned that the only thing that truly mattered was memory. To think, to feel, to exist—those were not just ephemeral things, but imprints on the fabric of reality itself.

But when you met Ratio, it was as if all the weight of time had been condensed into a single moment. He, too, had an unyielding belief in the importance of knowledge, in the idea that ideas, too, were immortal. He understood the power of remembrance, but to him, it was intellect, not memory, that was the truest form of immortality. A fascinating paradox.

"You're a Memokeeper, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, like velvet over steel, his eyes locking onto yours, seeing straight through to your very essence.

You nodded, concealing your true form beneath your disguise, as was customary for those like you. In this world, you were just another scholar, another wanderer with a collection of knowledge to trade. But unlike the others, your knowledge wasn’t of facts or figures. It was of memories, of moments suspended in time, of people long gone and forgotten.

"You believe that memory is everything, don’t you?" Ratio's gaze never wavered, as if he was testing you. "You think that by preserving memory, you preserve the soul of a person. But memories are subjective, fleeting. They are not absolute. Ideas, facts, theories—these are what endure. These are what define existence."

His words were confident, dismissive even. But you knew there was more behind them, a deeper yearning to understand what lay beyond the limits of mortal comprehension. You could see it in the way his hands gestured as he spoke, the sharpness of his thoughts revealing a man who, despite all his brilliance, was searching for something more.

"You misunderstand," you said, your voice calm but full of a quiet intensity. "Memories are the only things that cannot be erased, not by time, not by entropy. They are the proof of existence. Without them, what are we but ghosts, vanishing without a trace?"

Ratio's eyes glinted with something unreadable—was it interest? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, but it was enough to pique his attention. "And how do you preserve them? What makes your memories so… important?"

You smiled faintly, an ethereal expression. "I don’t just remember, Dr. Ratio. I preserve. Through the Garden of Recollection, I collect and store memories, not just from the world I come from, but from all worlds. I can live through them, feel what they felt, see what they saw. I can carry the memories of thousands, and in doing so, they live on."

For a moment, there was silence. Ratio’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "And what of your own memories?" he asked, his voice softer now, though still brimming with intensity. "Do you ever remember yourself? Or are you too lost in the memories of others to even recall your own?"

It was a question that struck deeper than you had anticipated. You, who had shed your mortal form long ago to live as a memetic entity, could not remember the life you once lived. The body you had was but a vessel, an illusion of the past. Yet you held the memories of countless lives, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of existence.

"I remember," you said quietly, your voice distant, as if recalling a long-forgotten dream. "But only fragments. I carry the memories of all those I've encountered, of all the lives I've touched. And in that, I live."

Ratio stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. "Fascinating," he murmured, as if the concept of your existence challenged everything he had ever known. "You are a paradox, then. A being of memory, yet unable to fully grasp your own existence. How… tragic."

You tilted your head slightly. "Perhaps. But in some ways, it’s beautiful. Every life I encounter becomes a part of me, and in that, I become part of them. A perpetual exchange, a never-ending cycle of remembrance."

Ratio’s lips quirked upward slightly, a rare and almost imperceptible smile. "Perhaps," he echoed, his voice tinged with something akin to admiration. "You might be right, after all. Memory is the only true form of immortality. But don’t forget, my Memokeeper, that intellect and knowledge are what shape the universe. Without them, memory would be meaningless."

You met his gaze, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And without memory, even the greatest intellects would fade into obscurity, leaving nothing behind."

For a moment, you both stood there, two beings of immense knowledge and power, staring at one another in the midst of a universe that seemed both infinite and fleeting. In that fleeting moment, there was no need for words. You understood each other, in a way that few could.

As you turned to leave, your final words lingered in the air, like a soft melody, echoing across time itself.

"Remember me, Dr. Ratio. After all, that is the only way I can truly exist."

He watched you disappear into the endless flow of time, his mind racing with questions, with curiosity. The Memokeeper had left an impression, a memory etched into his mind. And though Ratio would continue his work, seeking to change the world through intellect and knowledge, something had shifted within him.

Perhaps, in the end, the preservation of memory and the pursuit of knowledge were not so different after all.

The Astral Express hummed with the faint rhythm of its journey through the stars, its steady pulse a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts that swirled within Sunday’s mind. He stood by the window, watching the unending expanse of the cosmos pass by, his eyes reflecting distant stars. His thoughts were as fractured as ever—an unyielding dissonance between his ideals and the weight of his past. Yet, there was something different now, something new stirring in him, as if the winds of change were gently sweeping through his world.

You, the Memokeeper, stood just a few steps away from him, an enigmatic presence, yet somehow, your existence felt more real than anything else. Your presence was like an anchor in a sea of uncertainty, a testament to a truth he had not yet fully grasped.

To think is to exist.

He had never truly questioned his existence in this way before. For all his lofty ideals about dreams, suffering, and the balance between them, there was something about you—your quiet, eternal purpose—that made him reconsider his place in the universe.

You had explained, on occasion, the nature of your kind. A Memokeeper’s task was to collect memories, to preserve them as proof of existence in a world where everything, even stars, would eventually fade. Unlike most, who viewed reality and imagination as distinct, Memokeepers saw them as one. It was a perspective that intrigued Sunday deeply, yet he struggled to fully comprehend it. Perhaps because, in the end, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

"How do you hold on to something so... fleeting?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a weight that betrayed the many layers of his thoughts.

You turned toward him, your expression serene, but there was a flicker of something deeper in your eyes, an understanding of the burden he carried. "We don't hold on to it. We let it flow through us, and in doing so, we become it."

Sunday looked at you, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of your cheek, the ethereal quality of your being, and how it seemed as though you were made of light itself. "Do you ever feel... trapped by your memories?" His voice faltered at the question, as though he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the distant hum of the train and the occasional flicker of stars outside. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the air as you spoke, your voice gentle and calm.

"Trapped?" you mused. "No. We are the keepers, not the prisoners. Memories are not chains. They are bridges."

His brow furrowed slightly. "But what if the memories are of things you can never change? Things that haunt you?" His words were quieter now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. The weight of his past—of the choices he had made, of the lives he had shaped, for better or worse—pressed down on him once more.

You studied him with a knowing gaze, as though seeing through the veil of his facade. "Hauntings are but echoes of what was, Sunday. The question is not whether the memories are painful, but whether we let them define us." You paused, letting your words settle. "What you choose to do with them—that is what matters."

Sunday’s eyes flickered as if a distant thought had just emerged, one that had been buried beneath layers of rationality and philosophy. He had spent so long trying to change the world, trying to create a place free of suffering, that he had neglected the simplest truth: he could not change the past. He could only move forward.

"But how?" he asked, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "How can I move forward, when the past keeps whispering in my ears?"

You smiled softly, a knowing, almost maternal expression on your face. "You are already moving forward, Sunday. Your journey on the Astral Express is proof of that. The question is not if you will move forward, but how you will choose to remember."

There it was again: remember. It was a word he had often associated with pain, with the weight of regret and guilt, but somehow, in your presence, it felt lighter. It felt like a possibility, a way to reclaim something precious without being bound to it.

For the first time in a long while, Sunday allowed himself to truly look at you. Not just as a fellow traveler aboard the Express, but as someone who embodied a truth he had yet to accept.

"I... I think I understand," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Memories are not the end of us. They can be... a part of something greater."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as you gazed at him with an expression of quiet encouragement. "Exactly. And sometimes, the greatest gift you can give to the past is to let it go, while still carrying it with you."

Sunday fell silent, his mind now processing your words, considering their implications. Perhaps this was the true path to redemption—not the erasure of pain, but the acceptance of it, and the ability to carry it without letting it define him.

As the train continued its journey through the stars, Sunday found himself standing a little taller. He wasn’t sure where this journey would take him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he might finally be on the right path.

In the labyrinthine corridors of the IPC, where deals and schemes wove through the very fabric of power, Aventurine stood as an enigma, a master of manipulation with a heart haunted by the ghosts of his past. His smile, enigmatic and ever-present, was a mask that concealed the fractured man beneath. The ‘Aventurine of Stratagems,’ a name he wore with pride, was a title earned through unrelenting gambles and sacrifices, yet it was the one thing that kept him from truly losing himself.

But on this particular day, something—or rather, someone—was pulling at the threads of his carefully constructed world. Someone who didn’t need to gamble to see through the veil.

You. The Memokeeper.

A fleeting figure, a whisper of another existence, you moved through worlds unrestrained by physical boundaries. Memokeepers were creatures of memories—preservers of the immortal, the eternal. You had no flesh, no true form. Only the shifting remnants of memories you carried with you, the fragments of countless lives you had touched and stolen.

When Aventurine first encountered you, he had been intrigued. Memokeepers were not common, and your mysterious nature had piqued his interest. But it was your ability to navigate through time and space, your unflinching grasp of memory as a permanent artifact, that truly captivated him.

"You never forget, do you?" Aventurine's voice was smooth, laced with his signature mix of challenge and curiosity as you stood across from him in a darkened room, a flicker of memory flashing in your eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible smile gracing your lips. "For a moment, I thought you would say 'never forgive.'" You said it with an air of knowing, your voice gentle yet profound. "But no... you are too familiar with your own regrets to seek forgiveness."

Aventurine’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. The hint of vulnerability did not go unnoticed. The last surviving member of a lost clan, haunted by survivor's guilt—those wounds ran deep. His facade was usually flawless, but before you, it felt fragile, a thin layer barely holding back a flood of emotions he hadn’t let surface in years.

"You speak as though you understand me," he remarked, his voice regaining its usual confidence. "But I’ve played this game for too long to be an open book."

"Yet, here you are," you countered, stepping closer, the air thick with the power of your words. "A man who wagers lives as easily as others breathe. Do you think I can't see the stakes you're playing for? The past you can never escape?"

There was a moment of silence, one where Aventurine’s usual bravado seemed to crack slightly, revealing the ever-present tension in his posture, the subtle guarding of his left hand behind his back. He wasn't ready to expose his fragility, not yet.

"You play with the illusion of luck," you continued, your voice almost hypnotic. "But I know what you really seek. You gamble because you fear being forgotten, because you fear that if you stop playing, your existence will cease to matter."

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with a mixture of challenge and intrigue. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating your words, but his tone remained steady. "And what of you, Memokeeper? Are you truly immortal, or just a collector of lies?"

You didn’t flinch. "Memory is the only true immortality. Everything fades—worlds, stars, even gods. But memories... memories last longer than anything else. They are what make us real. What make us matter."

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar grin. "I suppose you would say that. After all, you're in the business of making things last forever."

Aventurine’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and for a brief instant, he wondered what it would be like to have his memory preserved—not his reputation or his empire, but his very essence. Would someone like you, a Memokeeper, truly see him for who he was beneath the layers of strategy and artifice?

"I’ve seen countless memories," you said, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "But there's something about you... You're not a mere gambler, not just someone who risks it all. There's something darker in you, a longing for connection, yet a fear of it."

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "You really think you can see all that from just a glance?"

"You show more than you think," you said, your gaze steady, your words unshaken. "And it's those little things—the way you hide your left hand, the pauses in your speech, the smile that never reaches your eyes—that tell me you are more than the games you play."

The silence stretched, an unspoken challenge between you. He couldn’t deny it. He had always thought of himself as untouchable, an orchestrator of every move. But you? You had no need for power or control. You simply existed, transcendent and free.

And yet, despite all that, Aventurine felt something strange stirring within him—a desire to be remembered, not just for his gambles, but for the man he truly was.

"Perhaps you're right," he finally said, his voice quieter, more contemplative. "Perhaps there is more to me than even I realize."

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression, and for the first time, Aventurine’s smile seemed a little less rehearsed, a little more genuine. The idea of someone, a Memokeeper no less, understanding the depths of his soul was an uncomfortable yet fascinating thought.

"I don’t need to gamble to know your worth, Aventurine," you said, your eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible warmth. "But perhaps, just once, you might stop playing and let someone else remember you. For who you really are."

For the first time in a long while, Aventurine didn’t immediately respond with a quip or a strategy. He simply watched you, his mind turning, calculating the possibilities. What would it mean to be remembered? To be seen beyond the mask of the gambler, the strategist, the survivor?

In that moment, Aventurine felt the first stirrings of a gamble he had never before considered: the gamble of letting someone in.

Oh damn, this was long af... 🫣😨

Also I couldn't come up with a better title so yeah...🧍‍♀️

[headspace-hotel]

current progress in theories of ecological succession!!!!!! This paper lists 19 different ecological succession theories and their perspectives and limitations

Before I knew its name, I knew succession....I still remember the exact moment of realizing the endless flow of change moving through the ecosystem around me. Looking at weeds, shrubby woods, gardens, and fields, I was seeing this unfolding and expanding web of trajectories and possibilities, and it was like peering into the secrets of the universe.

And ever since I've paid attention to it. Constantly observing the movement in ecosystems and its patterns.

All of these theories are partially correct but incomplete. How could we ever come up with a complete theory of succession? It's like studying the convergence of order and chaos itself. Some of the important tensions of succession brought up in this paper are:

Does the environment determine which plants survive, or do the plants that survive determine the environment? (both)

Does the plant community before disturbance determine post-disturbance regeneration, or does dispersal of new plants determine it? (both)

Are communities at different successional stages formed by whatever random assemblage of plants happens to exist at that stage, or are plant communities adapted to form certain stages of succession? (both)

Is succession a process of maturity of one big thing, or cycles of death and life of a bunch of smaller things? (both)

Do plants exclude other plants from niches as succession progresses or do they open up new niches? (both)

Is succession cyclical or linear? (both)

and like ok. this topic will get me sounding like some kind of deeply unscientific weirdo because I will be like Yes, The Weeds Taught Me The Secrets of Order and Chaos. but also this is a topic in science where all the literature written for non-layperson specialist audience makes Sense.

I was really excited reading this paper because this is like, the stuff I think about randomly all the time. like the other day I just basically blacked out and wrote like 2000 words about The Nature of Disturbance and Temporal and Spatial Dimensions of Ecosystem Change not even thinking about how I was writing about succession, and almost made my brain blow up.

like each successional theory developed so far has highlighted part of the big picture but there are several pieces of the puzzle that have barely been articulated yet. my questions:

Disturbance: What Does It Mean. When talking about something alive and changing, there is no stable state of being, so what does it mean to "disturb" an ecosystem? Every ecosystem is maintained by disturbance, like in an old-growth forest animals will graze and trample and trees will occasionally die and fall and there will be storms and fires and that is part of what a forest is. So like...where is the line between a disturbance that maintains an ecosystem at "climax," and a disturbance that makes the ecosystem no longer "climax."

disturbance, even the most severe and devastating disturbance with near 100% mortality of all plants, does not fully erase the previous plant community. so like, early-successional communities aren't a blank slate, but there is a such thing as an "early-successional community" in the sense that weed species not visible in the pre-disturbance community will pop up. Now, a lot of the theories assume that long-distance seed dispersal (and the availability of seed sources and dispersers) influences the arrival of weeds, but I think the soil seed bank is just as important if not MORE important. Do all soil seed banks have plenty of weeds? Do they have different weeds or the same weeds? Do those weeds match what was there the last time there was a weed community on that site?

disturbance is usually distributed over the land SUPER unevenly except in cases of lawns, logging and industrialized farming. at what spatial scale do edge effects irretrievably muddle the concept of discrete early-successional or late-successional communities. Like if you go into the forest and bulldoze a patch of forest down to bare dirt, that patch is fundamentally different from the bare dirt in a huge housing development, just because of being directly adjacent to a forest. Even completely disregarding seed dispersal- it's shaded, it is affected by the leaf litter and fine woody debris, etc.

I would tentatively state that linear processes of change occur in most man-made environments that are disturbed cyclically, for example, lawns- intensively managed monoculture lawns seem to persist in a lush state for a short time before the grass starts to die. most tilled agricultural fields are losing topsoil and fertility in a linear fashion. so like, the land has an accumulative legacy of tens or hundreds of disturbance cycles. Isn't this likely to be true on a much larger temporal scale? Like, is a forest ecosystem now affected by the fact that it was a prairie 1,500 years ago?

likewise, might this accumulative legacy be necessary for certain ecosystems to reach a "climax" state? e.g. prairie will overgrow into woodland in a few decades absent any disturbance, but cyclic disturbance by fire allows the cumulative progression of a larger successional process

[postnutclaritys]

So… what’s Jean diagnosis???

At the end of the game Jean mentions having clinical depression. In addition, the Disco Elysium team has spoken on several occasions about his mental health.

I would like to discuss one by one the possible diagnoses and their implications.

Starting: He definitely has a depressive disorder, but within this category there are several.

Depressive disorders: which one applies to Jean?

The common feature of all depressive disorders according to the DSM5 is the presence of a sad, empty or irritable mood, accompanied by somatic and cognitive changes that significantly affect the individual’s functional capacity. What differentiates them is the duration, the temporal presentation or the supposed etiology.

Among these disorders we find the following:

• Disruptive mood dysregulation disorder: Only occurs in children under 12 years old with outbursts and chronic irritability.

• Major depressive disorder: episodes of at least 2 weeks, with intense sadness, problems sleeping, thinking or feeling pleasure. It can be a single episode, but it usually recurs.

• Persistent depressive disorder (dysthymia): what is commonly called “chronic depression,” with milder but longer-lasting symptoms (minimum 2 years).

• Premenstrual dysphoric disorder: occurs in relation to the menstrual cycle, with strong emotional and physical impact.

• Substance/medication-induced depressive disorder or depressive disorder due to another medical condition: caused by medications, drugs or illnesses like hypothyroidism.

Now what we know about Jean: He was diagnosed at 27 years old with depression and currently at 34 he maintains depressive symptomatology. I dare to say he probably has Dysthymia. With this I’m not insinuating that Jean hasn’t had major depressive episodes—of course not—these depressive episodes are totally compatible with the diagnosis of Dysthymia.

Dysthymia is chronic depression, often described as functional depression which is longer (minimum 2 years), of lower intensity and “well-being” moments don’t last more than 2 months. The diagnostic criteria for dysthymia are the following:

Summarizing, dysthymia is characterized by a depressed mood most of the day, present more days than not for at least two years in adults or one year in children and adolescents (in the latter, it may manifest as irritability).

During this period, at least two of the following symptoms must be present:

Appetite changes (decrease or increase).

Insomnia or hypersomnia.

Fatigue or low energy.

Low self-esteem.

Difficulty concentrating or making decisions.

Feelings of hopelessness.

Also:

• Symptoms should not disappear for more than two consecutive months.

• It may coexist with criteria for major depression during the two years.

• There must not have been manic, hypomanic or cyclothymic episodes.

• It is not better explained by psychotic disorders such as schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder.

• It is not caused by substances or medical conditions.

• It causes clinically significant distress or functional impairment.

Which criteria does Jean meet?

From what we know or can infer: Low self-esteem, insomnia, feelings of hopelessness, fatigue (this would explain his use of speed), for 7 years he has maintained a depressed mood.

He very likely has suicidal ideation; thanks to statements by Argo Tuulik we know the only reason he hasn’t killed himself is because of his job, which he feels is the only good thing he does.

Something I’d like to highlight is that in the diagnostic criteria, criterion F states: The alteration is not better explained by persistent schizoaffective disorder, schizophrenia, delusional disorder, or another specified or unspecified disorder of the schizophrenia spectrum and other psychotic disorder.

This leads us to the statements of Martin Luiga

He mentions that Jean is “likely Schizoid” and has a codependent personality.

If Jean is schizoid, we couldn’t diagnose dysthymia so we’re forced to ask ourselves:

Does Jean really fit the schizoid diagnosis?

Schizoid personality disorder is a pattern of detachment from social relationships and a restricted range of emotional expression. This disorder belongs to Cluster A of personality disorders which describe “weird and eccentric people.” According to the DSM5 these are the diagnostic criteria for Schizoid disorder:

To be diagnosed, at least four of the following criteria must be met:

Does not desire or enjoy close relationships, including being part of a family.

Almost always chooses solitary activities.

Shows little or no interest in having sexual experiences with another person.

Takes pleasure in few, if any, activities.

Lacks close friends or confidants other than first-degree relatives.

Appears indifferent to the praise or criticism of others.

Shows emotional coldness, detachment, or flattened affectivity.

Additionally, these symptoms must not be better explained by schizophrenia, mood disorders with psychotic features, other psychotic disorders, autism spectrum disorder, or a medical condition.

Which ones does Jean present?

• Point 4 and 7: he shows flat affect and little enjoyment, but this can be better explained by depression and the fact that he’s really pissed off at Harry.

• Point 5: we rule it out, since Jean does have a very close friendship with Harry.

• Point 6: indifference to praise or criticism. This doesn’t apply to Jean. If we notice, something he really reproaches Harry for is that he told him he “ruined his style” and told him to fuck off. Jean is very affected by what people think of him and his work (his only good quality in his own eyes).

• Points 1, 2 and 3: we don’t have enough information, but even if he met them, they’re better explained by his depressive state.

Jean is not schizoid, he’s just very depressed and without enough support system or resources to build a healthier life.

And the codependent personality?

Now we move on to the other possible diagnosis: codependent personality.

The correct term would be dependent personality disorder, which is a pattern of submissive and clingy behavior related to an excessive need to be taken care of. It belongs to Cluster C, where the predominant symptoms are anxiety and the need to avoid catastrophes. These are the diagnostic criteria according to the DSM5:

To be diagnosed, at least five of the following criteria must be met:

Difficulty making everyday decisions without advice or reassurance from others.

Needs others to assume responsibilities in most major areas of their life.

Difficulty expressing disagreement due to fear of losing support.

Difficulty initiating projects or doing things on their own (due to lack of confidence, not motivation).

Goes to excessive lengths to obtain support or acceptance, even doing unpleasant things.

Feels uncomfortable or helpless when alone, due to exaggerated fears of being unable to care for themselves.

Urgently seeks another relationship when one ends, to get care and support.

Unrealistic preoccupation with fears of being abandoned and having to take care of themselves.

Which ones does Jean meet?

None!

Jean doesn’t hesitate when firing Harry in the bad ending. He doesn’t pass on his responsibilities to anyone else. He isn’t afraid to say what he thinks.

If he met the criteria, he wouldn’t be so aggressive with Harry, he wouldn’t have fired him in the bad ending, he couldn’t be Harry’s right-hand man or take charge of wing C. Jean is not afraid to take care of himself.

He doesn’t have this disorder, but we can’t deny he has a codependent relationship with Harry, which is maintained by many things: substance use, work, the fact that as a satellite officer his job is literally to support his assigned lieutenant, and very likely the good moments they’ve had together, both personally and professionally.

What does his Dysthymia diagnosis entail?

A hard life, a family with a predisposition to depressive disorders, higher probability of major depressive episodes, comorbidities with other personality disorders (commonly Cluster B and C).

Dysthymia often begins early and insidiously, generally in childhood, adolescence or youth, and has a chronic course. Onset before age 21 is related to greater probability of personality disorders and substance abuse.

We don’t know since what age Jean had symptoms, but it’s safe to say he’d been living with them for a long time before his diagnosis.

This disorder affects the prefrontal cortex, anterior cingulate, amygdala, and hippocampus, which are responsible for emotional regulation, decision-making, planning and judgment, memory, emotional learning, conflict detection and stress regulation.

So we can say that Jean likely has difficulty regulating negative emotions (emotional dysregulation), rumination (repetitive negative thoughts), problems with concentration, memory or problem solving, and a very low stress threshold (this is related to memory problems).

This disorder also manifests with polysomnographic alterations or sleep problems, with high comorbidity with sleep-wake disorders.

On top of that, it creates vicious cycles that perpetuate distress, such as:

I feel bad → I sleep badly → I perform worse → I feel worse → I sleep even worse…

This makes people with dysthymia resistant to change. It’s not enough that they know they’re unwell or what’s not working.

This disorder has high comorbidity with anxiety disorders and substance abuse.

In Jean’s case, substance abuse is already present, and if we talk about anxiety disorders, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had comorbidity with generalized anxiety disorder.

After all this all we have left to ask is… what is Jean diagnosis?

Jean’s diagnosis is dysthymia.

[timeandart]

Time and history: critique of the instant and continuum

Book chapter by Giorgio Agamben

"Every conception of history is invariably accompanied by a certain experience of time which is implicit in it, conditions it, and thereby has to be elucidated. Similarly, every culture is first and foremost a particular experience of time, and no new culture is possible without an alteration in this experience. The original task of a genuine revolution, therefore, is never merely to 'change the world', but also -and above all - to 'change time'."

Chapter provides an historical overview of different conceptions of time (including the shape they are - cyclical, linear etc). Discusses the ways it is re-thought and conceptualised (from a Western perspective). From Greek, to Hegel, Marx, Heidegger, Benjamin

the chapter ends:

"a revolution from which there springs not a new chronology, but a qualitative alteration of time (a cairology), would have the weightiest consequence and would alone be immune to absorption into the reflux of restoration. He who, in the epoche of pleasure, has remembered history as he would remember his original home, will bring this memory to everything, will exact this promise from each instant: he is the true revolutionary and the true seer, released from time not at the millennium, but now."

[the-catch-center]

SPATIOTEMPORAL CATCH CENTER INTERNAL DOSSIER FILE ID: SCC/INT-REDIRECT/038-577-HARDLOCK-RECALC ACCESS LEVEL: RESTRICTED – LEVEL GAMMA-9 AUTHORIZED HANDLER: TECH-OFFICER INGRID MALM, CONTAINMENT/REINTEGRATION DIVISION SUBJECT STATUS: FULL NEURAL REALIGNMENT IN FINAL PHASE WARP OFFENSE CLASS: VOLITIONAL TEMPORAL IDENTITY SUBVERSION REDIRECT TYPE: HARDLOCK / CULTURAL INVERSION / LOCUS REALLOC

I. SUBJECT ORIGIN PROFILE

ORIGINAL TEMPORAL NAME: Chase Ryland Mercer DOB: July 14, 1993 Birthplace: Denver, Colorado, United States Registered Occupation (2025): Fitness coach, lifestyle influencer, and freelance body aesthetics consultant Known Affinities: Narcissistic identity experimentation, time-loop evasion via biohacking, performance-enhancement narcotics (non-lethal), subcultural integration simulations Catch Center Notes: Subject presented minimal direct temporal risk but extreme destabilization via affective radiation and future-kink aesthetic bleed into mid-tier historical planes. Psych profile indexed a 9.7/10 on the Volitional Timeline Deviance Spectrum — one of the highest this fiscal cycle. Absolutely no sense of restraint or humility. Treated his identity like a goddamn buffet.

II. TARGET TRANSFORMATION TRAJECTORY (INTERCEPTED)

INTENDED IDENTITY (2003 POST-LANDING): Name: Thiago “Tigre” Delgado Projected Identity Arc:

Birthplace Claim: Hialeah, FL (fabricated)

Self-image: “Latin gay icon in the making” — short (5'5"), densely muscled, full-body tattoos (tribal + lowbrow queer iconography), pierced nipples with kinetic rings, surgically enhanced glutes, double-leg implants for enhanced bounce-resilience.

Occupation Goal: Professional gogo dancer / queer nightlife symbol

Nightclub Affiliations: The Vault, Orbit, El Palacio Rojo

Style: Shirtless with suspenders, mesh thongs, patent leather boots; constant chewing of neon gum; four rotating euphoric expression programs (joy, cockiness, defiance, sweatlust).

Behavioral Profile: Hypersexual body-positive provocateur, deliberately transgressive, intensely performative masculinity-as-artifice.

Neurological Tweaks: Neuroplastic conditioning toward unrelenting confidence, delayed shame response, and chemically stabilized erotic charisma.

Projected Impact: High-density affective ripple in Miami’s 2003 queer scene with ripple effects into early influencer psychology, erotic commodification economies, and third-wave queer liberation dynamics. Comment from Handler Malm:

“Oh, Thiago. Tigre. Whatever. He really thought the multiverse needed another sweaty himbo grinding on a speaker. The man was halfway to becoming a synthetic fetish idol for future anthropology textbooks. The sheer vanity. We had no choice. This was not a deviant with flair — this was a firework in a fireworks store.”

III. INTERCEPTION REPORT – REASSIGNMENT INITIATED

CATCH EVENT: May 18, 2025 Location: Lisbon Warp Corridor, Tier-2 Jump Stagger (unauthorized, amateur shield) Containment Class: STORMLOCK (Emergency Full Override – Cultural Reintegration) Time Misalignment Window: 2.44 seconds (longer than average, subject suffered visible neural stuttering)

IV. REDIRECTED IDENTITY PROFILE – FINALIZED REASSIGNMENT

NEW LEGAL IDENTITY: Name: Gerald Wayne Huxley DOB: March 19, 1938 Birthplace: Waco, Texas Current Year Placement: 1982 Occupation: Senior Enlistment Officer, United States Marine Corps (Ret.) – Lubbock Military Recruitment Center

V. PHYSICAL RECONSTRUCTION – FINALIZED PARAMETERS

Height: 6’5” Weight: 276 lbs Body Composition:

Upper body mass exaggerated to near cartoonish bulk, consistent with Cold War recruitment propaganda aesthetic.

Forearms vascular, heavily tanned, and riddled with deep scarring (simulation implants for combat credibility).

Waistline high, torso thick with almost immobile girth.

Feet: Size 28EE – biometric flag for timeline recapture trace. Intentionally disproportionate.

Hair:

Color: Faded iron gray

Cut: Exact regulation flat top — high-precision, bristly, square. No fade, no softness. Facial Features:

Square jaw recalibrated with reinforced temporal mass to suggest hardened aging.

Nose slightly misaligned (simulated boxing injury).

Mustache: Oversized, thick, dark bristles — exaggerated variant of “Tom Selleck Regulation 8,” protruding nearly 2.5cm beyond lip edge. Skin:

Textured, sun-damaged, mid-oil saturation level.

All tattoos (real and desired) erased.

Scar tissue simulated on clavicle and left thigh.

Wardrobe (Perpetual Issue):

Olive green slacks (1982 standard military recruiter issue)

Brown oxfords, scuffed at toe

Khaki button-up with two front creased pockets

Brown leather belt with brass buckle Note: Uniforms reissued weekly. No variation permitted.

Handler Malm Commentary:

“He went from mesh crop tops and chest oil to starch and brass in one warp-snap. Beautiful. He twitched for 19 seconds trying to say ‘vamos’ through a jaw that now only knows how to bark ‘Oorah.’”

VI. PSYCHOGENETIC REALIGNMENT

Override Protocol: A7-A6 “PATRIOT CORE + MEMORY FLUSH”

Emotional Expression Index: Reduced to 1.8 (gruff approval, disapproval, silent nod)

Deviance Tolerance: 0.00

Neural Aversion Implants: Triggered by visual/audio contact with queer subcultures

Memory Replacement:

Vietnam veteran (fictionalized unit, real deployment logs)

Divorcee (3x)

Current hobbies include grilling, lecturing teens, hating hippies

Belief Reprogramming: Fully loyal to Reagan administration, believes in draft reinstatement, thinks disco “destroyed the American man.”

Residual Symptoms:

Minor lip spasms when attempting to recall “Thia—”

Left hip occasionally executes pre-conditioned “grind” motion in sleep (projected to phase out in 14 days)

Vague nostalgia toward low-saturation lighting and rhythmic basslines (marked irrelevant by override)

Handler Malm Commentary:

“He thinks Studio 54 was a socialist training camp now. I love my job.”

VII. TIMELINE OUTCOME

PROJECTED LIFE TRAJECTORY:

1982–1994: Works at regional recruitment center, trains new hires

1995–2000: Retires, becomes semi-local figure in Lubbock VFW

2001: Minor stroke, mobility decline

Death: February 19, 2002, 11:24 a.m., Amarillo VA Hospital — confirmed stroke, no anomalous triggers, timeline preserved

Post-Death Integrity: Subject marked as “Historically Plausible and Emotionally Nullified”

Handler Malm Final Notes:

“We’ve taken a man who wanted to shake his surgically plumped ass to reggaeton under strobe lights and turned him into a one-man recruitment pamphlet. He’s exactly where he belongs: forgotten, rigid, and 100% unsexy. A victory for the timeline. And frankly? A little cathartic.”

END OF DOSSIER FILE LOCKED DO NOT DISTRIBUTE WITHOUT CLASS-GAMMA OVERRIDE

[lumindaeva]

The Villainess Cycle -- Prologue: Let's Make a Deal

Next Chapter | Series Page

Series Summary: Eri has been living on the streets ever since her husband committed highest treason against the Empire. Working on the streets, she hopes to one day have the life that plagues her dreams—even if it means suffering their painful endings. However, when the opportunity presents itself to live a new life with the Valkyr, warriors of the skies, she pounces. Yet fate’s cruel hand outstretches towards her, threatening to plunge her into the destiny that always haunts her dreams: a disastrous end that only leads to her death.

A/N: Here is the prologue for my current webnovel: The Villainess Cycle! I am participating in Royal Road's writathon, so chapters may be a bit unpolished for now and inconsistent, but I'm aiming for at least one a week! Will have a wip page ready soon as well!

“Yes… she killed them all! I’ll see you flung from the Skies, Amon…”

“I don’t take your orders, kid…”

Amon shut her eyes, grabbing the back of her head and rocking to and fro. The more she moved, the better chance she had of knocking the thoughts right out of her mind. Indeed, it was a type of magic that had not yet been discovered. Surely.

The gentle thud of leather boots against the cold, wet cobblestone of the prison floors was not lost on her keen ears, but she hoped it was just another patrolling guard. Amon did not know how much longer she could handle their jeers and taunts, of the promises they made to her name in honor of those lost.

Whether or not she had done it, no one seemed to care.

Still, Amon could not help how her eyes glanced up at the figure. She could sense something… different about this one… a taste on the tip of her tongue that was slightly more bitter than the rest of the stale air of Firegate Prison.

Looking down at her were a pair of eyes as deep and expansive as the Void itself—the realm where everything began and where everything found its end.

The Overseer of that realm stood before her as casually as a man awaiting a bus.

A low chuckled echoed through the air, raising the hair on the back of her neck as he knelt before her.

“My dear Amon, what a sad hand Fate has dealt you… The coveted and beloved Crown Prince is dead, days before he takes the throne. The entire Valkyr force is decimated, just when the Shadowfaen return in full force. The Wanderers have fled the Skies, refusing to offer the least bit of aid… and everyone has deemed it your fault. But we both know what really happened, don’t we?”

Amon grit her teeth as she remembered the Prince’s soulless eyes staring up at her, at the captain’s final plea…

“You don’t want to end your life to the sound of idiots cheering as you’re flung into the abyss below, do you?”

Amon shook her head.

“I know that we can do better. So, what do you say? Want to put that Mark to good use? For one, last time?”

[2af-afterdark]

[Unfathomable Confusion | Eiden]

"I'll find a way to break the cycle next time!"

Finding himself in the strange dream once again, what memory will he have to face this time? Caught in a temporal dilemma, he must carefully plan his actions... As expected, it's best to rely on "yourself"!

[esotericimagesforredpilledpeople]

In the late 1990s, Enron, the infamous energy giant, and MCI, the telecom titan, were secretly collaborating on a clandestine project codenamed "Chronos Ledger." The official narrative tells us Enron collapsed in 2001 due to accounting fraud, and MCI (then part of WorldCom) imploded in 2002 over similar financial shenanigans. But what if these collapses were a smokescreen? What if Enron and MCI were actually sacrificial pawns in a grand experiment to birth Bitcoin—a decentralized currency designed to destabilize global finance and usher in a new world order?

Here’s the story: Enron wasn’t just manipulating energy markets; it was funding a secret think tank of rogue mathematicians, cryptographers, and futurists embedded within MCI’s sprawling telecom infrastructure. Their goal? To create a digital currency that could operate beyond the reach of governments and banks. Enron’s off-the-books partnerships—like the ones that tanked its stock—were actually shell companies funneling billions into this project. MCI, with its vast network of fiber-optic cables and data centers, provided the technological backbone, secretly testing encrypted "proto-blockchain" transactions disguised as routine telecom data.

But why the dramatic collapses? Because the project was compromised. In 2001, a whistleblower—let’s call them "Satoshi Prime"—threatened to expose Chronos Ledger to the SEC. To protect the bigger plan, Enron and MCI’s leadership staged their own downfall, using cooked books as a convenient distraction. The core team went underground, taking with them the blueprints for what would later become Bitcoin.

Fast forward to 2008. The financial crisis hits, and a mysterious figure, Satoshi Nakamoto, releases the Bitcoin whitepaper. Coincidence? Hardly. Satoshi wasn’t one person but a collective—a cabal of former Enron execs, MCI engineers, and shadowy venture capitalists who’d been biding their time. The 2008 crash was their trigger: a chaotic moment to introduce Bitcoin as a "savior" currency, free from the corrupt systems they’d once propped up. The blockchain’s decentralized nature? A direct descendant of MCI’s encrypted data networks. Bitcoin’s energy-intensive mining? A twisted homage to Enron’s energy market manipulations.

But here’s where it gets truly wild: Chronos Ledger wasn’t just about money—it was about time. Enron and MCI had stumbled onto a fringe theory during their collaboration: that a sufficiently complex ledger, powered by quantum computing (secretly prototyped in MCI labs), could "timestamp" events across dimensions, effectively predicting—or even altering—future outcomes. Bitcoin’s blockchain was the public-facing piece of this puzzle, a distraction to keep the masses busy while the real tech evolved in secret. The halving cycles? A countdown to when the full system activates.

Today, the descendants of this conspiracy—hidden in plain sight among crypto whales and Silicon Valley elites—are quietly amassing Bitcoin not for profit, but to control the final activation of Chronos Ledger. When Bitcoin’s last block is mined (projected for 2140), they believe it’ll unlock a temporal feedback loop, resetting the global economy to 1999—pre-Enron collapse—giving them infinite do-overs to perfect their dominion. The Enron and MCI scandals? Just the first dominoes in a game of chance and power.