#// I titled this as a “deep dive” in my docs but honestly it's just barely scraping the surface for the sake of staying digestible

[garmgeyr]

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

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.

[hmgfanfic]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by @nellie-elizabeth. Thank you!! :)

Name: Harriet. Harri. HMG. Bitch. I answer to ‘em all.

Fandoms: Lol, plural. I sold my soul to The Magicians long ago.

Where you post: AO3

Most Popular One-shot: I’ve never written a oneshot, though my first story is ~10k so I guess that. Honestly, I wrote each part in the rich text editor and published them without so much as a cursory re-read… because I thought Queliot was going to be a “dabble” for me and that I’d keep focused on a canon-compliant story about horomancy in the 23rd timeline. Ah, youth.

Most Popular Multichap: Something Good, probably forever, both in terms of kudos and engagement. I’m not mad about it! Though I’ll say Little Quirks of Fate surprised me with its stats, especially since the fandom is a lot smaller now. Adjusting for deflation, LQoF might be slightly more popular? Who knows! Fandom alchemy is a fool’s game.

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Not Always Folly. It’s technically the “least” popular of my three longfics, but it’s definitely the most designed for my id. I’m a slut for an Emma AU that isn’t regency, yet is based more on Austen than Clueless. Which is a very specific thing to be a slut for! And the story itself is niche-y, tonally confused, significantly longer than the original novel, and my perfect darling. More seriously, it’s also where I broke through on my ideal Eliot characterization, so it holds a special place in my heart for that alone.

Fic you were nervous to post: Hm, I’m always nervous to post, but I was worried Little Quirks of Fate would flop. It was a passion project from the start, but a Fillorian Quentin is so removed from canon I wasn’t sure if folks would give it a shot. I would have written it anyway, but considering the epic scope, it would’ve been much harder without any interest.

How do you choose your titles: Out my ass. I barely think about it. Summaries on the other hand…

Do you outline: Yes, though I’ve historically deviated and re-outlined at crucial pinch points based on organic character development. The two big ones were when I decided Alice wasn’t going to fall for Quentin in NAF and that Quentin was going to say “I love you” WAY earlier in LQoF. Otherwise, I stick to story beats on an overarching level, I write up scene intentionality (what am I trying to achieve, how does this further the story, how do the characters grow/regress/change, etc), I doodle out dialogue skeletons, and I have a world-building doc, if applicable (weirdly, Fluorescent Light aka my fluffy fake dating fic has one, since I have to build Genji Quinn’s retreat from scratch. It’ll be sillier than what I imagine the canon version would be, but still fun!)

Complete: 5

In progress: 4, though only 2 are active. Plus my Big Bang story.

Prompts?: For events, I’m totally down so long as it fits my general oeuvre (I’m not the gal for a lyrical deep dive into grief or Hurt No Comfort, for instance.) But my writing backlog is significant, so random prompts probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: Big Bang. Shhhh.

Worlds I would love to write for in the future: I’m in Magiciansville for the foreseeable future, so it’s really about the kinds of AUs I want to explore. I want to do a S3 AU. I want to take another shot at post-S4 canon divergent (if I ever write a fic where Q died, assume I’ve been taken hostage, etc.) I want to write a femslash story that’s just as dramatic and romantic as any of my Queliot entries, while still being its own thing entirely. I want to write a non-magic AU. I want to write even more tropey shit that I take way too seriously. Possibilities are endless!

Tagging @ameliajessica, @ofthedirewolves, @eidetictelekinetic, and anyone else who wants to play (seriously! I love reading these things but I just don’t remember names if I haven’t seen them on my dash/notes/etc within the past .5 seconds :p)

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Challenge 27 - Trauma

Summary: Everyone has a way of dealing with trauma. For Alistair Shepard, it’s therapy. For Bo Peep Shepard... well, wrestling krogans in Omega did wonders for her mood. At least they can both agree on the healing power of a good cup of tea, right?

---

“Well... good to see you again, Alistair. Let me know when you're back on the Citadel so we can make your next appointment.”

“Thanks, Dr. Gatherer... I'll see you then.”

Alistair sighed as he left the office and Dr. Rabbit Gatherer behind him. The waiting room was mostly empty as he exited the office, head still spinning. It had been... quite a while since he had been back to see his therapist.

For once, it wasn't work's fault though. Instead he had just been fucking dead for two years.

“Good thing she could fit me in though.” He sighed as he pulled his hood up to hide his face once he was back in the Citadel proper. For reasons that would surprise no one, people were a little uncomfortable when someone walked around with their face glowing. He was still trying to figure out how to cover up the implants, but so far no methods were really working. It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't glow bright red... but they did, so he was out of luck.

That was kind of the motto of his life lately.

“So is it good therapy when you come out looking miserable, or what?”

He looked up – there was someone standing under a nearby tree, waiting for him with their arms crossed. Once she was spotted, Bo broke position and made her way over to him. Now together, the two continued their walk.

Her answer came with a shrug of his shoulders. “We have a lot more material to go over because of the whole death thing.”

“Really? I had no idea that sort of thing could be traumatic.” Bo snorted. “What, she tell you to try deep breathing or something?”

Bo, unsurprisingly, was not a big fan of therapy. She usually managed to bullshit her way through evaluations when the matter came up, so it had never really been required for her. He, on the other hand, wasn't as good.

Which was why he had been in therapy since Akuze. But he didn't mind that, Dr. Gatherer was an alright sort.

“This was more of a catch up than a deep dive. That's next time.” He shrugged. “And mostly she recommended me so I can get back on my meds. That initial dose of feel good juice is unsurprisingly wearing off.”

Why hadn't Miranda fixed that when she had brought him back from the dead? It would've saved him so much in anti-anxiety meds...

“Smart lady.” She jerked her head in the direction of a bar nearby. “Wanna go or what, it's been a while since it was the two of us. They have new shit.”

Alistair nodded as they changed direction. “Yeah, it's been a while. I could use a cup.”

Naturally, they walked past the noisy bar and headed to the quiet shop next door instead. The Tea Cozy was a haunt of theirs, had been since they had returned from N7 training. He was glad to see it had been rebuilt after the attack on the Citadel – shore leave would've been a worse off place without the bright little place.

Besides, they made really good strawberry tea. He hadn't even mentioned the cookies.

Inside, they were soon seated with a pot of tea and some of the famous cookies. Alistair sighed in relief as he pulled his hood down and filled his cup. Looking down, the tea was almost as red as his implants. It made him grimace as he took a sip.

Bo didn't miss a thing, naturally. “What, does it suck or something?”

He shook his head, frowning. “No... it's the same color as... you know.”

Alistair made a vague gesture to his face. With the longer hair he could hide the wide cuts across his jaw and forehead, but he knew they were there. He was afraid to touch his face now, lest he accidentally go a little too far and actually touch under his skin.

He had enough phobias, he didn't need another.

“Still can't figure out how to make them blue, huh?”

A weak chuckle escaped his throat despite how he was feeling. “Dr. Chakwas said I probably shouldn't in case I really mess something up.”

“Oh, shit, yeah knowing you you'd probably pop your head off or something.” She let out a low whistle. “Just imagine it, you're trying to change the color and then Saren has to chase after it to get it back on your body.”

…

Honestly, knowing his body and how quickly it had been put back together, that didn't seem entirely out of the realm of possibility. Hell, Miranda probably had put it in there as a booby trap if he tried anything stupid. He wasn't about to put it past them...

And now he really was laughing as his forehead hit the table, barely missing the saucer. “And how the hell does my hamster get out of his enclosure?”

“Clearly you were playing with him before your head popped off.”

Bo was smirking, though she was hiding it with her teacup. He definitely heard a small chuckle from her, so clearly it was fucking hilarious. Or maybe that was the exhaustion. It had been a pretty rough couple of days, and the skylight didn't help.

Right...

Alistair straightened up and dried off his eyes. “That reminds me. When we get back to the Normandy, can you help me cover the skylight above my bed?”

His reinstated XO nodded as she reached for a cookie. “Sure, but why? Thought you loved looking at space to calm down.”

He had... before he had died out there.

That was his latest problem, something he hadn't even realized until they had been on the shuttle leaving the base. He had gone to look out the window and then broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of the great expanse that stretched out before him. Now, he couldn't so much as look at the night sky without feeling pains in his stomach.

They were going to get into that in his next therapy session, but Dr. Gatherer was pretty sure that dying was fucking with his mental health. He was no expert on that, but he was going to trust her where space-related PTSD was concerned.

“Let's just say it's not good for my health right now.”

That was all Bo needed to hear. She nodded. “Right. Doctor's orders?”

“Doctor's suggestion, they can't really make you do anything.”

Bo shrugged her large shoulders. “Not like I would know, I'd rather get stuck in an elevator with two dead krogan than go to a shrink.”

Oh, it was up from one dead krogan and a rabid pyjak.

Alistair knew when to let something go. So he just nodded and continued to sip at his tea. At least now that he was over the color, he could enjoy the taste more. With all the craziness going on, it was nice to just have some tea and cookies with his XO/adopted sister.

Weird combo, he knew, but it was their thing. And speaking of weird...

“So... I never got to ask how you got into Krogan wrestling with everything that happened on Omega. How'd you pull that one off?”

He got to watch as she flexed a little. “Oh, it was easy. I found where they were holding it and cracked the bouncer into the arena wall until they let me in to a no-rank match. After I cracked a few skulls, they start letting me play in the ranked matches.”

And then she went 24-0.

“It was one hell of a stress relief, I'll give them that.” She rolled her shoulders and he could hear things popping and cracking like she was made of breakfast cereal. “I mean, they're not exactly big on strategy when they get in the ring. I mean I'm not either, but they made me look like you out there sometimes.”

Given what he had seen, Alistair could certainly believe that. The one match he had witnessed before pulling the champion away from her adoring fans had been brutal and short. He could pinpoint the major strategy easily: beat the shit out of the other guy before he did the same to you. No wonder Omega loved it so much.

Maybe he sounded a little snooty there... but he preferred a bit more challenge in his blood sport.

“Well, at least you had fun.”

Bo snickered at that. “Oh yeah, I loved it. Really took my mind off...”

And her voice trailed off. Briefly, her crimson gaze met his, but then it disappeared as she took a hearty slurp of her tea. Once her cup was drained, she filled it to the brim. Even with her tight grip, she didn't crack the cup.

Cracking cups was a sin in the Tea Cozy. The last guy had gotten thrown out on his ass.

“Anyway, once this is over I'm going back for a few more rounds. There should be some new punk coming for my title and I need to teach him a little respect.”

Alistair nodded as he reached for a cookie. “If you get me a ticket, I'll make a banner or something.”

“Nope, not allowed anymore. Someone tossed one down to a competitor and he tried to strangle me with it.” She tapped her forehead. “Obviously it didn't work.”

Obviously.

They were getting to the bottom of their pot of tea, and the Normandy was probably going to wonder where they were. As fun as it was sitting there... they probably had to consider getting back to hunting Collectors soon.

Which... was the last thing he wanted.

“Any chance we can just sit here and let Cerberus die trying to catch the Collectors?”

Bo sounded almost hopeful as she drained the last of her cup in one mighty gulp. Truly, it sounded like a great idea... until he considered Cerberus and Collectors in the same sentence. If he hadn't had a stomachache before, he had one now that led him to finishing up his cup and placing it back on the saucer with a slight clink.

“Unfortunately, no. They might try to give my hamster over to the Collectors to save their asses.”

The other Spectre scowled at the thought as they both headed off to pay and leave. “Fuck that, Saren's way too good for Cerberus.”

That he was.  

But, he didn't exactly have a gun he could fire at Cerberus should they try to hand him over to the Collectors. They didn't exactly make pistols for tiny hamster paws – not that he had checked or anything. So, if he wanted his hamster safe, he had to make sure of it himself.

Which meant back to the Normandy. Yay.

“So, wanna come back the next time you get your head shrunk by the doc?”

Bo had settled into her usual walk, arms behind her head in a classic 'fuck around and find out' gesture she was known for. It wasn't one he could pull off, so he stuck to hands in the pockets of his jacket. It was much more comfortable.

“Sure, I'll probably need it to de-stress anyway.” He could see the Normandy in the distance. It was still yellow. Gross. “You sure you don't want me to make you an appointment?”

The look he got in return said everything. Unfortunately for her, it didn't really do anything to him anymore. Enough times of seeing it had built up one hell of a tolerance. Now it was just a sign she didn't want to talk.

He could respect that.

“By the way, when are we repainting the Normandy? Yellow is such a fucking gross color.”

Now that they could talk about. And oh, he ha plans alright. It just involved distracting the entire ship while Bo went around with a brush. It was practically foolproof...

Ok, it was dumb. But he was working on it. And according to his therapist, as long as he didn't give up he could figure it out.