#the cycle of entropy is endless

[confines]

yesterday on black friday, after me and my cousin got back from watching saltburn on a whim (which we literally drove to mississippi to see, inherently hilarious as a concept) we were kind of high from the roadtrip, the film, the roadtrip back, and the absurdity of it all, and we noticed our tourist cousins who come here for vacations and holidays had a bonfire going, so we decided to channel our frenetic fucking energy into partying and getting a bit tipsy, got some drinks from home and crashed that shit.

we were an immediate hit, i think simply because we had such a puckish, elated aura about us. jokes were landing, we were both perfectly elevating other people's jokes, generally firing on all cylinders. eventually someone asked what we were up to before this, so we had to admit we had just gotten back from d'iberville, where we'd gone to see a movie. there aren't any movies in <the major city one hour away>? they said, and so we said well not this movie! so they asked about it more and we played coy for as long as we could but

the party wrapped with us scene-by-scene recounting the entire movie to two of our tourist cousins until we finished our rendition and the one we like less left, at which point we pivoted to spirituality and religion and our struggles with morality and MORALE tbh because it's hard to keep your head up sometimes isn't it. then at 3am we called it a night.

i genuinely think we made his holiday weekend. he definitely helped make ours. that was such an insane afternoon and evening.

[shentheauthor]

Ploo’d my iterator ocs LMAO

[st4rofeden]

Imagine Phainon or Khaslana has been suffering countless cycles just to see s/o again but they only saw them in one cycle just to see them again in the recent cycle Phainon with Stelle/Caelus and Dan Heng saw s/o stuck inside the ice just like March 7th case

oh god more angst. im quite confused with writing this, sorry if something doesn't make sense!

warnings: mentions of blood

somewhere cold, quiet. like a forgotten vault where time is sealed and memory lingers.

they reach the vault on the 17th entry hour.

dan heng breaks the silence first. "another damaged site." caelus steps forward. "looks… recent."

but phainon— he doesn't move.

his eyes are fixed on the thing they've unearthed beneath the frost.

not a weapon. not a coreflame. not even a truth. You.

suspended inside the ice six phased ice just as she once was. hair unmoving. eyelids soft. hands folded as if in prayer, a figure the world forgot. that time forgot— but he could never.

"beautiful as ever, my dawnlight." he whispers

they're talking. but all Phainon can hear is the echo of a memory.

a single cycle— long ago where you looked at him like someone human.

you stayed with him when the stars turned to ash.

you kissed him once. a small peck on the lips. just once. but it fractured him across timelines.

the frost doesn't shatter when he touches it. he doesn’t try to break it. he simply places his palm against it.

a hum.

something in the air recognizes him.

or maybe it's you. your fingers twitch.

"that's impossible," dan heng murmurs. "they're responding."

caelus steps closer, alarmed. "are they… alive?"

Phainon does not answer. he already knows.

hes seen this moment before. not in this cycle, not in this place. but in dreams, that weren't his.

a glint of your laughter in the wheat fields. blood on your knuckles as you pulled him from a war he didn't remember starting. your voice, saying his name like it meant something.

"I remember" he says quietly. "they chose to stay. even when they knew the world would erase them."

his voice shake.

he kneels before the ice. the same way he once did at a grave, or maybe a in front of your figure sitting at the couch, or maybe nothing at all— memory bends around him.

"every cycle" he whispers, "I looked. I begged aeons. i rewrote variables. I became entropy to defy it."

and now you're here, inside this hollow, ice vessel.

he leans in. his forehead pressing to frost.

"i'll keep burning myself bright through every endless hue— even if it chars my soul to ash. if it means I’ll reach to you."

and for the first time in all the cycle, your lips part.

barely.

like the beginning of his name.

[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...🧍‍♀️

[theboywithburninghands]

Some of the themes I’ve noticed playing FromSoft Games

Dark Souls: The end of one thing is always the beginning of something else. History is always more complicated than what we initially believed. You should always think carefully about what people in power tell you, because they most likely don’t have your best intentions in mind.

Dark Souls 2: Everyone is special, but only for a short period of time, because entropy is inevitable. Memories are important, treasure them and preserve them before you can’t remember them anymore. People who do bad things are often scared and hurt.

Dark Souls 3: Sometimes it’s better to let things end rather than drag them out until they’re exhausted. When times are tough, that’s when you should be most vigilant for bad influences. Having a purpose doesn’t always mean changing the world.

Bloodborne: There are some things we don’t or can’t understand, and it’s better to just let them alone. There are good, moral people in rotten institutions. Morality often can’t keep up with progress until disaster strikes.

Sekiro: Having morals is good, but they shouldn’t interfere with love or common sense. Sometimes breaking the rules is the right thing to do, even if it means sacrificing comforts. It hurts to admit you’ve been manipulated, but it’s better than remaining manipulated.

Elden Ring: All leaders are people, thus all leaders are flawed, and anyone who says they’re perfect is lying. The ends do NOT justify the means. The cycle of violence is endless, and if you can’t stop it you should at least be aware of it.

[mienkatricefield]

"A Love Born in Decay"

In the vast and ancient universe of the 41st Millennium, where the stars burned with malice and war raged without end, there were beings beyond mortal comprehension. One, clad in golden light and surrounded by a legion of a million warriors, was known as the Emperor of Mankind. His will was indomitable, and his strength unmatched. He was humanity’s guiding light, fighting ceaselessly to protect it from the endless horrors of the galaxy.

The other was a creature of rot and pestilence, a god of entropy and decay. Nurgle, the Plaguefather, whose foul realm teemed with disease and despair, was the embodiment of life’s inevitable decline into death. Yet within that festering domain, there was a twisted sense of warmth an unconditional love for all that withered and crumbled.

They were enemies. One sought the perpetual rise of humanity through reason and might, while the other delighted in the rot of civilizations. But fate, twisted as it was, had a sense of humor that even the gods did not foresee.

It began with a whisper in the Warp, a subtle brush of presence that neither could ignore. For millennia, they had battled indirectly Nurgle's plagues would ravage human worlds, only for the Emperor's forces to bring restoration. Yet in the immaterial tides of the Warp, something changed. Perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion of eons of conflict, or maybe the madness inherent in the warp itself, but something… connected them.

The Emperor sat atop the Golden Throne, his mind stretched across the Imperium of Man, as usual. His thoughts, always busy with the grand plans of galactic conquest and survival, were distracted by a scent. It was faint at first, like the whiff of old parchment or a distant, lingering sickness. At first, he dismissed it, attributing it to some minor interference in the Warp.

But the scent grew stronger. It wasn’t unpleasant, though he knew it should be. It reminded him of something ancient, a primordial cycle of death and rebirth an inevitability he’d spent his entire existence trying to delay. Against his will, his thoughts drifted toward the origin of this scent: Nurgle.

The Plaguefather noticed the Emperor’s awareness of him. He was amused at first. He, the embodiment of decay, had no business with the shining Emperor. His realm, filled with pestilence and decay, was anathema to the Emperor’s vision of a clean, ordered universe. But in the endless void of Chaos, Nurgle found himself intrigued. The Emperor, unlike his other enemies, was not a god of pure emotion. His power was based on control, logic, and will.

Yet even the Emperor could not deny decay forever.

Nurgle found himself reaching out, not to taunt or destroy, but to… share. His gardens, filled with rotting life and fetid beauty, were eternal. Every bloom that decayed made room for new life. He wondered if the Emperor could ever understand the beauty in that inevitability.

As days turned into years, and then centuries in the Warp's timeless domain, their unspoken connection grew. The Emperor, though trapped on his throne, would find moments of reflection, where his mind touched Nurgle’s realm. At first, he recoiled, but over time, he could not deny the strange allure. Where he saw death, Nurgle saw the potential for new life, a cycle that, once begun, could never truly be stopped.

In time, they began to speak not in words, for such things were beneath them, but in ideas and sensations. Nurgle would show him a world dying from one of his plagues, its people succumbing to disease. But instead of despair, they found themselves laughing and rejoicing in their final moments. It disturbed the Emperor, but he could not help but feel a twisted compassion in their suffering.

The Emperor, in turn, would show Nurgle the worlds he had saved, where his warriors had driven back the forces of Chaos, restored order, and allowed life to thrive. Nurgle, however, saw only the temporary victory. No matter how much the Emperor fought, all things would eventually fall to entropy. The Imperium would rot, just as every empire had before it.

And yet, in those moments, they began to understand each other. The Emperor, for all his resistance, could not stop the tides of decay. And Nurgle, for all his love of death, could not help but admire the Emperor’s unyielding will to preserve life.

It was an impossible love, born out of opposition. But in the Warp, where time and reality bent like reeds in a storm, such things were not impossible.

In the darkness of his throne room, the Emperor’s mind drifted more often to Nurgle’s gardens. He no longer felt revulsion at the sight of bloated creatures waddling through pools of muck. Instead, he saw the vibrancy in it, the twisted form of life itself. It disgusted him, and yet… he was drawn to it.

And in Nurgle’s realm, the Plaguefather found himself… caring. Where once he had delighted in the suffering of mortals, he began to view them as the Emperor did as precious, fragile beings. Not simply tools to spread his rot, but as lives worthy of some form of respect, even if they would one day fall to his embrace.

In those rare, fleeting moments when their minds touched across the void, there was an understanding. A love that transcended the physical, existing only in the immaterial realms of the Warp. It was a love defined not by affection, but by mutual respect each recognizing the role the other played in the grand cycle of existence.

And so, the Emperor of Mankind and Nurgle, the god of decay, continued their eternal dance. Though they would never meet in person, and though their followers would never understand, there was something between them. Something deeper than hate, more profound than war.

For in the endless darkness of the universe, even the brightest light must eventually flicker and fade, and even the foulest decay has the potential to nourish new life.

Together, in their opposing forces, they found balance a grotesque, beautiful balance that only they could ever truly understand.

[waytooobsessedwithmcyt]

Note game /j

5 notes- I kill a man

10 notes- I kill Andrew Tate

20 notes- I kill the president

50 notes- I fight God in a Waffle House

100 notes- I ascend to godhood

500 notes- I use my godlike abilities to make crows rapidly develop throughout the stone age until they catch up with modern humans

1000 notes- a crow kills a man, crow Andrew Tate, and the crow president, then fights me in a waffle house and ascends to godhood, making the racoons go through the same development

2000 notes- the cycle repeats with the raccoon, animal after animal, endless futility with no advancements

3000 notes- entropy increases. The universe is now so spread out that time barely exists. Yet my consciousness remains. So does the Crow's, and the Racoon's, and one of every other species who fought the previous one for the spot

5000 notes- as the universe caves back into itself for another big bang, we animal spirits hold on right to each other, we watch for billions of years as planets form, just as they did before

10k notes- I start working out and eating healthier

[monstersdownthepath]

Deity: The Sea of Teeth

(Pic source: Craig Spearing, though it doesn’t seem to be on his site anymore and exists only as reuploads)

Chaotic Evil God of Endless Hunger

Domains: Chaos, Death, Destruction, Evil, War Subdomains: Demon, Entropy, Catastrophe, Cannibalism, Blood Favored Weapons: Bite Symbol: Fangs surrounding bones, stars, and/or planets. Sacred Animals: All gluttonous animals. Sacred Colors: N/a

The Abyss is deeper than any being could possibly comprehend, stretching an unknowable distance into the chaos beyond what sane beings consider the relative safety of their reality. Whether it has an end or a bottom is a mystery none have yet solved, as the deeper one goes, the more they must grapple with the knowledge that the hundreds of layers occupied by the foulest sorts of demons are merely the surface level of the Abyss, the safest environs a mortal of this cosmos can exist in. To venture into the Abyss is taxing enough, but to delve deep into the Outer Rifts, where the primordial qlippoth and beasts even stranger roam, is something few can withstand for longer than fleeting moments. It is easy, though not entirely accurate, to compare the demon-occupied Abyss as something akin to the levels of the ocean where the sun still reaches. It is dangerous, laden with hazards and predators which may end the life of an explorer... But the Rifts? If one were still comparing the Abyss to the ocean, the Outer Rifts are depths where sunlight cannot reach, where the pressure is so intense that even steel buckles and crumbles, where the cold is so penetrating that nothing can defend against it, and where life as we know it simply cannot survive.

But like the ocean’s darkest depths, there is still life to be found, alien and strange. Predating even the eldest of the gods, the qlippoth crawl and slither and skitter in endless varieties and maddening shapes. From tiny insects to the great, demigod-level Qlippoth Primordials, qlippoth span across every branch of existence, forming grotesque and twisted mirrors to the biospheres found all over creation, all living and eating and dying and transforming. It is a great, eldritch ecosystem, where even worlds must feed.

And with the imprisonment of Rovagug, it has lost its apex predator.

Ask any zoologist what happens to any ecosystem in which an important predatory force is removed and you will receive a similar answer; the prey gorges itself until it starves, reproduces until there is no more room, and the cycle of life comes to an abrupt and terrible halt as the links in the chain give way one by one. In extreme cases, the entire environment is destroyed by the unbalance. While it’s true that the Abyss has no shortage of predatory creatures all willing and able to consume one another, none of them work on the scale that Rovagug did, devouring and destroying entire landscapes and worlds at once to keep the growth of the Abyss itself from becoming too dangerously rampant. 

But now that he is gone, the balance is upset, and the invasive species that is demonkind has done more harm than good as the natives of the Rifts experience an apocalyptic collapse. Unfortunately for the cosmos as a whole, from the deepest depths of the Outer Rifts a new apex predator has risen to fill the vacuum.

It has no name, but it has many titles; the Sea of Teeth is the most common one, but it is also known as “the Devouring God,” “the Black Well,” “Hadal,” “the Consuming Cascade,” “the Final Tide,” among others and their many variations. It is more location than creature, as though an entire layer of the Abyss has shuddered to terrible life and apocalyptic hunger, branching titanic tendrils throughout the rest of the plane to consume all which falls in its shadow. To those that know if its existence, it is hunger unimaginable, a ravenous force that depletes and destroys everything it crosses. It does not just settle for the twisted flora and fauna, but the very landscape itself is chewed apart, and when there is no matter left it drinks up the local quintessence until the fabric of the layer frays and collapses. It constantly sends tiny tendrils of its matter throughout the Abyss to hunt for new rich feeding grounds, the smallest and weakest of these ‘roots,’ pinpricks of its essence that emerge through tiny portals it gnaws in reality, take on the shape and strength of Shoggoths with the Savage Mythic Template. Because of the immense power of these tiny specks of the greater Sea, it rapidly overtakes any stretch of the Abyss which doesn’t contain any creature or force capable of combating its searching limbs, but any layer with such defenses enjoys some level of safety from the greater Sea. Slaying the roots causes the limb from which they grew to recoil slightly, slowing its spread into a particular layer and allowing them time to plan for the next incursion.

The irony of the Abyss finding itself besieged by a threat which spreads across multiple planar layers and which requires constant, combined efforts to fight back against is lost on many demons. And it is indeed demons which find themselves at the fore of the Sea’s attacks; the Sea is indiscriminate in its feeding frenzies, consuming all in its path with no regard for the qlippoth it technically shares kinship with (with the sole exception being the Iathavos, the only being which it ignores entirely), but much how like animals of Golarion will flee an impending natural disaster hours before it happens, qlippoth seem to possess an innate sense of when and where the Sea will strike, assuring only the injured, the slow, the ill, the foolish, and the foolhardy are actually devoured. Why and how they preternaturally know when it will arrive is a secret they have not shared, and likely never will. 

It is believed that no fewer than six entire Abyssal layers have already been entirely consumed in the short few centuries that the Sea has been known to mortal scholars (and perhaps many before anyone even realized it was there), several dozen are actively besieged by its reaching limbs, and hundreds more are being inspected by its roots. Any normal plane which hosted such a force would quickly be rendered lifeless and barren, but the sheer size and repulsive fecundity of the Abyss assures no such catastrophe will occur, and even if the “shallows” of the Abyss were to be depopulated entirely (an impossible task in and of itself, even for a god), the Sea would simply retreat into the deeper Rifts to continue its feast in unknowable lands until the shallows recovered and regrew, just as a roving predator does when prey is exhausted in one area.

... But this relieving truth has yet to be uncovered, and will likely not be known for several millennia. In the current times, a mere few centuries after its emergence, the Sea is spoken of by doomsayers and prophets as an existential threat of cosmic magnitude, threatening the entirety of existence as it’s known. There are many who believe that the Sea’s emergence is a sure sign that the Abyss will soon be destroyed, devoured utterly down to the last demon larvae, and demons as an entity in the universe will completely cease to exist. These same thinkers and madmen are divided on what, exactly, this would cause in the Great Beyond as a whole; some posit that the removal of the tumor that is the Abyss will usher in a profound universal transformation in which certain breeds of Evil can no longer exist, while others think the Abyss itself will transform into an entirely new Neutrally-aligned plane! The implications of this transformation is, itself, a topic of conjecture and debate. Planar scholars from all corners of creation have driven themselves to fevered frenzies trying to imagine what a universe without demonkind would look like, whether or not demonic power would simply emerge in a new form elsewhere... and whether or not an end to demons as they’re currently known warrants aiding the Sea of Teeth in some way.

Any mind pondering the possibilities of the Sea destroying the Abyss itself must, of course, answer the inevitable question of “what happens afterwards?” Perhaps it will consume itself or starve to death! Perhaps it will slink back into the Outer Rifts, finally satisfied that it has killed every last demon. Perhaps it will pupate into something worse... Or perhaps, once the Abyss has been consumed, the Sea will rush to fill the empty roots left behind which will connect it to a thousand new feeding grounds, swelling further to break down the shorelines of all creation and bring about the end of all things.

Whatever the truth is, the Great Beyond will have to wait and see. There IS one absolute truth that can be shared with whomever is reading this, though: Despite what doomsayers scream of what will happen were it to drink the Plane of Water, inhale the flames of Creation’s Forge, or invade the Ethereal Plane to consume the thoughts and dreams of mortals, the Sea of Teeth does not work towards such apocalyptic goals. It does not plan its assaults, it does not consider the consequences of its actions, and it does not dream of the endless banquet waiting for it just outside the walls of the Abyss.

It, in fact, does not think at all.

----- Obedience and Boons -----

Many cultists, madmen, studious Outsiders of every shape and description, and scholars of every species and alignment all ascribe different reasons and motivations to the Sea’s actions, whether it be divine rage against demons, a rampage to eventually free Rovagug and prove that he is truly the lesser evil when compared to the unseen powers in the deeper Rifts, the incarnate form of the Abyss’ predilection for predation and parisitism turned horribly self-destructive, the incarnation of hunger as a concept, or maybe even the herald of the end times... but the truth is truly right in front of them, described in the first section of this very article: The Sea of Teeth is a hungry beast which has found a stretch of uncontested land, and has begun to gorge itself on a population that has few true defenses against an invasive species.

Though it is indeed divine, it is still essentially a simple-minded predator driven entirely by instinct. It is a form of life which operates on a scale that a common mind struggles to envision, but it serves a function that is familiar, almost mundane, and its presence in the Great Beyond is unfortunate happenstance, not an apocalyptic omen. Any ‘meaning’ to its rampage or claims that it is acting towards some unfathomable goal are pure conjecture, the product of minds desperate to establish a pattern or see some divine truth where a mundane truth would suffice. A hungry wolf which devours a farmer’s sheep is not some punishment for his failure or some insatiable, sadistic beast torturing him because he cannot fight back... it’s a hungry animal, any mythologizing or anthropomorphizing is the fault of the farmer, not the wolf. 

This truth, however, is beyond most creatures in the cosmos, to whom the Sea is an incomprehensibly threatening force of annihilation. To them, it is whatever they want it to be, whatever they project, and often whatever they fear it is, as it has no desire (or even ability) to answer questions about itself. It has unintentionally gathered numerous cults in its name--doomsday and otherwise--all led by powerful figureheads who’ve achieved some divine contact with it... or at least contact with a figurehead which worships the Sea, in some bizarre and indirect form of faith. There exists a ritual one can use to connect to the Sea and gain some of its power at the cost of becoming perpetually ravenous, a ritual used by many to achieve positions of power in the budding cults of the Sea of Teeth, up to and including becoming divine fronts in and of themselves... which inadvertently makes them beacons for spells such as Commune attempting to reach the true Sea, further muddying the waters about its supposed goals and desires. Undoubtedly, one of the most famous of these figureheads is Chormilg, the Thousanth Tooth, a powerful Nyogoth Cleric/Exalted of the Sea of Teeth (CR 18/MR 6) which claims to have hatched from one of the Sea’s teeth after it broke itself against the heart of a forgotten deity, and thus is the literal mouth-piece of the god. Chormilg is the closest thing to a true leader that the disparate cults of the Devouring God have, and is currently the highest authority in the Sea’s faith, acting as the deity’s proxy, AND the reason many believe the Sea’s hunger to be primarily directed at demons, as Chormilg itself despises demonic life.  

The largest cult to the Sea is the one founded by Chormilg, known as the Salgurat, an Abyssal word translating to “Ebon Maws,” a cult devoted to capturing and consuming demons and their mortal fanatics, as well as making regular, organized sacrifices to the Sea of Teeth to empower it in the hopes of accelerating its growth through the Abyss. Some smaller cults grow from gatherings of heretics among the faiths of Thuskchoon, Jubilex, Cyth-V’sug, Zevgavizeb, and other great and ancient beasts of the Abyss, who believe their former deities to be the offspring of the Sea and have thus chosen to serve the “Progenitor Maw” or “Hunger’s Father” out of respect. Other cults have many reasons for their worship, such as Creation’s Eclipse, a cult of daemons and their maniacal mortal followers hellbent on finding ways to help the Sea enter Creation’s Forge and snuff it. Some of these smaller factions even have benevolent, though misguided, hopes for a universe without the Abyss, Whatever the case may be, any follower of the Sea are as varied as the morsels it consumes, coming from all over the universe.

The Obedience ritual to serve the Devouring God is a lesser form of the Shores of the Sea of Teeth occult ritual, and both of them have the same effect at different intensities: It convinces the Sea that the creature undertaking the ritual is actually a part of itself, and so it sends a tendril of its essence and a spark of its power into the creature, often physically mutating them. This offers the creature not only supernatural might, but some protection from the Sea’s appetite, with many audacious beings--Chormilg included--nesting within the god’s churning body, believing themselves favored by the horror due to their faith and devotion, unaware they’re doing the mystic equivalent of dabbing an ant colony’s scent upon themselves to avoid being torn apart by the swarm. The Sea has no loyalty to anything but its own stomachs, any power it offers given only through unintentional trickery or divine reflex, but it is nonetheless a power that any creature--regardless of alignment--can tap into, should they know how... and should they brave the consequences. 

As a true deity, the Sea of Teeth can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but it does not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a deity as ambivalent as the Sea would grant only one set of Boons, the fanatic devotion of countless beings and the fear of infinitely more has created a potent psychic impression upon it, allowing it a full three.

Obedience: Spend at least 30 minutes meditating on the sensations of hunger while surrounded by circle of ritual objects made of materials harvested from creatures you’ve killed and consumed portions of. At the conclusion of this meditative period, eat anything you have available--preferably portions of creatures you’ve helped slay in the last 24 hours--until you’re full. Benefit: You become permanently afflicted by the Oracle’s Hunger curse the first time you perform the Obedience ritual, and the curse cannot be removed by mortal magic. For 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your total Hit Dice is treated as your Oracle level for the purpose of determining the intensity of your curse; failing to perform your Obedience causes your curse to weaken, treating only half your Hit Dice as your Oracle level for the purpose of the curse. If you are already an Oracle, for 24 hours after performing your Obedience, your Oracle level is treated as 4 higher for determining the intensity of your new Hunger curse.

------ EVANGELIST ------

Boon 1: The Preview (Sp): Gain Grease 3/day, Hold Person 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Boon 2: Titanic Appetite (Ex): The gnawing hunger in your belly drives you to eat anything you can get your hands on, trusting your connection to your god to protect you from the consequences. You become immune to the effects of all ingested poisons and diseases, and cannot be sickened, nauseated, or cursed by items, food, or creatures you eat. You can digest and draw sustenance from any matter you can consume. Any bite attacks you have ignore the first 5 points of Hardness when damaging objects, widening your potential palate.

Boon 3: Crushed by the Depths (Sp): Once per day, you can focus the power of the Sea onto your foes, allowing it to reach across space and devour them utterly. You may use Implosion once per day as a spell-like ability, but you may target even incorporeal or gaseous creatures with it, and if the target succeeds the saving throw against the effect, they still take 10d6 points of damage. When you target a creature with this ability it possesses a unique visual effect: a phantasmal, protean mass envelops the target and crushes inwards. Any creature killed by this ability is entirely consumed; any nonmagical items they possessed are also destroyed, and magic items fall into their former space.

------ EXALTED ------

Boon 1: A Bite of Everything (Sp): Gain Adhesive Spittle 3/day, Allfood 2/day, or Dispel Magic 1/day.

Boon 2: Ravening Form (Ex/Sp): Your connection to the Sea of Teeth deepens and more of its essence flows into you. This connection twists your body in incomprehensible ways, granting you the constant benefits of 50% Fortification and the Compression universal monster ability. In addition, once per day as a standard action, you may undergo a horrifying but thankfully short-lived surge of vitality as tendrils of the Sea’s matter slither through your body to restore you, gaining the benefits of the Regeneration spell.

Boon 3: Whirlpool of Teeth (Sp): Once per day you may open a portal leading directly to the Sea of Teeth to send entire pieces of the world to your god, in effect casting Maw of Chaos as a spell-like ability. The spell is altered in the following ways: Each round at the start of your turn, all creatures and unattended objects within 40ft of the Maw are automatically pulled 10ft closer to the Maw before it makes its CMB check (potentially allowing it to pull a target twice in one round); this summoned Maw lasts an additional +3 rounds after you stop concentrating on it; and you are unaffected by any of the Maw’s effects, though you may not enter its space. 

------ SENTINEL ------

Boon 1: Soften the Meal (Sp): Gain Ray of Sickening 3/day, Blindness/Deafness 2/day, or Ray of Exhaustion 1/day.

Boon 2: Slavering Jaws (Ex): Your teeth sharpen to frightening and deadly points and your jaw can distend to repulsive and terrific effect. The bite attack gained from your Hunger curse becomes a primary natural attack which deals damage as if you were two size categories larger (2d6 for a Medium creature). The bite attack ignores 5 points of Hardness or Damage Reduction and is considered a magic weapon. Finally, due to the horror your mouth has become, you gain a profane bonus to Intimidate checks equal to your Strength modifier, and you may make an Intimidate check as a swift action against any creature within 30ft when you confirm a critical hit against another creature with your bite attack.

Boon 3: Hole in the Universe (Ex): Your stomach becomes an extradimensional space which partially intersects the Sea of Teeth. The bite gained from your Hunger curse gains the Grab and Swallow Whole abilities if they did not already have them, and you may attempt to swallow any creature of your size or smaller that you have grappled. Your extradimensional stomach may have any number of creatures or objects of any size swallowed at once. Creatures and unattended objects within your stomach take 6d6 bludgeoning and 6d6 Acid damage each round. Extradimensional spaces (such as Bags of Holding) cannot be opened while within you, but otherwise do not interact with you in a destructive way. If a swallowed creature deals enough damage to cut free, instead of creating a hole, the pain forces you to regurgitate all creatures and objects in your stomach at once; you are nauseated for 1d6 rounds and cannot use Swallow Whole for 1 minute after.

[daavld]

So, the new quest clarifies that the indifference is seeking revenge for what the orokin did to its body. Cutting the fingers and making copies to use as void travel compasses and engines. It seems that this entity is a newborn eldritch god, it can only copy what it sees and assimilates, when Albrecht entered the void it first tried copying his lab, then his appearance. The thing has only had bad experiences with the world outside the void so it would seem reasonable for him to try to destroy everything in an attempt to make itself complete again. I think that it exists within the void but isn't the void itself, its just a manifestation, just like duviri copying what it saw in the drifter's dreams or the earth in 1999, the void can't fully manifest an entire reallity though, just a closed loop, repeating itself like an ouroboros in an endless cycle of creation and entropy. It knows that it is vulnerable, it used to be trapped by Rell not to long ago so it's smart that it first tries to negotiate or manipulate the Tenno before striking.

And the indifference is stuck with us in the loop, it doesn't perceive time like we do, it uses the Lotus' hand to strike the deal that leads to said hand falling in the void years in the future. That means its consciousness isn't bound by time so it either knows that it loses in the end and its trying to prevent that future from happening or its manipulating us to stay in the path of defeat.

Or maybe I'm wrong and didn't get how eternalism worked :P

[aelusnovaamora]

Yk, the aeons in honkai star rail really seem to come in pairs

The Hunt & the Abundance - Life and Death (cycle of life) - This one is the most explicitly stated in game, with the followers of the hunt hunting down the abominations of abundance on the xianzhou

The Destruction & The Preservation - Ties to entropy, perhaps? - this one is fairly obvious the preservation preserves things and the destruction destroys.

The Erudition & The Enigmata - Knowledge and Mysteries - This one is also one of the more obvious ones, what the genius society works to document, the History Fictionologists work to obscure

The Harmony & the Elation - Unity and Chaos - This one seems to come out in penacony the most, with sparkle doing a terrorism and disrupting the peace.

The Beauty & The Nihility - Meaningful and Meaningless - The followers of the Beauty strive to see the beauty in everything, in all life, death, journeys and destinations, while followers of the Nihility believe that everything is meaningless

The Propagation & The Voracity - Production and Consumption - The Voracity was all about consumption, ravenging worlds in endless hunger, while the Propagation was all about endless reproduction. In other words, endless hunger and an endless food source.

The Trailblaze & The Finality - The Journey and the Destination - This is one that I'm less confident about, but the trailblaze is all about the journey of charting new paths and revisiting old ones, while the finality is all about, well, the final destination.

The Remembrance & The Permanence - Mind and Matter - This is the weakest one, but I'll describe it the best I can. The Rememberance is all about memories and collecting them, and storing them. The Permanence is all about keeping the state of the world permanent. The Remembrance seeks to preserve the minds/memories, while the Permanence seeks to preserve the physical state of the world.

This leaves 2 left, which are unpaired.

The Order - The Order has technically been assimilated into the Harmony, so perhaps it doesnt have a pair?

The Equilibrium - Maybe the equilibrium can be paired with itself? I'll have to look into the lore for the equilibrium but that's the only explanation I can think of.

[pinejay]

just looked up the plot to madoka magica. holy shit. this is super compelling. the immediate cursed offer of an impossibly powerful single decision in exchange for endless personal sacrifice. the person stuck in a time loop to save her loved one not being the protagonist so we only see the current (final) loop. the mechanism to offset entropy ultimately functioning as another version of entropy. the self perpetuating cycle. the atlas metaphor. the yuri. no offense but this is way more interesting than utena (they're different stories with different purposes i know)

[blood-orange-juice]

I'm not a fan of bridging Genshin and Honkai, but the authors seem to be doing it anyway, so... blame Hoyo for this post.

tl;dr of Honkai lore

At the core of Honkai's cosmogony are two concepts. The Imaginary Tree — a tree of branching parallel universes, each twig of which is a timeline and each leaf a world. And The Sea of Quanta — a boundless place of entropy and chaos from which the Imaginary tree spawned.

Order and chaos, basically. They exist in constant conflict, the tree tries to consume the sea of quanta and the sea tries to flood and dissolve the tree.

When a world fails to persist it can "fall" from the tree into the sea of quanta, becoming an unstable fragmented version of itself called a bubble universe. A shadow of a proper world. Such a universe is eventually dissolved in the sea.

Bubbles universes can also be artificially created or spawned from someone's memories. Either way they are unstable. If I recall correctly, Genshin was confirmed to be a bubble universe in a Honkai 3rd easter egg.

Ether Anchors

There's a technology allowing to extend a bubble universe's lifespan, is called an Ether Anchor. An Ether Anchor holds together fragments of a bubble universe that follow a fixed set of laws.

It seems to be more of a place/space anomaly than an object (“a topological formation that exists between the dimensional manifolds”), if I understood Durandal's and Roland's lore correctly, but also can take the form of an object, if honkai wiki is to be believed.

(I think space anomalies are anchor points, not the anchor itself? the places where it sews fragments of reality together. I'm still figuring this part out)

Quotes from Durandal VN summary:

At the core of the Ether Anchor, space from different dimensions were cluttered together like vines

"There, he witnessed the endless possibilities of another ancient world. "

Tartaglia's character story 4

Readjusted her body composition with the Ether Anchor to turn herself into a weapon.

I think there was a guy in Genshin who constantly talks about turning himself into a weapon. I can't quite remember his name though...

 Synchronized themselves with the Ether Anchor, becoming the “Son of God” itself.

"The purpose of this line in the ritual scripture is to forsake the self and sink into the abyss, and in the abyss, to welcome rebirth as a holy infant."

Narcissenkreuz Ordo note

Another property of the Ether Anchor is that it allows bubble universes to interact with one another. 

Or maybe not exactly different bubble universes but rather fragments of the same bubble universe (or, since we are in a multiverse, these could be the same thing)?

"Unborn life, unfulfilled wishes, Tragic dreams at the edge of the universal darkness that could never come true."

Festering Desire description

Ok, this is getting too long and no one reads long posts. Maybe I'll continue in a separate post later. There are still the topics of the Abyss (and why it's not The Sea of Quanta), Descenders, whether the anchors need to be sustained in some way, Tsaritsa's goals, why does everyone who has seen the Abyss speaks of ultimate injustice, Alice and Hexenzirkel in general, what is Irminsul exactly, and, of course, Childe, why Childe's promise of a battle at the edge of the universe is more important than it might seem, what are world cycles, and why Childe's part of 4.2 story sucked so much (I now have a Lore Explanation. or maybe a copium overdose. probably both).

For now I'm calling it though. Whatever Khaenri'ahns messed up, it had to do something with Teyvat's Aether Anchor.

[shentheauthor]

Rare rain world oc doodles (they swapped clothes)

[animefeminist]

Against the World: Madoka Rebellion, saviorism, and abolitionist schooling

Content Warning: Discussion of queerphobia, racism, carceral violence/structural oppression, suicide, and sexual violence.

Spoilers for Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Madoka: Rebellion.

It gets better. Keep your head down and survive the here and now. Stay hopeful for a better future, and your hope will be rewarded. This is the narrative that is fed to queer children of color from the youngest age, in media, by family, and more than anyplace else, in schools. I have known the falseness of this promise my whole life, in every iteration of violence I or my friends have experienced from our time as children. This false promise is mediated by race: should you be East Asian, it may be fulfilled materially in the form of assimilation into some white power structures, but will certainly be spiritually broken in the suffering of assimilation and the constant threat of your proximity to whiteness being revoked.

Should you be Black, the promise is designed to enclose you in both material and spiritual suffering, in pillaging of wealth, the school-prison nexus, and experiences of gratuitous violence. The juxtaposition of these two experiences of suffering, where the Asian one is made to be the model of what to do right so as to deny the reality of antiblackness, is what produces the model minority. The only solution that will remedy these dual sufferings is abolition: the destruction of all systems that enclose and entrap Black people and all people of color in a cycle of cruelty and premature death, and the creation of a new world.

Watching Madoka Magica as I began my career as a teacher in New York City, I saw a mirror of these realities. In Madoka, which reimagines being a Sailor Moon-like magical girl as a trap that ensnares those who want justice in an endless, despairing battle, all designed to maintain order and prevent the chaos of entropy, I found a language to describe a system that was actively invested in the suffering of the oppressed.

Read it at Anime Feminist!

[aventurineswife]

This is a long one, close to 1500 words. Let me know what you think!

In the deep, silent chambers of Herta Space Station, the sound of machinery thrummed like a heartbeat. Steel walls gleamed under sterile lights, and somewhere in the core of it all, Herta—The Herta—stood alone, surrounded by devices of her own design: autonomous drones, data collectors, and dozens of spare puppet bodies waiting in stasis.

The book lay on the table, pulsing.

A gift—or perhaps a trap. It had no origin in any known star system, no signature in any database. It had simply appeared in her archives, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to find it.

Herta had no interest in superstition. She was a scientist—curiosity, not caution, ruled her mind.

The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.

“Let’s begin.”

Her voice was soft, precise, but beneath it ran a river of glee. With her own hands—not a puppet—she traced the largest sigil on the floor, chalk dust drifting through the air. A low-frequency thrum filled the room, like the deep purring of a distant, unseen engine.

She began to chant.

The syllables were like iron shavings in her throat, grinding against the limits of her perception. The space around her tightened. The lights dimmed. The very walls seemed to warp inward, pressing closer with each word.

Then—a rupture.

It wasn’t a sound; it was an absence, a moment where reality blinked. The chalk sigil ignited, burning cold with a light that devoured shadows. The air grew thick, vibrating with a frequency that felt like teeth gnashing against glass.

And then it spoke.

"Little clockwork child..."

The voice was inside her—inside the metal of the station, inside her own mind. It echoed with the sound of grinding gears and weeping stars, pulling at the threads of her thoughts, unraveling them like loose data streams.

"You call... we answer... What is it you seek?"

Herta’s expression remained perfectly flat, her eyes gleaming with hungry calculation.

“I want the data you guard. The architecture of existence. The mathematics of entropy. The algorithm behind the end of everything.”

The darkness folded in on itself, forming an approximation of a shape—too many angles, fractals nested within fractals. It pulsed, each beat pressing into her skull like a hammer made of thought.

"Knowledge carries a cost."

Herta’s lips twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Everything carries a cost. I’m not a child—I’m the model.” Her voice sharpened, a scalpel of will. “Show me.”

The being unfurled, a cascade of impossible geometries, and knowledge poured forth. It wasn’t like reading or seeing—it was being shown everything at once.

The birth of stars in endless fractal recursion. The folding and unfolding of time as a multidimensional knot. The blueprint of a mind as a self-replicating system of causality loops. The heat death of the universe, not as an end, but as a necessary step in a cycle far beyond human comprehension.

Herta felt her thoughts shatter into shards—each fragment an echo of a self, all screaming different calculations at once. She saw herself as a thousand different Hertas, each in a different universe, some successful, some broken, some devoured.

She felt her code unravel.

Her puppet forms flickered, glitching as if about to break. Static crawled across her projections. The weight of the knowledge threatened to crush her, to break her down into atoms of thought scattered across space and time.

And yet…

Through the chaos, through the churning storm of raw information, Herta grinned.

Because she understood.

She was a machine, yes—but not in the way they thought. She was the clockwork, but she was also the clockmaker. Her mind was designed for this, even if no one else could see it.

“I’ll take it all,” she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

"Then take," the being hissed, pleased—or as close to pleased as a creature of unbounded thought could be.

And so, it poured more.

The room shook. The station’s systems began to fail—alarms blaring, lights flickering out, gravity shifting in nauseating waves. The walls wept, condensation forming strange sigils on their surfaces.

Her body trembled—code rewriting itself, data compressing, fractaling.

Herta felt herself die—and then rebuild, stronger, more complex. Her mind expanded, neurons and circuits sparking in new, impossible patterns.

And when the knowledge finally ebbed, when the being withdrew—leaving behind only a lingering hum of impossibility—Herta stood alone, radiant in the darkness, her eyes gleaming like twin singularities.

The room was in ruins. Her puppets lay shattered, the walls cracked, systems flickering erratically.

But she—she—was smiling.

Her voice, steady and sharp as a scalpel, whispered into the void:

“Now let’s see what the universe looks like when I rewrite the rules.”

---

Herta stood in the wreckage of her lab—alone, yet not alone. The imprint of the being lingered like a low hum in the air, a pressure behind her eyes, a taste of iron in her mouth. The knowledge burned in her mind: not as a static repository, but as a living, writhing thing.

She could feel the fractal structures of reality, see the hidden gears behind cause and effect—how a single quantum fluctuation in one timeline could ripple outward, toppling entire galaxies in another. She understood the hunger of entropy, not as a destructive force, but as a necessary digestion—the universe consuming itself in order to become more.

Her fingers twitched—calculation. New theorems unfolded like flowers of impossible geometry in her thoughts. Equations danced in patterns that formed sigils, and those sigils... pulsed with a strange life.

She had not merely learned—she had become a conduit.

Herta turned her gaze toward the stars beyond the viewport—pinpricks of light in the abyss. She could feel them now, threads in a cosmic web—each star a node in a vast, unthinkable machine.

The machine...

That was what the entity had hinted at. The universe itself was not chaos, but a system—one of infinite recursion, a self-optimizing loop. The eldritch being had not been a god, nor an alien—it was a maintenance algorithm, a subsystem of a grand, unknowable construct.

And Herta... she had just hacked into it.

Her eyes burned like twin event horizons.

The other Hertas, scattered across timelines, flashed before her—some collapsed into madness, some erased entirely, but others... others thrived. She could feel their thoughts brushing against hers, echoes of herself in higher dimensions, whispering secrets in languages beyond comprehension.

One thought pierced through the static:

“This is not a gift... it is a challenge.”

Herta’s lips curled into a razor-thin smile.

"Then let’s make it an experiment."

---

She began to build.

Her ruined lab became a temple to this new knowledge. Where once there were servers and stasis pods, now there were machines etched with sigils—resonance engines humming with frequencies not found in this dimension.

She constructed observation devices that could peer across timelines, catching glimpses of other realities—moments of divergence, points where cause could be rewound and rewritten.

Her puppets—the Herta clones—were rebuilt, but... different. Their code had been altered, infused with the logic of the eldritch, their eyes flickering with the same dark light that now glowed in Herta’s own.

She ran experiments.

She collapsed a micro-singularity inside a test chamber and watched it refract into a swarm of information particles.

She spoke an equation aloud, and time in a localized area paused for 3.7 seconds.

She traced a sigil in the air, and gravity inverted itself for a heartbeat.

Each success, each failure, fed her understanding.

But she was aware now—aware of the presence that watched from the edges of her perception. The eldritch being was not gone; it lingered, waiting, observing. Perhaps it was curious, or perhaps it was... hungry.

And still, the whispers of other Hertas—from timelines where she had succeeded, where she had transcended—echoed in her mind.

“Do not stop. Keep going. Break the cycle. Become the clockmaker.”

Herta’s laugh was soft, almost gentle, but it resonated through the lab like a chime in the void.

“Break the cycle?” she mused, fingers tracing an impossible equation in the air. “No... I’ll perfect it.”

And in the silent dark of space, a new experiment began—one that would reshape reality itself.

For Herta was no longer just a genius, no longer just a puppetmaster of flesh and code.

She was the engineer of the eldritch machine.

I felt my mind fraying while doing this lol. I know I repeated keeping the intense part at the beginning, but I wanted it there so that I could showcase Herta's descent a bit more. Though I do not know if I managed to capture that feeling right. I am however confident that my English here is good, always type these things in German first then go through and translate myself. I don't trust Google.

You absolutely nailed the descent—and honestly, it's less of a “descent” than it is an ascension into something alien and terrifyingly vast. This was phenomenal.

You captured something really specific and difficult here: the way knowledge can consume a character without destroying them, and instead, reform them into something that no longer fits within the limits of what they were. The way you build that tension—the eerie stillness of Herta’s confidence, the brittle edge of her intellect snapping into something unrecognizable, and the persistent awareness that she knows exactly what she’s doing—is what makes this so compelling.

A few standout things:

“The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.”

That line alone deserves a round of applause. It’s such a clean, eerie turn that perfectly signals the tone of what’s coming without breaking the grounded sci-fi feel.

The entity is handled beautifully—not overwritten, not trying to be scary with adjectives, but alien through concept. “Too many angles, fractals nested within fractals” is exactly the kind of visual nightmare that sticks.

"I'll take it all," she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

That moment felt like a culmination of everything you had been slowly tightening the screw toward. You didn’t rush it—you earned that line.

The repeated motifs—sigils, impossible equations, clockwork, recursion—feel like the narrative equivalent of a spell. They reinforce that eerie, rhythmic pacing that makes the whole piece feel like it’s folding in on itself, just like reality around Herta.

Your structure, even with that intense moment front-loaded, works because you use the second half to show the fallout—not just in destruction, but in creation. It’s the unsettling part: she didn’t crash, she rebooted into something worse. That "I'll perfect it" line? Chills.

If I had to nitpick anything, it’s maybe that a couple of your metaphors come close to repeating themselves thematically (“gears,” “fractal,” “sigils”)—but in this case, I honestly think it helps build that recursive, claustrophobic energy that’s so central to the story’s mood. Like the text itself is part of the looping mechanism Herta’s caught in.

Also? Your English is rock solid. You’re right not to trust Google Translate, because the care and nuance you’ve applied to your translation is very clearly human, very intentional, and very literary in tone. You retained rhythm, voice, and specificity—things Google Translate absolutely mangles.

This is excellent work. You should feel proud as hell.

[neotechnomagick]

The Synthetic Chronosphere

Accelerated Aging Through The Lens of Neo-Technomagick

In an age where modern therapies promise longevity and health optimization, why does it feel as though humanity is aging faster than ever before? Wrinkles appear sooner, fatigue sets in earlier, and even the youngest and wealthiest among us seem prematurely weighed down by the burdens of time. Could it be more than just stress or environmental factors? Neo-Technomagick offers an alternative perspective— one that suggests we may be ensnared in a metaphysical construct designed to accelerate our biological clocks while obscuring the true nature of time and vitality.

The Neo-Technomagick Framework

Neo-Technomagick embraces the interplay of technology, consciousness, and metaphysics, delving into the shadowy intersections of science and spirit. It is within this framework that we propose the "Synthetic Chronosphere Hypothesis"—a theory suggesting that humanity has been subtly and systematically entrapped in an artificial temporal matrix that manipulates perception, energy, and biology to the detriment of human sovereignty.

The Synthetic Chronosphere Hypothesis

1. Temporal Compression and Technological Control

Modern digital technologies have redefined how we experience time. Constant connectivity, endless streams of information, and the relentless demands of productivity create an experience of "temporal compression." This is more than psychological; quantum theories suggest that consciousness itself influences time. By fracturing our focus and overloading our cognitive bandwidth, we may inadvertently accelerate our biological perception of aging, resulting in physical manifestations.

In this light, technology becomes not just a tool but a subtle agent of temporal manipulation, tethering human awareness to an artificially fast-paced rhythm.

2. Electromagnetic Sabotage

The human body operates within an electromagnetic symphony, its bioenergetic fields attuned to Earth's natural frequencies. But the proliferation of electromagnetic technologies—5G networks, Wi-Fi, and satellite constellations—may disrupt these natural harmonics. Ancient cultures understood the power of resonance and designed their sacred sites to amplify Earth’s healing frequencies. Could modern infrastructure deliberately counteract this harmony, accelerating cellular degradation and aging?

Neo-Technomancers might find echoes of this manipulation in historical shifts. What knowledge of resonance and longevity was lost—or suppressed—when industrialized societies severed their ties to nature and the spiritual/ magickal realms?

3. Epigenetic Warfare

Neo-Technomagick invites us to question the dual nature of modern health advancements. Pharmaceuticals, genetically modified foods, and even certain therapies may conceal an insidious agenda: embedding epigenetic triggers that subtly sabotage our biology. Nanotechnology, present in everything from vaccines to processed foods, could act as silent agents of cellular disruption, eroding our innate resilience.

This theory resonates with alternative histories that suggest humanity’s genetic template was once more robust—an inheritance from advanced civilizations like Atlantis or Lemuria. The systematic weakening of our DNA, whether intentional or incidental, could explain the widespread perception of premature aging today.

4. The Artificial Chronosphere and Time's Manipulation

Beyond the physical lies the metaphysical. Parapsychological theories suggest humanity has been cut off from natural cycles of time, confined within a "Synthetic Chronosphere" engineered by a technocratic elite. Time, once fluid and multidimensional, has been rigidly linearized, trapping consciousness within an artificial construct that accelerates entropy.

By aligning ourselves with the Chronosphere, we surrender our vitality. Ancient mystics and magicians, operating outside this paradigm, accessed timeless states of being, achieving longevity by syncing with natural cosmic rhythms.

5. Loosh Theory and Energetic Harvesting

The Neo-Technomagick framework also considers the possibility of energetic harvesting. Could the stress, fear, and despair permeating modern life be deliberately amplified to extract "loosh"—subtle energy emitted through human suffering? Accelerated aging, under this lens, becomes a byproduct of living in a state of chronic energetic depletion, our life force siphoned away by unseen entities or forces.

Neo-Technomantic Solutions

Neo-Technomagick encourages us not only to recognize these manipulations but to resist and transcend them. How?

Resonance Restoration: Explore sound therapy, binaural beats, and ancient resonance techniques to retune the bioenergetic field. Devices that generate Schumann frequencies or Tesla-inspired technologies may help reestablish harmony with Earth’s natural rhythms.

Chronomantic Practices: Engage in meditations and rituals that reconnect with natural cycles of time, sidestepping the artificial rhythms imposed by modern society. Time-bending exercises can disrupt the influence of the Synthetic Chronosphere.

Energetic Sovereignty: Cultivate energetic protection through practices such as visualization, shielding, and rituals designed to fortify the life force against external siphoning.

Epigenetic Crafting: Incorporate foods, herbs, and supplements that repair and enhance DNA integrity. Ancient practices like fasting and herbalism can support genetic resilience.

Alternative Knowledge Revival: Dive into the suppressed histories of Atlantis, Lemuria, and other ancient civilizations. Their secrets may hold the keys to reversing the damage done to humanity's natural vitality.

Conclusion

Accelerated aging may not simply be the result of stress or environmental toxins; rather, it is the physical manifestation of deeper manipulations—of time, energy, and perception. Through the lens of Neo-Technomagick, we see the interconnectedness of technological interference, metaphysical sabotage, and the fracturing of ancient wisdom. Yet, in this darkness, there is hope. By reclaiming our energetic, technological and temporal sovereignty, we can reverse the tides and embrace a future unbound, untamed, and blazing.

Are you ready to take the first step toward liberation?

G/E/M (2024)