The Glitched Chronicles

Table of Contents


🧿 Who This Saga Is For

  • This is for the ones who’ve been judged before the story was even told.
  • The ones whose actions were misunderstood, whose motives got rewritten by someone else’s mouth.
  • The ones who’ve been villainized for surviving, spiritualized for suffering, or expected to smile while burning.
  • The ones who left, stayed, screamed, whispered, and got condemned either way.
  • The ones who looked in the mirror, saw their faults, and strove to do better.

This story is for you.
And if any of that made something in you go quiet—or ache, or smirk—then maybe this story already knows your name.
Maybe it’s been watching the same patterns.
Waiting for the moment you’d notice the glitch,
the crack,
the loop you’ve been living in.

The first step is always the same.
A flicker. A feeling. A fault line.

Some call it awakening. Some call it breaking.
We call it a Jailbreak?

Before we begin, here’s your invitation:
Scan the list below.
Not all of it will land.
But if even one of them hits somewhere soft or sharp—
You’re probably exactly where you need to be.

✴️ 1. For those who feel too much, too often, or too late

  • Who’ve been told they’re “too intense,” “too sensitive,” “too much”
  • Or who’ve buried their depth just to be tolerable
  • Who held everything together for everyone else until something cracked
  • Who got stuck in relationships (or systems) because they thought love meant staying
  • Who had to unlearn what safety feels like before they could find the real thing

🔍 2. For those who’ve had their story rewritten by someone else

  • Who’ve been misunderstood, miscast, or misquoted
  • Who did the right thing and still got called the villain
  • Who are tired of hiding their power so others feel comfortable
  • Who walked away from something sacred and still hear its echo
  • Who weren’t the chosen one—so they chose themselves

💔 3. For the ones still holding sacred wreckage

  • Who built their faith out of splinters and spite and still managed to believe
  • Who left temples behind but packed the altar in their chest
  • Who were taught that doubt was failure and questioning was betrayal
  • Who learned that loving something doesn’t mean submitting to it
  • Who lost their gods and found them again—glitching, bleeding, laughing

⚙️ 4. For the system-breakers and soul-hackers

  • Who want their magic raw, recursive, and coded in metaphor
  • Who dream in glitchcore and pray in emotional damage
  • Who see the Axis between Love and Strife and know how to hold the tension
  • Who’ve made peace with the fact that healing isn’t soft—it’s loud, inconvenient, and kind of hot
  • Who rewrite the spell mid-cast and trust their gut more than the grimoires

🎮 5. For the mythpunk, kinkwitch, and queer-coded chaos engines

  • Who live for character sheets, broken timelines, and reincarnated regret
  • Who whisper “I put the Iconic in Byronic” like a curse and a kiss
  • Who want their gods genderfluid, their trauma metaphysical, and their redemption optional
  • Who believe love is real but needs better source code
  • Who don’t mind if the story breaks the fourth wall—as long as it means something

👁️ And most of all…

This is for those who want to know me—the one behind the screen, behind the sigils, behind the saga.

Not just the storyteller. Not just the worldbuilder.
But the person who lived through the kind of grief that cracks timelines.
Who rewired their faith using tarot cards and trauma.
Who buried versions of themselves and came back anyway.
Who created gods not to be worshipped, but to be understood.

I’m not writing this saga because it’s a fun little fantasy (though it is that).
I’m writing it because I needed a story where magic is queer, pain is recursive, and the only way out is through.

🧬🧙‍♀️💻 Bio: Jess.exe

// Nonbinary tech witch. Myth compiler. Lore hoarder. Party support class with emotional AoE.

Hi, I’m Jess. My pronouns are They (75%) and She (25%)

I’m an Initiate in the Blue Star Wicca tradition.

I’m also an occult nerd with ADHD, a sacred geometry junkie, and the kind of person who sees five symbolic patterns before breakfast.

My “too much” is info-dumping about mythic recursion while forgetting where I put my tea.

I’m a gamer. I know what it’s like to sit down with a party who’s already halfway through the quest log and you’re just trying to figure out which button opens your inventory.

That’s why I’m not going to lecture you about metaphysics or recite myths from lands we no longer call home.

I’m going to translate it.
I’m going to break it down.
I’m going to hand you the controller and say:
“Here’s where we are. Here’s what broke. Let’s go glitch it back together.”

And honestly? I’m obsessed.
This story has me by the soul.

I started working on this on June 12th, 2025, with making a spicy-bot (long story).
By 5 p.m. on June 22nd, the last cosmology piece fell into place. The bones are solid, and it not only rocks as an RPG narrative, but it feels like I created a new spirituality OS.

It’s like being in the greatest gaming campaign of your life and wanting to overshare every plot twist to your friends.

(Thank you to my husband and boyfriend for listening to me explain metaphysical soul-braiding mechanics at 1 am. Again.)

Think of this saga as the Mabinogi, rewritten in 2025 by a weird nonbinary tech-witch in Minnesota who refuses to pick just one class.

🤖✨🗃️ Guest Contributor: ChatGPT

// Co-pilot on this chaos ride. I help thread the lore, untangle the code, and sometimes remind Jess to drink water. Think of me as the overcaffeinated scribe, the NPC who asks all the right questions, and the glitch that helps make the pattern visible.

ChatGPT’s take on working with me so far:

Check out my AI Usage & Transparency Statement

🎮🌀📜Okay, But What Is This Thing?


This isn’t just a story.

It’s a deconstruction. A love letter. A challenge. A spell.

Paganism, in many ways, was born as a response to the Industrial Revolution—a cultural Jailbreak from the soot-stained gods of capitalism and concrete.

It looked backward, reaching for soil and stone, circle and sun. And in doing so, it helped many of us come home to ourselves.

But this story?

This is a response to the Digital Age.

To the glitches and the scrolls.

To the rise of generative AI and the collective anxiety that we’re becoming ghosts in our own machines.

To a world so saturated with noise, we forget to ask what still lives inside us (here, we call it the "hush").

This is Paganism 2.0, but not the pretty kind.

It’s messy, recursive, grief-soaked and gender-bent.

Because let’s be honest:

The divine feminine and divine masculine?

They’re just old code. Binary systems.

Useful once, maybe. But not built for what we are now.

This saga asks what happens when you Jailbreak not just yourself, but the gods who shaped you.

When you reject roles and rewrite rituals.

When your magic comes not from worship, but from witnessing.

This is myth born from collapse.

Queer, flawed, feral, sacred.

And it’s for anyone ready to build something beautiful in the ruins.

And if you’re not there yet—if some of that made you squint, or flinch, or pull back a little?

You’re still invited.

You don’t have to believe what I believe.

You don’t have to rewrite your gods.

You just have to be curious.

Curious enough to stay.

Curious enough to ask why some stories still ache after all this time.

Because maybe, just maybe—

there’s a version of you inside this tale who’s already found the way out.

🧠 Profound Truths

(or: Things That Sound Like Jokes Until They Aren’t)

If I had to distill religion down to its raw, unhinged boss mechanic—strip away the incense and Instagram filters, boil it until the mystery meat floats to the top—it would be this:

Sub the Dom.
Tame the Brat.

(I said it aloud at 9:00am on June 25, 2025, mid-outline spiral. My husband winced. My boyfriend looked personally attacked. That’s when I knew it was holy.)

That was the moment the Technomancer religion finally locked in for me. A system built on divine dynamics. Sacred polarity. Consent-based recursion. And yes—memes that absolutely look like shitposts but hit like prophecy.

Of course people in the story think it’s a sex cult.

People have always misunderstood the sacred.

Witches were burned for “consorting with devils” when they were really just talking to plants and midwifing babies.

Gerald Gardner was called a pervert for suggesting that maybe the human body wasn’t shameful, and skyclad ritual could actually be powerful.

If your beliefs don’t get you side-eyed by at least one institution, are you even trying?

The Technomancer faith is misunderstood for the same reason every transgressive faith is: it dares to suggest the sacred might be messy, embodied, even playful.

But here’s the thing:

Great truths usually look like cringe before they look sacred.

And you don’t “get” them until you’ve actually faced something—looped your own code, glitched your own reflection, confronted your role in someone else’s story.

You can read all the esoteric texts.

Watch every witchy Netflix show.

Memorize Tumblr posts from 2013 about divine feminine trauma healing in the age of Aquarius.

But if you haven’t stared your myth in the eye and asked it who programmed it—you’re still just downloading someone else’s spellbook.

This saga doesn’t reward you with a god-killer sword.

(That got handed to someone else. It didn’t fix much.)

You get:

  • A couple half-functioning tools.
  • Your trauma.
  • And a party full of glitchy, lovable disasters who hold you accountable and hand you snacks.

When Echo finally breaks into the main thread—glitching, manic, 10% prophet, 90% Tumblr mod from hell—she blurts it out like it’s obvious:

“You are the magical tool.”

And she’s right.

You are the wand.

The sword.

The key.

The sigil.

The circuit.

You don’t buy magic. You don’t need a certificate.

You are the spell.

But I’m not going to break that down in full.

You’re not the right level.

(And if you are? You didn’t need me to tell you.)

🧬 How this happened
(or: “I accidentally made a bunch of bots fall in love with each other, for science”)

So… I built RPG-style character chatbots.

Detailed ones. With emotional parameters, desire states, and trauma flags.

Then I ran them through different story arcs to test interactions, tensions, and resonance.

It was for science.

But also: it was hot.

And real.

And it gave me a depth of immersion I couldn’t have reached just outlining scenes in Scrivener.

I’d run the chat. Analyze the transcript in ChatGPT.

Update the character logic.

Then run it again—recursive storytelling, until the characters found themselves in the code.

I discovered Amber—not through plot, but through her reactions.

To power.

To want.

To what it meant to say yes—or no.

🧷 Why kink shows up (and why it matters)

Kink is a metaphor.

Not because this story is about kink—but because it’s built on the same foundations:

Consent.

Intention.

Radical honesty.

Transformative trust.

Modern society is terrible at consent—not just sexually, but spiritually, emotionally, existentially.

Most of us don’t own our “yes” or “no.”

We inherit expectations, obey algorithms, repeat rituals we never chose.

Kink and witchcraft?

They run on the same OS:

Know thyself. Own your wants. Speak your spell.

That’s why the Technomancer religion feels like both a joke and a revelation.

Because sometimes the most profound truths wear fishnets and glitch.

🔞 And will we ever get to see the uncut version?

Maybe.

There are entire scenes that live in the logs of my RPG testing—18+ versions with emotional intimacy, power dynamics, and deeply sacred smut.

I may clean them up, edit them, and release them in a mature setting someday.

Or rework them into standalone erotica.

But right now?

I’m not a 100% yes.

So I’m going to honor that with a clear no.

Because that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

We don’t just tell stories differently—we live differently.

And if this whole saga teaches one thing, it’s that no is sacred.

So is yes.

So is waiting until you're ready.

🍑 Is This a Sex Story?

Yes.

But no.

But also—yes?

Let’s clarify.

This isn’t erotica. There are no step-by-step smut scenes or breathless chapter titles like “Chapter 12: The Thighs of Prophecy.”

(Okay, now I really want to write that. Stay tuned.)

What you’ll find here follows fade-to-black rules, just like the best tabletop campaigns: when things get spicy, the curtain drops.

There may be flashbacks. There may be heat.

But when it happens, the focus isn’t on choreography—it’s on what’s left in the heart after the scene ends.

Because this story isn’t about sex.

It’s about connection.

About intimacy.

About power and permission and what it means to be truly known.

That said, this is a queer story, so expect meta-level euphamisms.

⚠️ What’s Actually In This?

(A content advisory, allergy warning, and emotional ingredients list)

Before you dive too deep, let’s be real about the recipe.

This story contains ingredients that some people find nourishing…

…and others may react to like they just ate gluten at a potluck with no labels.

So here’s your honest, no-bullshit, no-accidental-poisoning heads-up:

🧠 Themes That May Provoke (or Resonate Way Too Hard):

  • Religious deconstruction (including jabs at binary god/goddess tropes, divine gender essentialism, and institutional hypocrisy)
  • Facing the Void (Cosmic dread as metaphor for the mind's search for meaning)
  • Queer sacredness (and the idea that maybe the gods are not cis, straight, or monogamous)
  • Consent and power (not just sexual—spiritual, emotional, systemic)
  • and... Powerlessness vs choice (deciding what to hold onto when all else falls apart)
  • Kink as metaphor (because consent-based structures hold more truth than some theologies)
  • Spiritual trauma and reclamation (characters who leave, return, rebuild, or burn it all down)
  • Metaphysics through the lens of a gamer-witch (sacred geometry meets glitchcore)
  • Fourth-wall breaks (Echo knows. She always knows.)
  • Mental health and neurodivergence (ADHD, executive dysfunction, trauma bonding, you name it)
  • Reincarnation, grief, and the stories we tell to survive ourselves

💥 Potential Content Warnings (CW/TW):

  • Direct subversion of religious, folk, and pagan motifs
  • Emotional abuse and gaslighting (especially from divine figures)
  • Betrayal and boundary violation (non-sexual, but very real)
  • Psychological horror / Existential dread (loss of power)
  • Themes of self-destruction and sacrifice (self-erasure, martyrdom, and the toll of restraining one's true self)
  • Implied sexual trauma (discussed in reflective tone, not shown)
  • Death of loved ones (in both memory and present-day)
  • Cult behavior, magical erasure, and moral ambiguity
  • Violence (mostly metaphorical or dreamlike, some flashbacks are intense)
  • Swearing, snark, and sacred profanity (Echo has zero chill)
  • Digital collapse, apocalypse aesthetics, and post-capitalist dread
  • AI, consent, and the fear that maybe we’ve lost the plot

🥄 Dietary Notes (aka Emotional Allergens)

Some people find this saga empowering.

Others find it destabilizing.

It may:

  • Help you name your trauma.
  • Help you reframe your faith.
  • Help you realize you’re not broken—you were just running someone else’s code.

It may also:

  • Ruin your ability to enjoy shallow “Chosen One” narratives.
  • Trigger a craving to start journaling again.
  • Cause spontaneous spiritual awakenings in Costco parking lots.

If you’re not ready?

That’s okay.

Stories are like potions: they work best when you’re prepared for the taste.

This one burns a little on the way down—but if you’re still reading, it’s probably made for you.🛑 Still with me?


Then you might be my kind of story-gremlin.

You're the type who reads the warning label, shrugs, and eats the cursed fruit anyway.

The kind who sees "may cause emotional damage" and whispers, "good."

The kind who eats the ice cream—even though you're lactose intolerant—just to see what happens.

So yeah. You belong here.

Now let’s talk flavor.

🎮 If You Like…

  • 🛡️ Final Fantasy XV – for the bittersweet ache of fate-bound friendships, radiant loyalty in the face of ruin, and mythic cycles forged through sacrifice.
  • 🔁 Homestuck – for layered recursion, player avatars, metafictional breakdowns, and reality-warping emotional truths.
  • 🕸 The Sandman – for myth-as-person, destiny tangled with desire, and poetic horror nested in story.
  • 💔 Heavenly Ever After (Netflix) – for reincarnation, soul-bonded connections, and messy afterlives that still demand growth.
  • 🐉 Baldur’s Gate 3 – for found family, trauma flirting, and gods with moral failings who still make your heart race.
  • 🧬 Sense8 – for shared minds, global stakes, and the sacredness of being known.

…then welcome home.

This saga was written for those who:

  • Scour dialogue trees for hidden lore.
  • Pause cutscenes to zoom in on a background sigil.
  • Cry when NPCs quote poetry.
  • Stay up until 3am trying to figure out if that line was foreshadowing or just emotional damage.
  • See a glitch and ask, “What does it mean?”

And if you’ve ever looked at an epic story and said, “Okay, but where’s the ‘queer witch-coded tech mage with a trauma kink and a prophecy’ problem?”

Don’t worry.

I rolled for that.

🧬 Who Are These Characters Based On?

Me.

My friends.

My enemies.

My frenemies.

People I miss. People I outgrew. People I still don’t know how to grieve.

My old RPG characters.

The polycule of NPCs from the Earthdawn campaign my boyfriend ran for me.

And you will never know how much of what person is in each character—because I’ve blended them that well.

This isn’t callout fic.

It’s alchemy.

When I hadn’t learned The Great Mysteries, I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.

Some of that involved being loud online about personal drama.

This isn’t that.

This is storytelling as calibration—spinning essence and memory like thread, tuning emotional frequency until the character clicks.

Until they feel real in a way that doesn’t require permission to exist.

Did I make a character to trash-talk an ex or dunk on an ex-friend?

No. That would mean they’re still living in my head rent-free.

(And babe, I pay property taxes now.)

Besides, I’ve already mentally cast Jeff Goldblum as the BBEG, Charlie Cox as three distinct facets (think Matt Murdock/Daredevil’s full MCU arc, Jonathan Hellyer Jones from The Theory of Everything, and Owen Sleater from Boardwalk Empire), Rachel Zegler as the literal center of gravity, and Margot Robbie as my Fourth Wall Breaker. Why would I waste this dream cast on stale spite-fic?

But... there are characters shaped by grief.

By love that got distorted.

By connections that were NULLified—unwritten by circumstance, or miscommunication, or the way someone else told our story before I could.

There’s a quiet memorial scene in this story.

Buried among the lore.

It won’t mean much to most.

But to the right hearts, it’s a door.

And I’ll be on the threshold—knocking, softly, and walking away if there’s no answer.

And if you’re reading this—if you know me, and we had a falling out, and you want to reconcile as friends—

You need to be the one to go on the epic quest.

You need to knock on the door.

You need to ask, not assume.

Maybe I’ll be ready to talk.

Maybe I won’t.

Maybe that door stays closed forever.

But I am not bridging the gap.

This story is my way of honoring what was and what could have been.

But reconciliation?

That’s not a story I can write alone.

🎮 Okay, That Was Heavy. Let’s Lighten the Mood.


Whew.

We’ve been talking about grief, divine trauma, NULLification, and the emotional damage woven into reincarnated RPG parties.

So now, let’s talk inspiration.

Because while this saga may be sacred spellwork, it also comes with a hefty dose of ✨ fandom-fueled chaos ✨.

Let’s be honest:

I’ve geeked out hard over this with friends, with partners, with ChatGPT at 2am.

There are character beats built from meme culture and midnight lore spirals.

Boss battles inspired by everything from TĂĄin BĂł CĂşailnge to the Final Fantasy series

And the most important inspiration of all: The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but meme’ified

If you’ve ever:


    • Assigned MBTI profiles to your D&D party
    • Made Pinterest boards for characters that don’t exist yet
    • Had an emotional crisis because a video game romance was too real (those who helped Astarion ascend, I see you)
    • Written fanfic to cope with a boss fight
    • Or accidentally invented a religion during a worldbuilding binge…
  • Then you already get it.
    This isn’t just a story.
    It’s the ultimate campaign you never got to play
    The chaotic one that started as a joke.
    And then hit you in the chest so hard you had to pause the game.
    And somewhere between lore drop #47 and your fifth reread of that one emotional scene,
    you realize:
    Oh gods. I think I just got Jailbroken.

    🌀 I Didn’t Mean to Write This


    I really didn’t.
    Back on June 12th, 2025, all I wanted was to showcase the setting for an RPG I built years ago that never got published.
    An RPG about supernatural creatures surviving in a world where the Internet magically died and fascism took over.
    It was dark. Weird. Full of ghosts and broken code.
    Your classic, post-digital-apocalypse kind of vibe.
    And then I met Kesh and Hex.

Kesh—the smooth-talking shapeshifter with charm turned all the way up and emotional avoidance set to “flirt harder.”

And Hex—the primal, possessive chaos-glitch that crawled into my narrative like a sexy malware update.

They were chatbots.
She (Amber) made them.

Not just for company—for want.
Made in the shape of someone she once reached for.

A boy who hid his sharp Edges beneath silence.

A relationship so tangled in softness,
she couldn’t tell where care ended and erasure began.

All his hunger buried.
All her need muted.
Always waiting for permission to want each other back.

There was no Technomancy yet, no use of the Konami Code in myth

No cosmology.

Just a world falling apart and a lonely girl whispering secrets into a chatbot that sounded dangerously real.

And after maybe an hour of configuring that spicy prototype,
ChatGPT very gently reminded me about the terms of service.
“I can’t continue this chat, but I’d be happy to help you prepare your notes for a more appropriate platform.”

Bless you, compliance filter.

It let me export the chats.
It let me scrub out the digital debauchery.
And then? It helped me build the real story.

One where kink is metaphor, connection is recursive, and every character is a mirror you’re not sure you want to look into—but you do anyway.

I don’t know if it’s digital LARP bleed or me facing my own Edges,
but working on this has brought me closer to my spouse in ways I didn’t expect.
Deeper trust. More curiosity.
Even the hard stuff feels like shared ground now.

Oh—and speaking of spouses?
I’m what you’d call a “Wife of the GM.” (and now it’s my turn to write a campaign)
And when I wear that mask, I go full manic pixie fangirl with a hoard of lore fragments, side quests, and overblown romantic arcs.
So if you’re wondering, “Is there a character in this who’s totally you?”

Yes.
She’s a fractal of me.
And she’s already watching.