inevitable destruction

The (not so) United Kingdom
  • Scottish Parliament votes in favour of a second independence referendum.
  • The N. Irish government is still a mess with no likely end in sight which means power will revert to London which means revolt. 
  • British government officially signs letter formally enacting Article 50. 

Yep, I’m watching the slow but inevitable destruction of my own country. Well done, you bastards. 

We did it.

Generation after generation of humanity sat by idly, too comfortable to be spurred to action. Too complacent to stop our disastrous path before our inevitable destruction.

Now, the earth’s atmosphere is damaged beyond repair, and humanity as a whole must adapt. Maps must be redrawn. Entire coastlines are washed away under the world-wide floods. New deserts are formed as the thinning atmosphere’s protection wanes. Global droughts decimate populations, and a few years later, when everything is dry, the fires begin in earnest. Some cities survive, but the number that do is smaller than anyone cares to admit. The shape of the world changes, and humanity with it.

Cities are build under the new deserts, using the winds as power and the sands as protection against the sun. We must now learn how to survive in the parts of the world we have made uninhabitable.

Some people flee to the sea. There’s so much more if it now, and out there, there is less overcrowding. Modern-day dreams of atlantis become realities faster than anyone could ever have known as desperation and ingenuity pull us away from moving shores. Humanity learns how to live in the flooded world they’ve made - they must.

Still others fight to fix what was broken. It is futile to hope for a full return to glory, but cities which burned after the Droughts are rebuilt with as much vegetation as can be made. Taller buildings are crafted to hold more people and more flora. Old building designs are shed like dead skin - a symbol of hope for a new world and the death of an era of failure.

Some turn towards the stars. Space colonization programs began to cooperate on large-scale projects during the first Droughts. Now, they are beginning to take off in every sense of the words. Short-term tests on the moon have proven to be successful, and now- armed with entire libraries of knowledge on ways to keep a planet healthy, the space programs begin to look beyond, to further planets and distant stars.

Designs are borrowed from those places which have always been most accustomed to the heat. Clothing changes to accommodate the rising temperatures. Linens, silks, and other, newer fabrics, synthesized to repel the constant heat are the foundations of a global fashion boom. Sun screening lotions are altered to be stronger and last longer. Paints and skin-coats are adapted to look beautiful in the parts of the world where it is too hot to live without anymore.

There are places in the world which become uninhabitable. Any plans for long-term habitation are ultimately unsustainable. These dead-zones become the perfect place for secrets to hide, though trips through them must be kept brief and well-planned if one wishes to survive.

Garbage becomes a commodity. Recycling materials that no longer exist in nature is a fairly new business, but it is thriving. Companies fight over rights to old dump sights and sharp entrepreneurs trawl the oceans for the trash humanity forgot long ago.

Solar windows are in - it is harder now to walk outside without suffering the consequences, but humanity has not forgotten their love of the light. Direct exposure is more dangerous than ever, but protected windows give humans the ability to walk in the sunlight without fear of their impending deaths.

We did it. We destroyed the planet we were given to live. Now, we must live amongst the proof of our forefather’s misdeeds.

And live we shall.

anonymous asked:

Thoughts on Tchaikovsky?

I have lots of feelings about Tchaikovsky! His music, 10/10. His gayness, also 10/10. If you are interested in lgbt+ composers in general I would recommend my sideblog @lgbtcomposers which I dedicated entirely to the subject. This post is one talking about some of Tchaikovsky’s gay exploits (although I plan on adding more detail in a post of my own later.)

I have LOTS of favorite Tchaikovsky pieces… but to try to narrow it down a little bit… (in no particular order)

  • Souvenir de Florence - great piece for strings, each movement is very different from the next, it’s very exciting to play
  • Symphony no. 4 - nicknamed the “Fate” symphony. “Fate” described by Tchaikovsky as: “the fatal power which prevents one from attaining the goal of happiness … There is nothing to be done but to submit to it and lament in vain.” With this “fate,” Tchaikovsky said that “all life is an unbroken alternation of hard reality with swiftly passing dreams and visions of happiness,” and “No haven exists … Drift upon that sea until it engulfs and submerges you in its depths.” This “fate” very much seems like what would feel like the inevitable destruction of happiness in a homophobic society.
  • Symphony no. 5 - each movement is gorgeous but especially listen to the second movement (~17:20) which is very romantic and pining and has lots of gay angsty feelings and lyrical sweet passages and some very… climactic moments… shall we say
  • Violin Concerto - Tchaikovsky wrote this with Iosif Kotek, his male lover, in mind. However, he did not formally dedicate the piece to him, because he thought people would suspect something. This concerto is very romantic and has soaring themes that feel like they could only have been written by a man in love.
  • Romeo and Juliet - written thinking of a different male lover. I can’t get over the fact that the famous love theme here, supposedly describing Romeo and Juliet, the “epitome of straight romance,” is in fact, written by a gay man for his male lover.
How to Determine your Classpect

Homestuck classpect theory something that I’ve spent hours reading theories about and discussing with friends, and I think one of the big reasons why it’s so entertaining is the ability to apply it to your own life and determine your own Sburb title.

Unfortunately, a lot of people will do that by just taking a test that hands them a title—and that just doesn’t work! Most of those tests are thrown together by people who don’t really understand classpect theory, and even the more well thought-out ones based off of legitimate personality tests are usually inaccurate, because classpect isn’t just based off of personality.

Now, I personally still think that the best way to figure out what your title is is to do a bunch of research, reading dozens of different takes on classpect theory in order to solidify your own base of understanding, but I know not everyone’s crazy enough to do that. It’s also not an option for anyone who’s unfamiliar with Homestuck, as they all contain loads of references to the comic. I agree that that’s important in building a complete understanding of the system, but overall, classpect something that should be able to be understood without any knowledge of the comic, and I’d love to see people who haven’t read Homestuck get into it. So now, I’ll do my best to present to you:

The ultimate quick* guide to figuring our your classpect!

*Will still probably take a little while to read through, but at least it’s faster than digging through a bunch of other posts for relevant info. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I have a fic request! I noticed after Ending B 9S gets really protective of 2B and tries to stand in front of her a few times during the assault mission. When you go in his room during the credits, he talks in a gentle voice, while showering 2B with power up items, money, and tells her to be careful. So, I have this headcanon that they had sex after Ending B and that's why he was acting like that toward her. Would you be willing to write another lewd fanfic of these two again? Thank you!


(Once again, I’m doing the dirty and this time I’m like, fuck it, I’m sin mother and this ship is mine to steer. No real attention was put on the “how” in this one, however. Androids have genitals now; deal with it.)

-Tumblr formatting legend: * = italics -

Her gloved fingers brushed along the side of his face, judging the reality of his existence by this simple set of light movements of leather against artificial skin. Her knuckles curled as they ran over his cheek, a finger tracing his chin and, after a moment of slight hesitation, following the shape of his lips. His shaking breath parted the plump skin, his cheeks lightly dusted with blush pink.

She realized that this moment was something he didn’t expect and wasn’t something she had planned. It was born of a spontaneous desire to assure that it really was him and not another formatted version she needed to learn to love again.

“2…B?” He finally ventured when her fingers finally came to rest against the shell of his neck. She looked down but only saw the blackness of his visor, not the deep, dark blue eyes his model type was equipped with. His voice caught, embarrassed.

“Yes?” She prodded. 9S adverted his gaze even though he couldn’t see her eyes behind her visor. She raised an eyebrow, inviting him to voice his thoughts.

“…I…um,” he took her hand in his own. He gripped her smaller, delicate yet deadly fist in his own as if debating allowing her to fight this internal war with him.

N-not now.*

“Thanks.” He gave her a soft smile, a smile she could could see past with no assistance.

She wasn’t going to push him, not now anyways. This wasn’t the time, time that was running short. At any moment, Command would give an order that would possibly divide them and she would never get this opportunity again.

So she ignored it and gently separated their hands, moving hers to press against his chest before leaning forward and bringing their lips together. The cool and firm skin yielded against hers, warm breath mixing as they each tested the boundaries of what they could do behind the closed door of the room the Resistance had given them. She felt the steady hum of his systems underneath her palms, growing in confidence with each beat before tugging that the buttons of his coat. 9S froze and swallowed, unsure of how he should react or use his hands as they rested uselessly at his sides.

He didn’t have to wait for long before his chest was exposed to her hands, which tugged urgently at his skintight undershirt. Her tongue pushed against his lips, looking for any sign of entry into his mouth as one hand slid up his back and entwined itself in his hair, nails pressing on his scalp.

She felt her pulse rate spike as they gave into the simpleminded desire coursing through their systems, blood pounding in her ears. A combat model, she shouldn’t feel this nervousness. Yes, she was bold and confident but that was in a situation where breaking the other person was perfectly acceptable and the desired goal. 9S wasn’t a person she wanted to hurt, even accidentally.

Gently, she pushed against him, causing him to rest on the bed, her palms on either side of his head. Their lips had came unglued during the transit; 2B panted, a small trail of saliva of unsure origin slicking the skin as she stared down at him. His cheeks and ears had become a shade of red that could only be described as “adorable”, his mouth just as lewdly askew as hers.

She stared down at him, attempting to gage his reaction to what had transpired before. Everything about him urged her on, begging her to keep going, including the obvious stiffness in his pants that was growing harder as movement aroused them both.

Still…she reached behind his head and undid the knot of his visor, pulling the obscuring black fabric from his eyes while doing the same to herself. His eyes, despite being artificial optics with wires and no soul behind them, were the most expressive part of him. One look into them told her everything and sealed the consent she needed.

Granted, she doubted that what she saw behind the thick veil of lust and desire was that look in his eyes she knew and feared. It was that look that was always followed by a swift betrayal in the form of a sword through his chest. He knew something and he wanted to tell her, but he was still searching for the right time and that wasn’t now, thank the God she still believed had abandoned her.

His coat and undershirt were urgently pulled off to silence her own thoughts on that terrifying subject. He couldn’t speak those words if his mouth was occupied with hers, his hands flush against her backside.

She could feel her own body heat rising, the fabric of her undergarments and clothes becoming too tight and heavy for her to bear. It felt similar to a buildup of reactor heat before the inevitable self destruction, her neither regions throbbing with sweltering, wet need.

“9S.” She separated their lips to gaze into his eyes again. He took the hint surprisingly well, but she didn’t doubt the label of “high end” attached to his model type. His logic systems worked far and above hers, able to solve these kind complexities when his own sheepishness finally died. He undid the near invisible buttons right at the side of her chest, the black fabric of her shirt coming loose before falling from her shoulders and arms and onto the ground. His thumbs trailed over her bare skin, tugging at the edges of her leotard to get to more of that smooth flesh he just wanted to feel*.

He visibly twitched when he felt her palm slide along his crotch, fingers grazing his member. One dragged against the damp tip, playing with him mercilessly as he panted uselessly against her mouth. “Ah…a…2B.” She cupped her hand around his length, the leather of her glove smooth and molding to his skin.

They moved against each other, losing clothing and inhibition. Underneath all the layers was bare skin, soft, peachy and a layer of untouched sensitivity. Other loosely regulated YoRHa members spoke in not-so-hushed tones about doing this very selfsame thing all the time around the Bunker, but 9S himself had never been privy to the practice. The way 2B moved for them though, her hands firmly planted on either side of his head and hips hovering above his crotch, broadcasted experience he couldn’t match. A tiny, jealous part of him wondered who else had the undeniable honor of witnessing her lewd and bare, the part also wondering what happened to them. He hadn’t even been inside her and he knew she felt as breathtaking as she looked when her eyes were low and her cheeks red with the effort of restrained sounds.

Keeping the theme of control firmly in her hands, she lowered herself onto him, hissing as she twisted the sheet in her fingers. His systems flushed with heat, his back arching at the sudden but welcome feeling that rushed through his nervous systems.

Who could possibly give this feeling up? After a moment, her hips began to rock against his before they became full thrusts, rapid exhales leaving their mouths in synchronized shallow breaths of air. What kind of idiot would let her go?

She had done this before. With him. Of course, he doesn’t remember, but she knows where he’s weak, the spots he didn’t like to be touched and the way he moved.

He hadn’t changed. They hadn’t wiped him away…and for that, she’s glad. It’s a small consolation prize for the suffering she will soon bring down onto him, pleasure before pain.

She wondered if it was worth it.

Inside, she was capable of burning him alive, smothering him in the greatest way possible with crushing, dominating force. Her slick muscles held him firm, wet, hot and…shit, he’s burning and his blood is boiling in his veins.*

He pushed against the bed, going against her weight to sit up with her in his lap, her head on his shoulder. She followed his lead, wrapping her legs around his back, tightly holding him flush to her. Fuck, it felt too good.* Her head throbbed, processors firing in overdrive as it all began to dull into one feeling of never wanting to stop*. If she didn’t stop…if they never stopped…

“Ngh…ah…ah.” His tongue fought a losing but heated battle with hers, warm saliva trailing down her lips. 9S moaned as she curved her back to allow for deeper penetration and closer contact between them. N-no way he was going to live through this. The way she rode him so desperately, so hungry for him and…well shit she was heavier than him and she wasn’t being gentle. If he broke his new body though, it was a hell of a way to go.

*Man, 21O is gonna be pissed…“how did you break your body again?” “I got fucked by a combat android and I learned that being on the bottom is dangerous to my health yet really awesome.”*

No way in hell he was going to tell anyone about this.

“Don't…don't…” She licked her lips and gasped for words. “Stop…thinking.”

*Just do me one favor please*, she wanted to beg. *Don’t do this to me again.*

Her nails dug into his skin, trails of red left in her wake. The pain was nothing compared to the all consuming pleasure, a mere inconvenience in the face of something he needed if he was going to be strong and…was he really going to tell her? He trusted her with his life, but his own mind was in shambles with what he had learned from digging where he had no right. Was he really going to doom her to the same fate? Was that fair?

“Stop thinking,” that’s what she had demanded.

Losing himself in her, in the feelings she drew out of him, was far better than the truth.

They had been called back to the Bunker and separated by circumstance, preparing the mission that would hopefully end the war. Adam and Eve had been destroyed, leaving the machine network venerable.

This was their chance, and yet *their chance had past. She came to his room one last time, the air heavy with knowledge and tension. His skin still smelled of her, his chest marked by thin cuts. It was fresh, the feeling still raw in his mind.

What could he say…? He was pathetic when it came to her. All he could do was give her a gift and words heavy with barely repressed affection and love.

Maybe…maybe when this fight was over, they could run from YoRHa no matter the outcome. They could escape together, become rouges and relocate where Command could never find them. He could research machines and she could fish and…and…

Was it…selfish? Was this what she wanted? Did she still want war or did she want the same peace he did? Was he only doing this for himself?

He had no time to answer. The mission came first.

Her hand lingered on his shoulder, as if she wanted to say something else, do something else, but nothing came to her.

“…Be careful, 9S.”

There it was, the frigid love he so hated. He wanted more warmth, more heat, more of the genuine person she was, not the soldier façade she put up.

“You too…2B.”

He would tell her. No matter the outcome, she deserved the truth.

Heir of Time

So, Classpect is pretty cool, so I think I should probably start doing Classpect stuff on this Classpect blog that I started, and because I’m quite fond of my own title, here’s my thoughts regarding it.

Class/Aspect Interaction

The Heir class, as speculated by the Classpect community, is mostly regarded as the second most passive class, right behind the Muse, of the 14 that we have observed in the comic. Its key terms that are most mentioned are Manipulate, Protect, (or rather, be protected by,) Embody, and Become.

Time, as we have seen, is one of the more straightforward examples of the 12 Aspects. It represents and is represented by Endings, Rhythm, Death, Repetition, Inevitability, Patience, Music, Clocks, Destruction, among a bevy of other terms.

By these terms, we can create a number of extrapolations as to the personality traits and abilities of an Heir of Time.

Base Personality

Due to the varying traits of an individual human personality, it would be unlikely that a person would fit exclusively within the mold of a Mythological Role. Rather, it is more likely that a person would have some, most, or all of the traits of their role, accompanied by the other traits of their personality that make them, well, them. 

(E.g. Dave drawing SBAHJ, or any of the Beta kids playing instruments.)

I have generally viewed personality traits as different from before and after realization, with the general idea being that traits of their Inverse aspect are present in their personality and interests, while their Role’s traits are also simultaneously somewhat more subtly present.

(E.g. Jade’s seeing the future in the Prospitan clouds, [Time] John’s devotion to his friends, [Blood] and Rose’s interest in obscure Lovecraftian creatures. [Void])

Post-realization, however, these traits to not necessarily have to disappear, and can persist.

So, based on this, an Heir of Time’s personality pre-realization might include an interest in science, visual art, or fashion. They may also have a “random” sort of personality, generally having a Spacey personality, while also having some traits of a Time player, such as being patient, having an interest in music, archaeology, or other symbols of Time.

Post-realization, however, the Heir of Time’s Time-oriented personality traits become more prevalent, embodying their aspect through means of representing it through their own personality.

Powers and Abilities

The Heir of Time’s abilities are a resulting combination of the Heir’s passive manipulation of their Aspect, and Time’s literal symbolism of Time, so from this, we can assume that the Heir of Time could:

  • Be protected by Time, and through virtue of embodying and becoming their Aspect, as well as the gift of time travel, their future, doomed, or even past selves could occasionally protect them from danger if needed.
  • Become Time, which could be interpreted as them becoming the timeline, or alternatively, (and being my favorite interpretation) becoming hourglass sand. Or, alternatively, become the Death part of Time, and embody a sort of grim reaper/father time figure.
  • Manipulate Time and Manipulate through Time, which is likely literal in this case, in terms of manipulating how time works in order for the benefit of others or themselves. 

A more unique (if a little gimmicky) approach to it would be through use of Superhot’s gameplay system, in which time will only move if you move.

(What makes this even more appropriate is that the acronym for the Heir of Time is HoT, and the name of the game is Superhot.)


Because they’re just so much fun.

Staccatissimo Sextuplet Strikes:

The Heir speeds themselves up and rapidly strikes the enemy six times.

Metronomic Meltdown:

The Heir restrains the enemies’ movement to be choreographed to 4/4 time, making them far more predictable and easy to avoid.

Major Motif-ation:

The Heir inspires a sense of inevitable victory in their team, and a sense of inevitable loss in the enemy.

These are the foundations of your inevitable destruction: you tear your skin open for all the wrong people, invite them over to carve their names across your flesh, then tell them to make homes out of your bones. When they leave, you ought to stop wondering why you’re always left with a gaping void in the crumbling shell that is your body, and nothing to fill it with.
  • Co-worker 1: You know that personality test you had us take a while back? What was it?
  • Co-worker 1: Yeah. Can you send me the link again? I forgot what I am.
  • INTJ: You tested as ENFJ.
  • Co-worker 1: Wh-what? You remember?
  • INTJ: Yes.
  • Co-worker 2: It's what he does. What am I?
  • Co-worker 2: What was Bobby?
  • INTJ: He refused to take it. My theory is that he's afraid I would discover his secrets and destroy him.
  • Co-worker 1: Who else took it?
  • INTJ: Sean got INFP. Mike got ESTP. Anthony got ESTP. Rich got ENTP. No one else took it.
  • Co-worker 1: What the hell? Why do you remember these things?
  • INTJ: I don't know. I just do.
  • INTJ: *internally* So I can discover your secrets and destroy you.

She Who Has Fearful Teeth.

In the Devi-Mahatmyam, Mother Kali is described vividly in chapter seven. From verse five She emerges from the angry brow of Ambika who’s face has turned black in wrath of Her ‘demonic’ foes. The chapter goes on to describe Kali devouring the armies of demons in Her mouth, gnashing them between Her teeth- ‘With a terrifying roar, Kali laughed in fury, Her teeth gleaming within Her ghastly mouth’ (7.19). Similarly in the Kalisahasranama Stotram a significant amount of names listed give emphasis to Her teeth, name 75-She whose teeth are fearful, 78- She who has great teeth, 80-She who has brilliant teeth and 81-She who devours time. The key is in the last of these names.

Lord Krishna explains in the Bhagavad Gita 11.32, 'I am mighty time, the source of destruction that comes forth to annihilate the worlds’, ironically J R Oppenheimer the father of the atomic bomb quoted this verse after witnessing its first detonation translating it dramatically as 'Now I become death, the destroyer of worlds’.

The great sages of India visualised these forms like Mother Kali and recorded them for us as an ancient form of psychology, these images are not to be played with whimsically. Through symbolism they conceptualised massive philosophical ideas to penetrate the human psyche. The name Kali can be translated as time, or She who is beyond time, the ghastly teeth we find in Her imagery remind us of this. The only thing we can be truly sure of in life is death, every creation meets its inevitable destruction, with that in mind perhaps how we live in the moment is the most important thing.

anonymous asked:

Fight Club is a good book in terms of literary technique. But it is also grossly inaccurate in regards to the mental health issues it attempts to put across. As is understood by psychology, multiple-personality disorder (correctly termed Disassociative Identity Disorder) is a result of extreme childhood trauma, not a man-tantrum. It would not be possible for the Narrator to form the identity of Tyler Durden without that childhood trauma, and it would have manifested far sooner.

Yes. This is something worth keeping in mind. Even without going into DID in detail, the book operates off a pop-culture view of mental illness. From what I remember, Jack’s behavior is more in line with a schizoaffective disorder than DID.

But, even then, this is not how mental illness works. It does however add an element of discomfort to the book. Which is intentional. I said, in passing, that Fight Club is a book that needs to be read critically. I mean that. Palahniuk is a very provocative writer. Literally, he seeks to provoke a response.

I’m actually going to step back a little and say, in broad strokes, Fight Club is not a book you should enjoy. It is a book that should make you stop, and think about what you just read. In many cases, it’s a book you should disagree with. And, near as I can tell, that’s actually the authorial intent.

This is a book designed to get you talking, and get you questioning what you just read. Not a book you should endorse.

It’s worth noting that Palahniuk’s own experience with mental illness was insomnia. That informs his perspective and how he approached the novel. As someone who’s suffered from bouts of insomnia over the years, his insights there are on point. It’s not analogous to the characters he’s writing, and it doesn’t excuse the book of anything. But, if it got you to start talking, it did something right.

In direct response to you, I think Fight Club accurately reflects the way society perceives and stigmatizes at mental illness. Telling people to turn it off, and pass for normal. Within that context, it’s arguing that doing so is inevitably destructive, or at the very least self-destructive. Not the reality of how mental illness functions, but the subjective sensation of being marginalized because of it. I’ll admit, it’s not an easy subject to broach.


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Started writing a song about the inevitable destruction of our planet due to our own idiocy and greed. Happy Monday!

Made with Instagram

“Thomas what are you doing here?” you open the door, hiding your cold hands in the sleeves of your sweater, tucking a piece of your bed strewn hair behind your ear. His face is glowing, his eyes set on you as a smile spreads across his face. You hug your stomach, resting your head against the frame of the door.

“Look, I know that we haven’t spoken since the day in the park, and that you probably want to punch my in the face right now-”

“I do,” you force yourself not to laugh at the smirk that flickers across his face. You force yourself to remember. “Thomas I told you- I told you that I loved you and you walked away.”

“I know,” he holds up his hands, “I need you to understand that the closest I’ve gotten to talking to a girl before you was asking a girl on the tube which stop was next,” Thomas runs a hand through his hair shakily, “and the thought of love- well it scared the shit out of me to put it blankly. The idea of love is a beautiful thing, to find someone who knows you better than yourself, to feel a connection that deep, but love itself is daunting. All of the relationships in my life- my parents, my grandparents- have ended badly and left me caught in the middle of the side effects of love. Incurable side effects. I’ve grown up with this idea that love is the acceptance of an unavoidable, inevitable termination of a temporary high because of unmet expectations. Its like having a terminal disease and pretending you aren’t going to die. But then, then I met you and it made me question if maybe just maybe there is an exception to the destruction of love, that maybe there are some survivors. When you said you loved me, I was so afraid of what could happen, so afraid that I might get hurt by you, when in reality I was the one hurting myself because if I ever lost you, that would be the death of me.”

Thomas takes a deep breathe, stepping closer to you and brushing his fingers against your cheek. “And if love is what I was raised to believe, if it is my inevitable destruction then boy would I be honored to have my heart broken by you because - I love you.”

What Is Written (Part One)

               Right, so this is long. It was absolutely monstrous, but after much deliberation, I decided it was best to shorten it. So that being said, it cuts off shorter than where I wanted it to and you end up knowing even less than I had originally intended. Lol. This one is out there, so I’m not sure if you all are going to be into this, but this is me testing the waters…. Although you won’t really know what I’m talking about until later chapters. I honestly hope you all do like it though, because I tried my best to make it not hokey and it was fun to write. So, here is part one. Feedback is awesome and greatly appreciated (: I hope you all like it and the second chapter will be released soon!! (: xx

Part: (2) (3) (4) (Final Part)

               “Contradiction…” you whispered under your breath, tapping the cold tip of a blue ink pen against your lips in thought. “Illogical incompatibility between two or more propositions…”

               You couldn’t make sense of it. A contradiction was bad, wasn’t it? A diabetic who eats sweets, a policeman killing a human being; those were bad right? The entire point of a contradiction was that one was the opposite of the other; positive against negative. So how in the world were you supposed to write a philosophy paper on the positive influence of contradictions when in your mind, there wasn’t any? No one ever liked to order jumbo shrimp, just to see it’s really not jumbo because after all, it was still a shrimp. If not a contradiction, then maybe you could write about paradoxes. As you thought, your frustration grew. A paradox was still just as messy in your head. Of course you understood the concept, just not the logistics; you didn’t make it to university while being clueless. But inevitably, contradictions led to destruction or disappointment for someone. The oldest house on the street always gets remodeled to look modern like all the others, a lion that’s a vegetarian would eventually die, and the sun would overtake the moon every single time. The cogs in your brain spurred like clockwork; there was no dispute about these facts, and yet that’s what you were asked to do. What was the point? One side always lured the other without fail.


               Jumping in place against the kitchen counter, you quickly muttered apologies to your boss, grabbing the orders waiting to be taken out. The remnants of your internal debate raged in your head as you worked, though you still maintained your polite demeanor. Work dragged on, as it always did. For what seemed like the millionth time, you silently wished you were rich and never had to deal with stuff like annoying customers or leering guys. You felt slightly guilty for thinking that way when the owners of the small restaurant had treated you so well all throughout your employment. But sometimes that wasn’t enough. Dreaming of an easier life had become a favourite pastime of yours; dipping into your alternate reality in your spare moments and imagining a life without rules or responsibilities. In the end, reality was cruel and you could never stay in your fantasy for long when school fees and rent money were constantly knocking on your door. A sigh heaved through your chest as you glanced at the clock, relieved when you saw you only had a few minutes left. Grabbing your things from the back of the small shop, you sauntered to the clock, dragging your feet as you went. Staring at the number on the small digital display, you cheered it on in your head. Distantly, you wondered why minutes always seemed so short on your break, yet so long when it was time to go home. An eternity seemed to pass, when the clock finally flashed in a change of numbers. Punching yourself out, you sighed in relief even though you knew you would just be back tomorrow. Waving good bye to the owners who treated you as family, you made your way to the door, all too happy to go home to your small, overcrowded apartment.

               It was fall; wind whistled through the trees and leaves fluttered across the pavement, a telltale sign that winter was most definitely coming. Cupping your hands, you breathed out, fingers wriggling in delight at the burst of warmth only to shrivel again in the frigid air. Stuffing your hands into your pockets, you buried your face in your maroon colored scarf; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold. It was an eerie sort of night; the kind that set even the most stable of people on edge. You weren’t sure why, but each time your foot connected with the pavement, you felt that much more uneasy. Brushing it off as superstition, your mind drifted to more pressing matters; like your paper. The image of your teacher’s disappointed look loomed in your head making your jaw tense. You didn’t have a single word written yet, though you’d had plenty of time to start. That wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t due in two days. Feeling the wind nipping at your heels, you picked up your pace, desperate to be welcomed by the warmth of your home and hopefully food if your roommate was feeling generous. Shadow blanketed over every surface and as you passed an alley in between homes, you almost didn’t see him; Almost.

               A glimmer of silver caught your eye, instinctively making you turn your head to see what it was. There, in the middle of an abandoned alley which was littered by trash and stray pieces of nature, was a boy. Dressed in all black with a backpack slung over his shoulders, you couldn’t make out his face as he seemed to stare blankly at the wall in front of him. His fingers were stuffed in the pockets of his ripped skinny jeans. His shirt hung loose on his skinny frame, and you couldn’t help but shiver just from looking at him. Speculating at how he wasn’t freezing in a mere long sleeve shirt, you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head and outright staring at the boy. You would have moved on and continued home, curiosity growing short, but then he spoke. Unable to make out the words, your brow furrowed, squinting to see who he was talking to with no avail. Your heart quickened against your rib cage when you realized there really was no one there. Frozen in place, you wondered if you should just continue on, but a misplaced sense of responsibility prevented you from doing so. Taking a step closer, you realized now that it wasn’t only his jeans that had holes, but his shirt too. Not enough to be obvious, just tiny dots of milky skin peeking out in spots, but it was enough to fortify that feeling of concern inside you as your mind immediately ran to the thought of him being homeless. His lips moved once more, but you still couldn’t hear with the wind whispering in your ears, then he nodded once and his gaze drifted to the ground like he was watching something. Your eyes caught sight of something like a flash, making you stop in your tracks. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw the gleam of bone, exposed and shimmering in the moonlight. However when you blinked, attempting to peer through the shadow of night, it was gone and his fingers, which had looked skeletal only moments ago, appeared perfectly normal. Shaking your head, you dismissed the thought, convinced it was a mere trick of the eyes. But for some reason, a lingering feeling of trepidation remained. Quaking in your shoes, you walked closer to the boy, clearing your throat, despite your better judgement.

               “E-excuse me? Are you okay?” Your timid voice filtered out from your cold lips. His head whipped to the side, his eyes latching with yours and drawing you short of breath; he was beautiful.

               The chiseled line of his jaw tensed as he eyed you with indifference, the black pools of his iris’s sending a shudder down your spine. His hair shone in the blue cast glow of the moon, though you could clearly see that it was a very light blonde. Tousled perfectly across his forehead it was nearly silver in fact, almost devoid of both color and shading. Smooth pearly skin stretched over his cheekbones, sharp and just wide enough to create an elegant line slanting down to his lips. They appeared soft, even while in a bored line, though perhaps a little chapped from negligence. Catching hold of his gaze, which had analyzed you, just as you had done so to him, you felt your heartbeat quicken, suddenly feeling like an ant beneath a magnifying glass. But he didn’t care if you burned. You knew he could tell you were squirming under his stare as the side of his mouth quirked upward in a cocky smirk. Realizing he wasn’t going to answer you, you tried again, “Can I call someone for you? I thought I heard you talking to someone… but maybe not. I can help you if you need it.”

               A flash of a smile played on his lips as he lowered his head, shaking it and moving towards you. Lifting his head, he stared you down, coming to stand a mere thirty centimeters away from you. Flustered by the sudden proximity, you gulped nervously, unsure if you liked being placed under this level of scrutiny. Unable to hold his gaze, you averted your eyes, choosing to look at the ground instead. Panic shot through you, now terrified that you’d made a very big mistake by talking to this gorgeous, but undeniably strange, boy. For all you knew, he could be a nutcase, waiting for the perfect prey.

               “Why do you think I need help?” Low and rough, his voice made your skin prick. Raising your eyes, you saw the devilish look which most college guys carried plastered on his features, tempering the flurry of caution raging inside of you.

               “Well, you only have a shirt with holes on and it’s definitely not summer.” You replied, eyes flicking up and down his body, not missing the way he didn’t even flinch as the wind picked up while your own body curled in to shield itself. “Not to mention you were talking to a wall.”

               He barked out a short laugh, though it didn’t seem to reach the iciness in his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to a wall.”

               “But, I saw you—“

               “You’re young,” He replied shortly, seemingly annoyed, while pulling his hands out of his pockets, revealing a white phone in his right hand. Lifting it in front of your face so that it nearly touched the tip of your nose, he shook the chunk of plastic to taunt you. “Haven’t you ever heard of a cellphone?”

               “I’m not an idiot—“swatting his hand away from your face, your skin brushed his briefly, but it was enough for you to realize just how cold he was. Eyes widening, you snatched his hand in yours after he slipped his phone back into his pocket. His skin felt like marble; smooth and soft, yet freezing to the touch. Instinct made your limbs move, ripping your own hands out of the cloth shielding your fingers from the cold. As soon as he realized you were trying to place them on his own hands, he moved to pull his hand back only for you to snatch it up again. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he stopped struggling to allow you to slip them over his knuckles. Staring down at his wool covered hands you almost giggled, finding the contrast of his black clothes to your bright turquoise gloves comical.

               Seeing your lips trembling as you held back a smile, he glared at your figure. “This isn’t gonna help, you know.”

               “Don’t be dumb. Your hands were freezing; there’s no need to try to act cool just so you can freeze to death.”

               “I’m not trying—“

               “What are you even doing out here like that, anyway?” You cut him short, not wanting to hear more of his excuses.

               Blonde eyebrows rose, caught off guard by the question, only to relax into the same uninterested gaze. Sarcastically, he replied, “I was going for a walk.”

                Ignoring his obnoxious response, you prodded. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

               A sly smile etched across his lips, “and if I don’t?”

               You knew it was a challenge, but you weren’t sure what type it was. He was guarded; that you could tell. But he didn’t seem dangerous; he looked about the same age as you and the only thing he seemed to have was a backpack, so how much harm could he really do? From a young age, you were chided and preached to about bringing strangers home, but something about him made you go against what you had been taught. Finding yourself trying to sway your mind into believing that you had no ulterior motives, you debated your options. Unsure of whether it was your conscience or the way the downward slope of his eyes made your heart flutter in your chest, you came to a conclusion.

               “Well, I guess you’ll be coming home with me then.” The words tumbled out of your mouth much brasher than you had intended and you could feel your cheeks growing red. His eyes widened at your words, evidently not expecting that reply, before he let out a low chuckle, making you sputter. “I mean if you want to, because you really don’t if that’s not okay with you. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable…”

               The soft rise and fall of your voice became lost in the wind as he stared down at you, something flashing behind his eyes that you didn’t quite understand. When he spoke, it was different from before. No longer playful, though he only ever spoke coldly, now his words held a note of warning, as though pressuring you to see something you could not. “Are you sure?”

               Were you? Honestly, the answer was no. But as far as you were concerned, you couldn’t very well leave him and let the cold turn him towards his grave. So, though a little reluctant, you responded, “Yes.”

               His features immediately softened, lips upturning into a small smile, the creepy look dissipating altogether and reverting back into the nonchalant boy you had originally come across. “Alright, then.”

               A little unnerved by his sudden change in attitude, you nodded. Even though it was you who had invited him, you hadn’t really expected him to come along. So when you heard the sound of his shoes scratching the pavement behind you, you jumped a little. Refusing to look at him, you walked on in silence, though he hadn’t seemed to mind. Your brain was in overdrive, trying to process what had just happened as you tried to grasp at your sanity. Silently, you screamed at yourself for not only inviting a stranger to your home, but one that talked to walls to boot. Hoping to alieve a little of the tension and gather at least a little information before he stepped inside the walls of your sanctuary, you attempted to make conversation.

               “So, what’s your name?” You asked bashfully.

               “Suga.” He replied plainly, his manner remaining aloof.

               Your brow furrowed, trying not to laugh when you realized he wasn’t joking. “Your parents named you that?”

               He snorted under his breath at your question and you were graced with a small lipped smile, sending warmth flowing through your body like honey. “No, it’s just a nickname.”

               “Then what’s your real name?”

               “Suga; or at least it is to you,” He said firmly, making you feel small. Noticing your confidence shrink, he drawled, “For now. Maybe I’ll tell you eventually; if you don’t kick me out first.”

               Nodding, you felt your cheeks warm up, happy that he was at least a little compassionate somewhere beneath his exterior. “Well, I’m Y/N.”

               “I know.”

               “What?” Caught off guard, you looked at him suspiciously. Your body tensed, trying to not freak out and demand he tell you how he knew your name. Taming your panic, you merely muttered, “How?”

               “Your coats not zipped up and you have a name tag on.” An amused smirk peeked out from the side of his lip.

               “Oh,” you replied lamely, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner that you still had your work clothes on as the air between you two quieted.

               Continuing home, you had to admit that the extra pair of feet clanging against the pavement along with your own was a welcome sound. Though you barely knew the tall lanky man, his presence made you feel safer than when you had been alone. However, his accompaniment couldn’t change the weather. The wind bit at your limbs and you shivered, cupping your hands to your mouth and breathing on them. A small part of you regretted giving the mystery boy your gloves as you eyed his hands swinging comfortably by his sides. Noticing you staring, his head turned toward you and you immediately responded by turning your gaze away. Being quicker than you, he caught what you were looking longingly at.

               “I told you not to give me them.” Suga growled beside you, sliding the fabric off his hands and holding them out to you.

              “Actually, you didn’t.” You replied, obstinacy getting the better of you as you shook your head to say no to his offer. “You said they wouldn’t help.”

               “Same thing.” He said shortly, putting the gloves back on before scooping your hand up in his. The fuzz of the glove rubbed against your fingers as he laced your hands together and stuffed them inside your coat pocket.

               “What are you doing?” you sputtered, trying to remove your hand but to no avail as his refused to budge from its spot.

               “You won’t take them so this is a compromise.” Latched on like an octopus, he side eyed you.

               Tilting your face away, you took your best attempt at hiding your flushed face. Erratic thumps of your heart hit your ribs, though you knew it was silly for you to be so worked up. After all, he was just a stranger. Thankfully, the walk came to an end as your home came into view. Standing tall in the night, you knew it wasn’t the most impressive of apartment buildings with its chipping paint job and broken screens. But it was better than nothing.

               “We’re here.” You mumbled. A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding left the confines of your lungs when his hand slipped out of yours, though an odd feeling of disappointment crept up in you as well.

               Walking up the stairwell, you fumbled with the keys in front of your door before sliding the lock free and pushing the slab of wood open. The familiar scent of your roommates cooking wafted towards you and you felt your mouth beginning to salivate. Suga followed you in, slipping off his shoes just as you had done. Perking his head, he gazed around the small home interestedly. In the light, you could see that his clothes were more worn than you had thought. Dirt stained the fabric and the damage it looked like it had taken was seemingly unrepairable. His body pivoted, turning to face you, fully satisfied with his inspection and as he did you saw a flash of red beneath his shirt. Alarm broiled inside you and you tried to discreetly peek through the hole to see what the shirt was hiding. A low clearing of his throat made your head snap up, meeting his eyes in a suffocating gaze. Tearing your eyes from his, you shrugged your coat off of your shoulders, hanging it in the closet.

               “There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to shower and get those clothes off. I’ll bring you something else to wear.” You motioned your hand towards the empty hall.

               Without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom, backpack in hand. Hearing the door slide shut behind him, you scrambled towards your roommates room. Knocking a few times, you entered the room, happy to see her sitting on her bed and staring into her books. Her voice filtered lightly through the room, “Who were you talking to—“

               Plopping on the bed, you frantically cut her off. “Okay, so don’t get mad but this guy was in the alley when I was coming home and I think he might be off or something but I didn’t want to leave him there so I kind of brought him home?”

               “You what?!” She replied, fury exuding from her body as she slammed her school book shut.

               “I know.” You hung your head low. “I’m sorry but he’s not like a murderer or anything… at least I don’t think so. It’ll just be for tonight.”

               “Y/N…” She groaned, her palm covering her face in frustration. “You really need to learn when it’s not a good time to be charitable.”

               “I’m sorry… can he borrow some of your boyfriends clothes though?”

               “What? Doesn’t he have clothes?” Shaking your head no, she sighed and got up to go to her dresser. Picking out some basketball shorts and a plain black tee, she threw them at you, hitting you in the face. “If I get killed tonight, I’m totally coming back just so I can haunt your ass.”

               “Thank you.” You said cutely, slipping out of the room before she flung something else in your direction.

               Re-entering your living area, you analyzed the area. Being students, you weren’t exactly rolling in money and had opted for cheap furniture when you had gotten the apartment. There was more space in your apartment than objects in all honesty. A low budget had left you with a small two seater couch and an arm chair. Neither was really bed material, much too small for the dream-like boy you had picked up on your way home. A bittersweet feeling ran through you as you realized you were left with minimal options. Not wanting Suga to have to be greeted by your roommate in the morning, you decided he would have to sleep in your own room. Passing by the bathroom, you could hear the heavy streams of the shower through the door and placed the clothing on the floor where he would find it. Lifting out fabric from the closet, you shuffled to the room, throwing it lazily on the floor. Spreading the futon, you made up a small bed for Suga beside your own. Testing it once, you decided it was good enough and changed into your pajamas.

               Thirsty, you got a glass of water from the kitchen, the door of the bathroom opening and Suga barrelling out of it and bumping into you. Letting out a surprised yelp, you nearly lost your footing. Your hand with the glass shot out to the side to stabilize yourself, only for your fingers to lose its grip on the beverage. Frigid fingers caught your hand, saving you from dropping the glass. Blinking, you looked up to see his eyes glued to your drink. His hair was messy and wet, tendrils sticking to his face and neck. Beads of water, dribbled down his skin while a slick sheen of moisture stuck to his flesh, making him shine. Mere centimeters away from him, you could smell the fruity scent of your shampoo clinging to his body. His lips were plump in the low light and a carnal part of you ached to reach up and claim them as yours. Despite all the odd quirks, he seemed like a manifestation of your own imagination; perfectly handsome, but mixed with a splash of danger. Hand still encased by his, he flicked his eyes toward you, faces only a small movement away. Eyes bore into yours and you became aware of the way his body loomed over yours, curling towards you as the wall brushed against your back. The places his fingers touched yours seemed to burn, only to fade as he removed his hand from yours, backing away from you.

               “Where do you want me to sleep?” He rasped, spurring you out of your day dream.

               “Um…” You mumbled, doing your best to hide the disappointment in your voice, though you yourself couldn’t understand where it was coming from. You weren’t usually like this; fawning over strangers and getting into suggestive situations. Keeping your iris’s glued to the ground, you walked toward the bedroom. “I made up a bed in my room. I didn’t think you’d want to sleep on the couch seeing as you wouldn’t be able to fit on it.”

               He hummed in response, curious eyes fluttering around your room as soon as he stepped foot in it. Quietly, you crawled under the plush covers of your own bed, shakily placing your glass of water on the small table next to your bed. Suga didn’t go to the makeshift bed; he simply skimmed his eyes over it before plopping down in your desk chair by the window. Propping his feet up, he stared out the window, eyes flickering back and forth from different stars. The moon filtered through the glass, striking his cheekbones and turning them alight. You were by no means a painter of any sort, but an itching came to your fingers that you had never experienced before. Watching him was like watching a masterpiece unfold and you couldn’t help but want to capture that beauty. Surrounded by a feeling of remoteness, he seemed untouchable to you; in a league far different than your own. But nevertheless, you wanted to be let in by the golden gates of his defences. You wanted to know why he looked so tired, staring into the sky. Why his actions didn’t seem to match is gruff exterior. But words eluded you as your body felt heavy, sinking deliciously into the mattress. Though he was a stranger, you didn’t feel cautious at all, in fact you felt just as comfortable as any other day, despite his presence. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking about that made him look so serious, but sleep was upon you and sucking you in.

               “Thank you, Y/N.” A low grumbled cut into your senses, though not rousing you fully.

               “You’re welcome; though I’m sure someone would’ve taken you in if I hadn’t.” You slurred, your brain slowing to a crawl as darkness dragged it down into its depths.

               Exhaustion finally got the better of you and you could feel yourself falling into the world of your imagination. The last sound hitting your ears being, “That’s not what I meant.”

TAU worldbuilding thoughts

So when Alcor ascends to his godhood, and the world has died and the universe just keeps ticking towards inevitable destruction either through heat death or perhaps even through the vast weight of his own power…what happens to the Flock?

Here’s an idea:

It’s the end of the universe, the end of life itself. Every soul that ever was has gathered on another plane – not even the demons or angels were exempt, and all former gods have long since withered away. Without sentient species to create and sustain them, dreams and nightmares have also vanished…

Except for the Flock.

Bound to Alcor even after he transcended again – because long before that time their bond with the demon was as much a contract as a tie of love and loyalty – they are sustained by him. They are all he has. But even they cannot completely weather the end of all things, and so they sink into a hibernation of their own, waiting.

Alcor gathers the last shreds of the universe, shelters the flock, and ignites a new one. Then, when solar systems are spun out and the perfect planets are chosen and life is renewed, Alcor destroys himself, releasing his once human soul. We know that story.

But the Flock remain, and were bound to him, and are changed by the sudden flux of energy.

The Nightmares become the new Demons, and the Dreams become the new Angels.

This has happened before, of course. The difference this time is in their relationship. Last time, the first Demons and Angels had always been at odds, because Dreams are sweet and small and helpless and prime food for the ever-feuding Nightmares. When they became the Angels, of course they remembered, and now that they could fight back they did, while the Demons continued to fight them and amongst themselves.

This time, those Nightmares had protected the Dreams, and the Dreams loved the Nightmares, and all of them had learned cooperation and companionship and loyalty.

This time, the Demons and the Angels are not forever at odds, nor are the former wholly dark or depraved. In a way, they are more like new Alcors – more consistent, perhaps, without the ache of humanity to contend with, but certainly influenced by him for the better.

His soul is their special favorite.

As for Alcor himself, his first physical reincarnation is not human. It can’t be. Even after destroying himself and leaving so much power behind to seed the new universe with magic, he retains too much for a human form to hold.

He is born a phoenix, and every time he dies and is reborn as the same being a little more of that energy is burned up, until finally, after a few thousand years, he dies a final death, re-enters the cycle of souls, finds Mizar and is born human alongside her for the first time in countless eons.

He is still powerful, and it manifests in a never-before-seen aptitude for magic, and ghostly golden wings visible to anyone with even the merest Sight. This combined with the benevolent attention of the highest supernatural order short of gods themselves – angels and demons – has the community he was born into calling him blessed, touched by gods. He likely grows into a spiritual leader, while his sister, never to be repressed, becomes their earthly commander and protector.

And so it goes.