inevitable destruction

Pluto in the houses- Catastrophe vs Awakening

Pluto in the first house: Systematic deep transformational experiences. There’ll always be renewal and healing no matter what the circumstances are. Life is filled with definite endings, as if there’s always something dying or being destroyed. All the time.

Pluto in the second house: “You only know what you’ve got until it’s gone” so you keep losing what you value the most. Financial losses are almost destructive, but you’re able to regenerate resources like no other. There’s also a profound lack of self-worth.

Pluto in the third house: Inevitable but periodic destruction of ideas and opinions. There has to be a mental renewal of thoughts so you don’t feel weighed down. You feel strangely pressured to grow intellectually. 

Pluto in the fourth house: Constant urges to understand your family background or biological roots in order to break free. You’re aware that you need to overcome the behavioral patterns you inherited from one of your parents. There’s the danger of getting lost in self-destructive tendencies while trying to individualize the self. 

Pluto in the fifth house: Never ending supply of creative energy. Romantic affairs, even if not many in number, will have the capacity to completely change your life’s direction. Plenty of lessons to be learnt from working with children.

Pluto in the sixth house: Enormous regenerative health capacity, a (self-)healing guru. Difficulties in finding a balance between abusing/being abused in the work place. Tendency to seek one’s own benefit by dominating others or by manipulating one’s work environment. 

Pluto in the seventh house: Partnerships work as a form of renewal. Relationships strengthen you. Be careful with deceit and manipulation, as you’re prone to being tricked by those who you trust the most. Don’t give anyone the power to destroy you.

Pluto in the eighth house: “Amazing turns of events” happen unexpectedly. Spend all your life discovering just how powerful you are and what you’re capable of. Sexuality can be destructive- or a healing agent. 

Pluto in the ninth house: Traveling plays a major part when it comes to your life’s direction. Seminars and long journeys will completely change you. About religious views you grew up with- there’s a tendency to wipe them out and adopt new beliefs. 

Pluto in the tenth house: Professional crisis have the potential to either destroy you or renew you. You have the power to either inspire great admiration, or great fear in others. You don’t belong in the crowd. 

Pluto in the eleventh house: Power issues within the social sphere- you’re a lone wolf by desire or design. When in groups, you’re the devil’s advocate, and discussions with said circle’s members will stimulate you in therms of personal growth, so don’t avoid it. 

Pluto in the twelfth house: Predisposition to feel that there are hidden treasures everywhere waiting to be discovered. Also- prominent danger of being caught up in “underworld” schemes, even if unintentionally… Deep web addicted.

by crystal melbourne | within the zodiac

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.

Hard of Hearing Bakugou! AU

Haccinintothegate courteously wrote a fanfic based on my hard of hearing Bakugou AU. A lot of people were asking for this in the tags, so please thank her for writing this for us !!

 Through passing years, routine began to form.

The roots began on his 6th birthday, doubled over in pain with his ears cupped tightly by his hands on each side of his head; the small fire put out by his elementary teacher. The ringing pierced his head and felt like nothing more than a fallacy, as if the blood that pounded through his ears was something to simply ignore.

Seeing their child in pain, his parents had forced him to wear earmuffs when handling his quirk, despite being met with arguing and thrashing. It gave him time to realise the self-destructive inevitability of his quirk but even so, it didn’t put him off being a hero. Not even once.

The routine began to form itself once he knew how to handle his quirk in middle school. He wore the earmuffs up until 14 and soon discarded them once he started to practice in bouts, only to resume training once the ringing had stopped. His knuckles had become a dull red, the skin coarse and to make it worse, it became more and more difficult to sleep every so often.

This carried on up until middle school, where the effects of his quirk had become bearable at best; he could use his quirk for show and was met with no consequences to his ears, not long-lasting ones, anyway. He would constantly tease “Deku” with it as he flashed it in his face at every opportunity with a grin, he would then slam his hands on the desk to swipe up whatever was on it.

“We ain’t done here, Deku.” He grimaced, Izuku’s notebook in hand and overlooking the faint characters on the front with a snicker. The book was left smashed and charred in a small explosion, his hands blistered from such close contact as smoke let up after he threw it over his shoulder, flickers of flame trailed the book as it flew out of the window. Bakugou had turned to Izuku, finidng his cheeks were stained with few tears, but his eyes locked on Bakugou – as though he had noticed a tick, subconsciously noting it through his distress.

It was at that time mild pain had flushed through his ears, he winced in the form of a crooked smirk before the pain had left as soon as it had come. He looked back over his shoulder at the sullen mess of school desks and the window left a jar, Izuku had quickly turned with a pathetic sneer, how Bakugou described it. He instantly showed off his flames once more with a crackle, and it had only left him in another state of pain.


A few years had gone by since he had been admitted into U.A, followed by unrelenting training, high expectations and his quirkless, dunce, middle school “friend”. His frustrations had been following him as well, finding that curling up in his dorm with a pillow acting as a vice over his ears as a common occurrence. He admittedly thought, albeit for a moment, his ears had adapted to the noise levels he works with but after the Summer Camp, that hadn’t been the case. If anything, most noises came through mostly muffled, like irremovable headphones or ear plugs; which was why he didn’t leave the dorm, he didn’t need the humiliation of asking for the third time for a repeat of someone’s small talk. So he subdued the instinct to go train in favour of his health, concluding missing out on a class gives his peers a chance to catch up to his expertise.

Despite it all, he also had yet to see a doctor. With Summer quickly passing by with merciless tragedies, he hadn’t had chance to even stop and think about it, there was hardly any time to now anyway. His mother had called time and time again, suggesting a single day off school to admit himself to a clinic, but a day wasn’t the same as a class, so he outright refused. He worried she’d show up at school just to drag him there.

Day by day, it was harder to deal with the ringing as prominent as it was, so missing a few classes was also part of this routine. He would’ve missed the faint knocking on his door – of which he could only really assume was faint – If it hadn’t been for the brief pause he took the pillow off his head. Upon the realisation it could’ve been a teacher for skipping class, he kept quiet.

“Katsuki?” He’d hadn’t been able to pin the voice down until he moved off his bed to step closer to the door. “Katsuki, are you in there?” Ochaco’s voice chirped as she knocked with a little more force,caught in the act as Bakugou opened the door and glared at her. Caught off guard, she flinched and lowered her hand, turning it into something like a low wave to greet.

A few moments passed.

“Fuc-” Thinking better of it, “What do you want, Round-face?” He pursed his lips disgustingly, one hand bracing on the door.

“I was told to come ask if you were feeling unwell.” Ochaco said, “Iida and the others are finding it hard to concentrate without all that noise you usually make!” She lapsed into a quiet giggle. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go get Recovery Girl?..”

“No, I’m feeling just fucking dandy.” He spat, slamming the door shut; anything else Ochaco said was lost to the hallway. His knuckles tensed around the pillow, flushing white as he pulled it over his head again with enough force for a small headache. He decided to stay like this for a half an hour, ignoring the buzz of his phone as it lit up with new messages.

Like clockwork, Ochaco would do this every so often, even after-school. The random ‘check-ups’ had reminded him of a teacher or a doctor, so most of the time he hardly answered the door to let her ask. On rare occasions he did, Izuku and Iida would both be there too, rewarding them with a curse and a scowl.

He got off the bed, picking up the suitcase that withheld his costume to put on, half-checking his phone at the same time: 2 messages from Ochaco.

‘i told them you were asleep’ The other message reading, 'they let you off because of everything that happened at camp. feel better soon!” He didn’t need to be 'let off’, he could do as he liked.

Simply ignoring the messages, he finished preparing his outfit before making his way to the TDL.


Any attempt to call out at him entering the building was ignored, instead, a thin mantle of smoke engulfed his platform, lungs full of dust and vision blurred, he kept blasting fire for momentary visuals. He soon found sturdy footing, barging his way through the smoke whilst holding his breath. Rushing water flushed his ears, unclenching his fist to propel himself upward with a small explosion; drop, drop, drop. He blasted a line of fire at the clone, the smoke letting up just enough to register that he didn’t hit him. He wiped his eyes, frowning as he found the clone in front of him again.

“Don’t cloud your vision too much.” Ectoplasm spoke, but the words were drowned in favour of the water, its sudden rush stifling his breathing. Adjusting his stance, a piercing ring surged him forward with dull knuckles, fire sparking off them as the ringing turned into an alarm. His knee fell to the floor, bringing the rest of him down with it, doubled over in pain with his ears cupped tightly by his hands.


Bakugou’s pen fumbled in his hand, glaring over at the small case at the end of his desk and picking it up to take the top off. He hadn’t wanted to, but Aizawa had forced him to see the nurse to be admitted to a hospital, along with a hard scolding for not mentioning it in the past. He hadn’t lost all of it, but a good portion of his hearing rendered him completely unable to hear most sounds without his hearing aids; which made it all the more frustrating that his classmates were completely supportive of him.

“Katsuki?” Ochaco tried to greet him, only to turn to Asui who gave a somewhat vague head gesture toward Bakugou. She looked over again, peering round to get his attention only to tap his shoulder after her prior realisation. She flinched as he jolted, taking the hearing-aids out of their case and putting them on to greet the person with a frown.

He did want to shout for the sudden disturbance, the lack of warning and the possibility of a 'check-up’ – but thought better of it in early morning.

“..What?” He kept his teeth gritted, watching his words.

“Good morning!” Ochaco practically sang, “We have a test today, but I think Aizawa will let you off. Again.” She huffed playfully, folding her hands behind her back.

“I don’t need a shitty test to tell me I’m good.”

“Mhm.” She tried not to laugh, “Are you feeling better?”

There it was, but this time it felt less clock-work, more natural.

“I’ve had five fucking people ask me the same thing: I’m fine.” He grumbled, leaning his arm on the back of the chair. “Can’t you guys just calm down?”

“Iida was really worried you know!” Of course the class president lost his shit, he thought, “He was waving his arms about in a panic trying to calm the class down, it kind of reminded me of Summer Camp.”

Though he pursed his lips at the thought, but found they lapsed into comfortable conversation a lot lighter than the topic of anything recent, despite it being a little hard to talk not being able to hear his own voice very well. He found they were planning a karaoke night followed by a sleepover, which he gingerly agreed to as long as he didn’t destroy anything (or anyone for that matter, but he held no promises).

When Aizawa walked in, Ochaco said her goodbyes with a grin and sat in her seat. Bakugou wondered if he would rather see her smile or hear her voice more.


'King Explosion Murder.’ He flicked through the sign language book and followed the patterns, finding it was much easier to sign than talk; even if it had been Izuku’s idea, Ochaco enforced it which made him a little more willing.

'No.’ She swiped her fingers, raising an eyebrow with a sigh. 'It needs to be heroic.’

He flicked through the book again, finding out for one: what she had signed, and for two: preparing a come-back even though he had no idea what she said.

When he did: 'You’re not my mum.’

'I might as well be.’ She laughed.

(note: US-centric, but probably applies everywhere with some details swapped around)

the main thing that worries me about the inevitable destruction of the value of unskilled human labor by machine labor, is that public opinion- democracy’s last hope of resisting fully-automated extinction capitalism- will turn in a very predictable and completely disastrous direction

what we want is, when human labor collapses, for the human population to vote in favor of humans continuing to exist even though most humans don’t need to work, thanks to automation. a basic income guarantee, or something like that, funded by taxes on automated labor (or, just, by normal taxes.) we want robots to take over all the jobs, because most jobs are worked more or less involuntarily, and they suck, and it would be great if people didn’t have to do them anymore

but what i’m worried will happen instead, is that the human population will vote in favor of restricting or outlawing automated labor, so they can still have jobs. our culture is fixated on this idea that human dignity and worth is earned through labor. the US is a majority christian nation with puritanism in its cultural roots- 2 Thessalonians 3:10-12, “For even when we were with you, we would give you this command: If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat. For we hear that some among you walk in idleness, not busy at work, but busybodies. Now such persons we command and encourage in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living.” it’s in the cultural DNA, and i don’t know if we can get it out quickly enough.

my prediction is that, within my lifetime, we’re going to see a sort of neo-neo-luddite movement- with strong bipartisan support- to regulate and restrict how corporations are allowed to use automation, in order to force them to maintain human jobs. both parties will make big promises to crack down on job-killing robots, and neither of them are going to be very good at actually legislating this. big companies with lots of money and lawyers will find loopholes and lobby to have their automation protected, conveniently driving their smaller, robotless competitors out of the market. 

please don’t become a part of this movement. please make sure that the language of the political discourse around automation is in terms of how best to tax and redistribute the wealth from automation. otherwise, we will, uh, probably die.

Gates of Glory, part 1

Loki x Reader

Originally posted by kendaspntwd

When the nine realms were created, two races of Gods were created, too. Their realms were Asgard and Vanaheim. There were conflicts between the two realms as Asgard claimed the rule over the nine realms, but eventually, they co-existed, sometimes, even joined forces.

Y/N L/N was born in Vanaheim, where she was introduced to the world of magic and deception. Where she was introduced to the world of war and fight. For years, she spent training with the most elite magicians of Vanaheim, but eventually, she sought a new challenge. It doesn’t happen often that someone from Vanaheim enters Asgard to stay, let alone to fight alongside its warriors. But the city above all others had always fascinated Y/N. Its warriors in their armour, defending Asgard to the last man if needed. Defending others, like Midgardians. So she left Vanaheim in her youth, to go to Asgard, the land eternal.

When Y/N came to Asgard, her talents were quickly recognised. She was sent to the Queen’s own regiment, an elite group of warriors that specialised in the use of magic in battle. Being from Vanaheim, Y/N was often labelled ‘the odd one’, but it didn’t really matter to her. She had come here to fight, not to make a hell-load of friends.

One day, during a practise session, a guard came in and talked to one of the officers in command. He turned to the group in front of him and announced: “The Queen has come to see you.”

The door opened again and the room visually tensed up. Everyone stood in order, Y/N was the last one in the first line of trainees. The Queen of Asgard entered the room, on her right stood Thor, the heir to the throne, and on her left stood Loki, Thor’s younger brother.

“Good morning”, Frigga said and the room saluted, “I have come to see your training.”

The commander nodded and ordered the trainees to pair up in two so they could spare in front of the royal family. However, the number of trainees was uneven, mostly Y/N teamed up with the commander or went into another group, so she walked up to the commander: “Sir, there aren’t enough trainees for an even number of pairs. I fear I do not have a partner.”

The commander was about to answer, when they heard the Queen say: “I do not believe this should be a problem. I’m sure one of my sons would be kind enough to help the lady.”

Thor turned to his brother: “Magic is mostly your thing, brother.”

The dark-haired prince shrugged and stepped forward: “Alright.”

Y/N looked at the prince and gritted her teeth. Fine.

“She truly is one of our best!” The commander reassured when Y/N walked towards the royals.

“I’m interested to see her” Frigga replied.

“What is your name?” Loki asked when he stood right in front of Y/N.

“I am Lady Y/N of Vanaheim”, Y/N replied.

Her origin seemed to spark the prince’s interest: “I see.”

“Trainees, on your marks!” the commander exclaimed.

“Don’t go easy on me just because I’m a girl”, Y/N said and got her two daggers.

He huffed and while he got his own daggers, he replied: “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m a prince.”

Y/N lifted an eyebrow and waited on the word 'go’.

“Let it begin!”

Y/N knew that she had to at least stage the first attack, so she used magic to create a holographic duplicate of her left dagger and threw it at the prince in front of her, the real thing she hid under her sleeve, turned to the side, watched him turn to the side a bit, got her right dagger, moved forward to attack. He just grinned and used his dagger to block, then used a magic spell to push her back.

“I see you don’t play by the books” Y/N commented.

“I tend not to”, he agreed.

Y/N quickly put her daggers in their holster and focused on what she could do best. Magic. Y/N lifted her hand and knew that Loki was waiting for her next move, so she acted quickly and used a spell to create a very concentrated and strong air current and aimed for his feet before using it as a tool to push her off the ground and attack him. Whilst being swept off his feet, he took notice of her attack and used a shield of ice to block it. Y/N thought that was a little odd, it wasn’t impossible for Asgardians to use ice in their magic, though it was more common to use water and air - in Vanaheim, fire was quite commonly used, but ice was something that mostly takes a little bit more effort for the two godly races. It was more common in colder realms, like Jotunheim.
Using the time that Loki had given her for another attack, Y/N used another holographic duplicate of one of her daggers to stage an attack before starting the real one. Loki now used another spell involving ice and threw a set of icicles in Y/N’s direction. Instead of jumping over them or stepping aside, Y/N used a spell she had learnt back in Vanaheim - a small wall of fire that melted the icicle instantly. Neither of them realised that the hall slowly stopped fighting to watch.

Then, Frigga stood between her son and Y/N: “That’s enough. Thank you.”

Y/N looked from her to the prince, who shrugged and said: “Not bad.”

Frigga smiled at Y/N and asked: “Commander, would you mind if I talked to her in private?”

“No, my Queen.”

She looked at Y/N and smiled warmly: “Do you mind going for a walk?”

“No, of course not, my Queen”, Y/N replied and saluted. What was about to happen?

“Thor, Loki, you stay here!”, Frigga commanded and walked towards the door with Y/N by her side.

“You fight very skilfully”, Frigga said, “It’s unusual for someone to adapt to Loki’s fighting style so quickly; he doesn’t tend to follow the norm.”

“No, he surely does not”, Y/N agreed and smiled, “But he’s an excellent tactician.”

“If I heard correctly you are not from Asgard”, Frigga said, “You’re from Vanaheim, correct?”

“Yes, ma'am”, Y/N nodded, “I am.”

“Why did you decide to join Asgard’s warriors if you don’t mind me asking?”, Frigga asked.

“That’s a long story: in the end, I suppose I just wanted to protect the order of the nine realms, which is a duty of Asgard, not Vanaheim”, Y/N replied.

“Well, Asgard is glad to have you. You’ve managed to do something only very few can: you have impressed my son”, Frigga said and looked at Y/N: “He tends to intimidate people with his trickery.”

Y/N laughed darkly: “Fair to say it’s the natural reaction for people that hesitate to fight just as dirty.”

“Who taught you to fight like that?” Frigga asked.

“Circumstances, I suppose. I was surrounded by Vanaheim’s elite warriors, who tend to use every trick available to them.”

“I must say I am intrigued. I’d like you to receive special training - by me”, Frigga announced, “I will talk to your superior afterwards. I’m sure he will understand.”


Y/N watched the Queen leave before she came back some moments later with her sons by her side: “You’re officially my trainee now.”

“I am very honoured, my Queen” Y/N replied, totally bewildered by the entire situation, and saluted.

Y/N was brought to the royal palace in the centre of Asgard

 That’s how Y/N became the warrior of Frigga, and also, that’s how she became a member of the royal family’s close circle. Y/N knew both Thor and Loki well, Thor because he was rather talkative and wanted to introduce Y/N to Lady Sif, and with Loki because they often trained together. It surprised many people that they got along with each other, as Y/N was rather confident of her skills, and of herself. And she didn’t hesitate to stand up to him when he began to use his trickery against her - in training or in their free time. It surprised many, but Thor especially considering the fact that he had never seen his brother spending much time with a woman - or people, in general. Loki wasn’t a loner, it was more like isolation followed him. It seemed like Y/N broke that spell to a certain extend.

Y/N sat outside the palace on a small terrace which let her overlook the entire west-side of Asgard. It was very different from Vanaheim, but she had gotten used to it a long time ago. Homesickness was something Y/N didn’t know.

“You really like coming here, isn’t that so?”, Y/N heard behind her. Y/N turned to the dark-haired prince who walked out of the palace onto the terrace.

“I like it here. I’m not made for Asgardian feasts”, Y/N replied and pressed her lips together: “Thor and his friends are rather… lively.”

“Boisterous, that’s what my dear brother is”, Loki replied huffingly, “Unfit to be a king.”

“You know him better than I do, from what I see, he’s a warrior at heart. It’s hard to combine warrior and king”, Y/N agreed and nodded softly.

“It was a stretch Odin could make, however, he was married at the time. Thor doesn’t seem to care about marriage, and to be frank, I’d say he’s too much like a child to commit himself to a woman”, Loki replied. They sat on the little curb made of stone and looked over Asgard.

“It’s a glorious purpose to reign over such a land as it rules all other realms”, Y/N stated, “A purpose which comes with enormous responsibility. We’ll have to see where the future takes it.”

“If Thor takes the throne, right back into the abyss that once created the nine realms”, Loki hissed dismissively.

“Then it will be our job to stop its fall. The fall of Asgard will inevitably lead to the destruction of everything, the fall of the Asgardians to the end of everything”, Y/N muttered and looked at the prince.

He grinned and said: “You and I, we shall be the ones to stop its fall, as we do not play by the books. Whatever it takes, the end will justify the means.”

“I’ve never played by any rules. But until I feel that the moment has come, I shall not break my oath of protecting all of Asgard. That includes Thor”, Y/N replied and clenched her teeth.

“Once the time is right, Lady Y/N”, Loki smiled slyly, “I’m more than certain you will know.”


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

Calling it right here right now, 2017 is going to end with a death match between Woody’s Roundup and Tumblr Staff resulting in the inevitable destruction of this site and granting us all freedom from this blue hell

Destruction is inevitable. Experiences, people, art, music, culture, everything has the ability to destroy us. We break, we shake, we lie down flat on the ground whimpering in pain because of situations and ghastly feelings. I have held my hand up for help only to be turned down, I have loved people and things that did leave my life. We are here to get destroyed and shatter. We are like glass and each fragment that makes us will break us too. Destruction is inevitable and it is almost necessary because it makes us grow. It develops us, it makes us witness our abilities, our strengths. In that very moment, you break and you are weak, but do you know what? It takes more courage to fall than it takes to fly.

anonymous asked:

20 and 12 for mreyder :3

Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

Reyes never slept much, that was just how things were. There was always so much to do, so many things requiring his immediate and undivided attention that being dead to the world for more than a bare minimum of hours seemed like a horrible waste of time. His body was so used to this ascetic regime that even on his rare days off he simply couldn’t force himself to sleep in. At the break of dawn, or whatever equivalent it had in deep space, he laid wide awake staring at the quarters’ ceiling, no trace of drowsiness lingering in his mind.

That had its perks though. Reyes turned his head to the right, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Unlike him, Scott had zero problems with sleeping – he slept, one can even say, with enthusiasm, mouth parted and drooling obliviously at his pillow.

Lo and behold the mighty Pathfinder.

The thought that he was the only one privileged enough to see Scott like this, so vulnerable, unkempt, almost childlike warmed Reyes’s heart to a degree he did not anticipate. The things that man did to him, unbelievable…

A month or so had passed since the Charlatan’s coup d'état in Kadara Port and it was only Reyes’s second night he got to spend on the Tempest. But things were looking good on all fronts, more than Reyes dared to expect even in his most optimistic prognoses. He had been preparing himself mentally that Scott – Scott the paragon of virtue who flew across the galaxy helping people – would reject him as soon as he’d learn the whole truth, of all the shady and questionable things he had done. But no. Scott understood that things were rarely black and white, Scott accepted him for who he was, good and bad. Reyes knew that he was a lucky man to have found someone like Scott. He didn’t deserve him, not by a long shot.

Reyes felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around his lover. Not being the one to refuse himself much, he shifted closer to Scott, his hand resting on his shoulder blade, his lips pressing to his forehead.

Scott stirred, sighing softly. A warm, boneless mass against Reyes’s chest. Barely lucid, he instinctively reached out for his lover, his fingers curling on the tawny hip. Scott didn’t open his eyes yet. Maybe that was for the best – he couldn’t see the embarrassingly mushy expression on Reyes’s face.

“Rey…?” he mumbled, his lips tickling Reyes’s neck as he spoke.

“Yes?” He carded his hand through the mess of hair on Scott’s head, massaging his scalp gently. Scott liked that, the tender motion always seemed to soothe him. It worked like magic even now, making the Pathfinder sigh again with contentment.




“Coffee?” Reyes echoed with amusement. “You want some?”


“As you wish.” Reyes chuckled, nuzzling against his cheek. “One coffee coming right up.”

A languid smile curved Scott’s lips.

“Love you,” he said, warm glints of affection flickering in his half-opened, heavy-lidded eyes, still clouded with remnants of whatever dream he was having.

The sight completely melted Reyes’s heart. Smiling like a fool, he kissed Scott’s temple, the corner of his eye, his cheek before finally letting their lips meet in a surprisingly chaste union, almost an antithesis of the lustful kisses they shared in the evening.

“Be right back,” Reyes said, stroking Scott’s chest before finally sliding away from his lover towards the edge of the bed. He let his bare feet fall onto the cold floor and then stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. Although the temperature on the Tempest was optimal for humans and other humanoid species, it still felt chilly against his naked skin, warmed so perfectly by Scott’s pliant body. He missed it already.

No, his thoughts shouldn’t wander off in that direction or he’d just dive in straight back to bed and never leave.

With an inward sigh, he located his pants under a chair, thrown there haphazardly the night before. He picked them up, aware of Scott’s gaze on him.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, turning to his lover. Just as expected, Scott, still not fully awake, observed him with a relaxed smile playing on his lips.


Reyes shook his head and put the pants on.

“I expect something in return for that coffee. I am, after all, a greedy man.”

“I know… a kiss then?”

“Not good enough.”


“At least five.”

“Four and a half,” Scott said with mock sternness. “Final offer.”

Reyes laughed, feeling another burst of sentiment towards that impossible man.

“Deal. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Been taught by the best.”

They exchanged telling glances and smiles like true partners in crime.

This relationship shouldn’t have worked, all evidence and premises pointed to its inevitable destruction. How could love bloom freely between the human Pathfinder, a symbol of hope for the whole of Andromeda, and the Charlatan, the head of a criminal organization ruling over Kadara Port? But somehow it did, against all odds.



“The coffee I’m going to prepare for you,” said Reyes smoothly, giving his lover his signature wink.

Hearing Scott chuckle, Reyes walked across the room to the door. He hesitated before pressing the button though. His current looks were hardly… presentable. Wearing only his pants, with disheveled hair and enough love bites on his skin not to leave much to imagination what he and Scott were doing the night before, he was bound to scandalize the crew, who didn’t have a very high opinion on him in the first place.

Oh well, it was still early, surely no one would be up at this ungodly hour, he thought punching the door open.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, he understood how wrong he was. Jaal and Liam were sitting at the table, empty bottle of wine in front of them, and chatting about something animatedly. At least until they spotted Reyes. The atmosphere then soured at once. Both the angara and the human gave him unfriendly stink eyes reserved perhaps for something filthy that stuck to the sole of your shoe.

Well then, an excellent start.

“Morning,” Reyes said in a neutral tone as if he hadn’t noticed the icy cold reception. They didn’t reply. It didn’t bother him too much though. Tons of people hated him, that was basically in the job description. Two more didn’t make too much of a difference, he was used to it.

Unperturbed, he opened the cupboard and took out Scott’s favorite mug – the one with the Brave Heart Lion from the old Care Bears cartoon. What a nerd. Reyes caught himself smiling like a goofball as he started the coffee machine. Scott’s blend of choice contained more milk, caramel syrup and sugar than the coffee itself, he knew that by now. Sweet drink for a sweet boy.

God, he couldn’t believe he had just thought something that cheesy. Scott brought out the worst sap out of him. And Reyes wasn’t entirely sure if he minded that.

Reyes was so caught up in his own musings that he had nearly forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. A grunt full of disapproval and even more disapproving words reminded him of that quite successfully.

“I don’t like you,” announced Jaal.

It was hard not to laugh, but Reyes managed to keep a straight face.

“And here I thought we can make s’mores and sing kumbaya together.”

“I don’t understand what you are referring to, but we will certainly not do that.”

“Well, here go my weekend plans…”

“Listen, smartass,” Liam chimed in, openly hostile. “You’re not welcome on this ship.“

“No, really? I can’t believe it, everyone’s so nice to me,“ Reyes deadpanned, casting a brief, almost bored glance at the man. This indifferent reaction only infuriated Liam even more.

“It’s a disgrace that you’re here,“ Liam slurred, the alcohol making him more open with his resentment. “You’re a bloody exile and a criminal, you should be in prison.“

Reyes felt the anger rushing in his veins, but he bit back the reply, not showing that the words had phased him in any way. There was no point trying to engage in a conversation with any of them. All he had to do was to wait until the machine spat out the fancy coffee for Scott and he’d be out of here in a blink of an eye.

But Liam wasn’t done yet, not even close. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Scott must be a bigger idiot than we thought to trust you.“

It was as if a thunderbolt hit him straight in the chest. He spun around to face them, his muscles tensed and ready for a fight.

“Leave him out of this,“ he snarled, making Liam and Jaal stare at him with surprise and maybe with fear too. “You don’t like me and insulting me is your new hobby? Fine, I’ve heard worse. But don’t you fucking dare talk shit about Scott.“

“Yeah, as if you care about him,“ Liam said with scorn. “You’re just using him for his connections, we all know that. Only Scott is too naive to see that.“

Reyes narrowed his eyes, seething and truly wounded. It… well, it was a painful thing to hear. If the crew thought that about him, could Scott be swayed too one day?

“We’re watching you. When you hurt him we will eject you into space.“ Jaal wasn’t joking. “With pleasure.“

Reyes grit his teeth, clenched his fists. They went too far. Implying that he was here to hurt Scott? No, he couldn’t stand for it, he wouldn’t.

“Same applies to you,“ he said, his voice sharp like a blade of a knife.

“What?“ Liam replied, puzzled. Reyes smiled, but that smile had no humor in it. It was a warning.

“You’re all so self-righteous, looking down and passing judgment, and yet you seem to forget who I really am. I’m not just some smuggler nobody. I’m the Charlatan. If any of you just as much as look at Scott in a funny way, you’ll have the wrath of the whole Collective on your asses. Just so we’re clear, it’s a two way alley. You may keep an eye on me, but I’m keeping mine on you just as much. Hurt him and you’ll die. Painfully.“

A soft ding cut through the silence that enveloped the room – the coffee was ready. Reyes took the mug and walked out of the room, not deigning Liam and Jaal with even a passing glance. He didn’t have to, he knew they were both staring at him in stunned silence.

* * *

Hearing the sound the machine made, Scott backed away slowly, returning to his room. His heart raced in his chest. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he got bored waiting and decided to join his boyfriend in the kitchen. But what he heard… Reyes’s words resounded with devotion, care and power. Scott was slightly frightened. And touched. And turned on, all at once.

He needed to have a serious talk with his crew though.

Scott kicked off his pants and slipped under the sheets again as if he had never left. Reyes walked in a moment later, a steaming mug in his hands.

Scott looked closely at his lover’s face, trying to read his thoughts on what had happened in the kitchen. Reyes was so good at clamming up, at hiding his emotions, burring them deep beneath the surface of a suave charmer. But Scott couldn’t be fooled. He saw the hurt in his lover’s eyes, despite his efforts to smile.  

“Here you are. One coffee, just as requested,“ Reyes said, sitting at the edge of the bed. Scott sat up as well, taking the mug carefully. The smell told him that Reyes remembered how he liked to take his drink. That was really sweet.

“Thank you.“ Scott hesitated, unsure if he should do it. But he felt like he must. He put the mug away on the nightstand. Reyes looked at him quizzically, thousands of thoughts probably running through his head.

“I love you,“ Scott said, pouring his heart into these words, his hand reaching to Reyes’s cheek. “And nothing and no one can change that. I… I just wanted you to know that,“ he added, a little embarrassed.

But Reyes looked at him with nothing but adoration, his eyes lively and bright again.

“Thank you, Scott. I needed to hear that.“ His words were soft, just as his lips when he gave him a kiss. And then another, locking him in a warm embrace.

The coffee stood on the nightstand completely forgotten.

If you liked this ficlet please consider buying me a coffee (coffee ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ). Any donations are greatly appreciated,


i hate u, i love u (gnash ft. olivia o’ brien) - jimin x jungkook songverse, insp. by @175pjm

“Feeling used, but I’m still missing you. And I can’t see the end of this, just wanna feel your kiss against my lips. And now all this time is passing by but I still can’t seem to tell you why. It hurts me every time I see you realize how much I need you. I hate you, I love you, I hate that I love you. Don’t want to but I can’t put nobody else above you…”

Ice, as was Jungkook’s heart, and sunlight, as was Jimin’s love. Together in moderation, they enhance each other’s beauty, glistening in the presence of one another and reflecting upon each other to create a surreal, ethereal glow. But when taken to extremities, destruction is inevitable. The relationship had lasted for over a year, and for a while, the both of them were relatively satisfied. An agreement of equal exchange, conceived by a mutual case of broken hearts. One person had been rejected by someone who had feelings for another. The other had ended a short but passionate relationship with the one who was supposed to be the love of his life. Naturally, they came to each other and comforted each other, the comfort eventually evolving into what was mistaken as romance: a mistake that was only brutally realized right before Christmas started.” (excerpt from shatterproof)

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.

  • 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.
Voltron Characters As Things Said In My Class
  • Lance: I hate you more than I hate myself- wow you suck.
  • Keith: I expected some homophobic comments but wow- you're all amazing and it's scaring me.
  • Hunk: I'm tired and sick and my grandma is literally dying, but I'm here for you.
  • Pidge: Gender stereotypes can suck my nonexistent dick.
  • Shiro: *talking about the sun's inevitable self-destruction* Goals.
  • Allura: Sorry I'm late, feminism called.
  • Coran: My mustache brings all the guys to the yard and they're like- I'm not gay.
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.
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.”

red hakuno: my girlfriend is the emperor of roses, flawless in both beauty and swordmanship, most brilliant artist of both her age and this one, the epitome of perfection, the best, the cutest, the most amazing, I love her, I adore her, none light up my life the way she does, she-
blue hakuno: my girlfriend is a nasty evil fox lol. its ok tho she’s just so cute in how she was an evil dictator for a while just so we could live in domestic luxury before our inevitable destruction. her cooking is the best. her ears and tail are so fluffy. she makes really cute sounds when I pet her.
green hakuno: my gf is 16 meters tall
red & blue hakuno: holy shit


“The black magician thinks that through rituals, talismans, and force of personal will that he/she can actually gain control over elemental spirits and the Jinn, and direct them to act in accord with his/her beckoning. Since demons want to feed on the valuable shells of these magicians when they break up at death, in order to get the power to incarnate physically themselves or gain access to deeper hells, they go along with the game. Hence, the Jinn are often quite willing to give the sorcerers low level occult powers, coveted material prizes, or apparent control over elemental spirits, which the demons see as having little value compared to the vital energy of the shells they seek to gain.

The Left-Handed Path is very rapid because of the intense focus of the mind in hatred for God-as-Adversary. This path can therefore yield some results in a relatively short time, but inevitably ends in the destruction of the sorcerer because he/she cannot withstand the power channeled through their shells from the higher Sefiroth. Most do not make it past the Gate of the Tzade צ between the Sefiroth Power/Fire and Understanding/ North. Very powerful black magicians, who make it up the Column of the Left without shattering their shells, are denied access to Atziluth (World of Emanation) by the action of the Gate of the Ayin ע (“Gate of the Unclean Servants”) between the Sefiroth Understanding/North and Crown/Above. This gate redirects such souls into extinction via the Abyss at the invisible Sefirah Knowledge/First.”

- Daniel Hale Feldman - Qabalah : The Mystical Heritage of the Children of Abraham