#are either of those something? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 1 month ago

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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember.

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers.

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.”

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.”

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control.

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.”

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top.

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you.

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips.

“why’s that?” you ask.

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go.

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins.

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?”

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being.

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults.

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world.

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!”

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them.

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac:

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work.

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor.

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?”

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs.

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do.

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party.

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke.

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways.

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow.

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says.

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out:

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi.

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with.

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you.

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.”

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws.

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….”

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time.

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?”

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again.

so, you do remember.

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years.

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue.

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure?

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses.

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave.

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating.

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun.

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision.

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try.

“you know powder’s graduating this year?”

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision.

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely.

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed.

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.”

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…”

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.”

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge.

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.”

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you.

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please.

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice.

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd.

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand.

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock.

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you.

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile.

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace.

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you.

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out.

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —”

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?”

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying.

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry.

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21.

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house.

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass.

“you remember.”

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.”

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be.

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours.

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp.

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —”

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder.

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor.

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego.

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you.

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers.

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart.

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time.

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to.

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.”

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work.

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door.

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying.

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear.

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear.

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her.

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl.

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes.

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake.

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek.

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away.

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone.

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move.

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath.

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs.

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin.

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head.

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open."

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer.

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit. you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple.

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess.

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving.

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream.

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers.

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another.

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash.

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before.

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?”

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand.

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday.

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back.

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.”

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling.

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours.

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.”

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.”

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round. “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.”

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder.

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye.

“i better go.”

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room.

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later.

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s.

i’ll see you later. love you!

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 1 month ago

Text

Actual Ultimate Classpecting Guide

For real this time.

Buckle up, this is a really long one. For everything that's posited, I can provide textual evidence; that being said, I'm not going to be including the textual evidence within the essay itself, because it's already long enough as-is. As such, please feel free to ask for clarification or sources on any assertion, and I'll do my best to provide.

Before we begin, there's some things to discuss about how we're going to be approaching classpect in the following essay. In numbered list form for our short attention spans:

1. There is a concept Hussie talks about multiple times in his book commentary, "personality alchemy" - the idea that there are these "platonic ideals" of certain characters, which can be mixed and matched with others, in order to create new characters. The examples he gives are of how Eridan was a proto-Caliborn, how Kanaya has shades of Jade, how Nepeta was a proto-Calliope, and how Sollux and Eridan have shades of Dave in them. Classpecting is fundamentally a form of this personality alchemy:

2. Class describes the character's arc and emotional hurdles, while Aspect describes the character's base personality traits by which this arc is experienced.

3. For example, all three Seers struggle with hubris: Rose's need to be the smartest person in the room led to her being manipulated by Doc Scratch, Terezi's obsession with meting justice led to her engineering a situation where the only option was to kill Vriska, and Kankri's desire to be seen as a spiritual leader amongst his friends led to him furthering their divisions and harming them.

Then, when their pride is shattered, they cope by inflicting willful self-blindness: Rose turns to drinking herself stupid (the opposite of Light's sway over knowledge), Terezi gets down with the clown (the opposite of meting out Mind's justice, as it's a Gamzee W), Kankri goes celibate (Blood L) despite his clear romantic feelings for certain teammates.

4. As for Aspect: note how all three Life players share the personality traits of optimism, stubbornness, and obstinacy. All three Breath players share an immaturity and naïvety, and are quite frankly irresistible to people for some reason. All three Light players share a need for the spotlight and a tendency toward long-windedness and persnicketiness. So on and so forth.

What's interesting is, if you start analyzing characters that share Classes and Aspects, these specific types of similarity crop up over and over - all our Knights struggle with insecurities and facades, both our Bards have a crisis of faith. All three Breath players have an aspect of immaturity and childishness to their characters, and all three Light players are deeply concerned with appearing intelligent and feeling important.

5. As a result, this guide is NOT intended for classpecting real life people, because we are complicated, we contain multitudes, and we don't have arcs. This is primarily an analysis of what Class and Aspect mean in Homestuck based on textual evidence, because I genuinely believe that you can basically figure it out if you read carefully.

6. Duality, and the idea of "equal and opposite," are major themes within Homestuck - Prospit and Derse, Skaia (described as a crucible of birth and creativity) and the Furthest Ring (the literal afterlife). Which classes are involved in an Active/Passive split, and opposing Aspects, are the same way. This is the primary method I used to determine the Active/Passive pairings and opposing Aspects. After all, as Callie describes, both Thieves and Rogues are classes "who steal" - so, too, do I try to unify Classes by a common theme, even if they diverge wildly in how that theme is expressed (as Thieves and Rogues do). In the same way as the opposite of "up" is not "apple," but "down", because "up" and "down" are both fundamentally concerned with relative vertical position, so too can be defined concepts like Breath and Blood, Hope and Rage, Light and Void - as well as the reasoning behind Class pairings like Heir and Page, Maid and Knight, and Seer and Mage.

7. Descriptions for both Class and Aspect are left deliberately vague and up to interpretation within the comic itself, and this is by design: the actual manifestations of an Aspect can vary wildly given the Class, and even individual person, that it's tied to. Calliope even makes note of the fact that, under the right circumstances, someone can manifest effects that appear to be the opposite of their aspect. She's also careful to couch her language in "may" and "can" - because these concepts are intentionally somewhat nebulous and malleable. As such, while this guide certainly lays down what can be gleaned and inferred from the text, do note that Homestuck runs on a soft magic system, and as such, nothing stated is firm, 100%, must-always-be-this-way - just an overview of what we've seen.

8. There is often great overlap between Aspects, Classes, and Classpects - which Calliope herself notes. Heart and Blood are one of the most salient, as they both have a fixation on relationships, and Calliope mentions that under the right circumstances, a Classpect may even be able to manifest what appears to be the opposite of their Aspect. Again, Homestuck operates on a soft magic system, so this is a feature, not a bug.

ASPECT

There's a little less to say about Aspect, not because it's less complicated, but because "base personality traits" are much more nebulous compared to Class's sway over character arc. Still, Aspect represents the fundamental way a character is, and thus, color every interaction that character has. There's a reason Ultimate Selfhood is sought through Aspect, not Class - Aspect is the core of the character's being, what makes that person that person.

That all being said, Class has major sway over how an Aspect manifests, and certain classes can even invert the Aspect and even the character's role in the party. As such, these descriptions must be parsed carefully in relation to Class. Moreover, due to the soft magic system, there is at times overlap between unrelated Aspects, which can also be exacerbated by Class - Heart and Blood being the most obvious in this regard. Still, overall, you'll find the Aspects to be fairly distinct from one another.

Please also note that every Aspect can deal with its literal counterpart by default - Light players can wield lasers, Breath players can wield the breeze, et cetera. Because this kind of goes without saying, and because the non-literal stuff is more interesting to discuss, I'm not really going to go into too much detail about the literal qualities.

Finally, something interesting to note is that nearly every Aspect follows its own Hero's Journey cycle - full actualization for each one usually means reaching around to its opposite Aspect, and taking lessons from them - for example, Breath players need to learn maturity and responsibility, while Blood players need to learn relaxation and whimsy. Thus, an Aspect at its worst manifests in two ways - either a toxic overabundance of the Aspect's worst traits, or such a dearth of the aspect that it begins to resemble its opposite. Only by reaching into the opposite, however, can the player be tempered and reach full maturity - can they become more of who they are.

SPACE / TIME

Space and Time are both concerned with physical reality, goals, and the way one approaches them.

Space is associated with "the big picture" - with recycling, reproduction, and the interconnectivity of all things. The aspect also presides over the enjoyment of the journey over the destination - Space players serve as reminders that the present moment is as important as the end goal. Space is often a more passive Aspect, being the stage upon which the story is set. They're the hosts of the party, and the one who marks the ending.

Its players reflect these tendencies, often being feminine, with penchants for life-giving acts such as gardening. Their personalities tend towards frivolity and silliness, finding it difficult to stay on-topic or bring full gravitas to serious situations. Perhaps a better word would be "distractable;" when the aspect is so concerned with all things in connection with each other, it's easy to lose track of details, and it's easy to enjoy things simply as they come. Space players tend to be kind, patient, and forgiving, which is a strength as much as it is a flaw; it's easy for malicious actors to take advantage of this compassion, or for the Space player to find themselves in a poor situation by being overly permissive. They can easily be painted over by stronger personalities, and tend to struggle with romantic relationships, as they attract many with their kind and giving natures, and few are naturally so considerate of the Space player in turn.

"Passive" is a good word to use; at a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Space players are trampled underfoot. They become enablers, servants to dark forces, or so lost in their own worlds that they neglect the one they live in. With their Aspect "inverted," a Space player becomes a demon of poor prioritization. Distracting not just themselves from their true purpose, but others, too, the Space player will wreak havoc by overemphasizing unimportant topics and ignoring important tasks. This superficially resembles Time, in that the Space player will become fanatically dedicated to their task, but note that the poor prioritization is still Space-esque at its core.

Still, within this nadir is a valuable lesson: the strength of self-assertion, and the determination to see a goal through. These will allow the Space player to weed their garden, separating good from bad, allowing it to flourish like never before.

Time, in contrast, is associated with "the little things" - with details, minutiae, and processes. Time presides over the struggle toward something greater, the endurance of hardship with an eye on the prize - the destination over the journey. Time players are the ones keeping track of the tasklist, marking off each item as it reaches completion; they are the tireless workers keeping the whole engine running.

Time players, thus, are ones whose lives are marked by struggle. They are highly goal-oriented; in contrast to how Space players can easily move from goal to goal, task to task, Time players feel bound to see things through to the end, finding satisfaction only when they've achieved their desired result - and only until they come across the next goal in their journey. A Time player isn't happy without a goal to work towards, a craft to polish, a prize to win - but this driven nature can easily be its own downfall, as it leaves little room for the player to admit to their own shortcomings, or ask for help from others. Moreover, their focus on minutiae can leave them blinded to the bigger picture, and it's easy for a time player to fall to despair, able to do nothing more but spin their wheels. They're prone to directionless anguish, frustration, and resentment towards the seeming futility of their actions, becoming destructive and defiant even when it doesn't serve them to do so.

At a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Time players become explosively destructive. The ultimate "goal" of all things is death, with which Time is associated, and accordingly, Time players have a penchant for aligning themselves with futility and entropy, struggling so hard that their thrashing leaves a trail of annihilation in their wake. With their Aspect "inverted," Time players detach entirely - they can become so fed up with struggle that they simply opt to lay their weapons down and let the end take them. It's very easy for them to come to the conclusions that either everything matters, or nothing matters. This superficially resembles Space and its big picture thinking, but note that its framework of struggle, and whether or not a goal needs to be pursued, makes it a Time concern.

But the inherent meaninglessness of existence is, in itself, an important realization to make - that whether or not anything "matters" in the grand scheme, things can still be worth doing, worth caring about, and worth investing in. This realization allows the Time player to attack their goals with renewed vigor and greater clarity, which in turn means that the party becomes an efficient, well-oiled machine.

BREATH / BLOOD

Breath and Blood are both concerned with directionality, interpersonal relationships, and autonomy.

Breath is the Aspect governing freedom, liberty, and independence; it is a force that breaks shackles, clears out social norms, and refutes "the rules," whatever those rules may be. Breath players can't be tied down, whether by physical bonds, societal rules, or even the ineffable forces of the narrative itself. They are leaders of example, pioneers, and trailblazers, opening new paths for their teammates to follow.

Breath players are goofy and gullible, often with hearts full of childlike whimsy, naivety, and even immaturity. They are friendly and well-meaning, fond of simpler things, and easily swayed by others. They approach the world with a sincere and innocent good-naturedness, like a baby animal before it learns to be fearful of danger. Something about this sincerity seems to make Breath players irresistible to others, and they often find themselves the subject of romantic attraction. However, in this childishness is also the great pitfall of many Breath players - their natures are naturally conflict-averse, and egotistical the way a child can be, failing to see beyond themselves. They can be incredibly callous when not considering the consequences of their actions, or the viewpoints of others.

At their worst, Breath players are irresponsible and callous. They'll shirk the consequences of their actions, blaming anybody but themselves, or simply choose not to care who they hurt in order to get what they want. They may even choose to stop making choices for themselves, leading to the "inversion" of their Aspect - a voluntary loss of freedom and independence, derived from an Breath-like aversion to responsibility, which superficially resembles the bondage of Blood.

But if they are able to overcome these tendencies, a Breath player will learn what true responsibility looks like - responsibility for themselves, their choices, and the effect they have on others. Armed with this, a Breath player's ability to break bonds can be focused into a clear force for good, clearing away all obstacles and harmful societal standards, leading the charge into something new and beautiful.

Blood, in sharp contrast, is the aspect that governs bondage, contracts, and interdependence. It is a force that binds. Under Blood's sway are not only romantic entanglements, but familial, friendly, and societal ones as well. This aspect sees overlap with Heart, but the division is this: Heart concerns itself with feelings, and Blood concerns itself with compatibility. Blood players are diplomats, forces that remind us all that we are more similar than we are different, and that that similarity should bring us together when we are on the verge of pulling apart.

Blood players, reflective of their Aspect's association with bonds, tend to be neurotic and obsessive. They have a tendency to over-examine and overthink, constantly fretting over the infinite and infinitesimal variables that influence the shape of society and interpersonal relationships. However, this judgmental nature stems from a deep well of idealism and empathy; Blood players can't help but care about others and wish for the best for them. In a way, this makes them one of the most mature members of the team, being concerned with its overall well-being. Unfortunately, their prowess does not extend inwards, and their assessment of themselves is usually direly incorrect - all the worse because Blood players always feel responsible for those around them. Blood, being the Aspect concerned with interdependence, is the weakest one when all alone.

Thus, it's easy for the Blood player to wind up controlling - desperate to make sure everyone is moving according to their vision, they'll become iron-fisted dictators, with a "my way or the highway" approach to social interactions. It's easy for them to wind up pariahs of their own making, becoming so critical of others, or so adamant about enforcing their own will, that they inadvertantly sever their ties - something that superficially resembles Breath's independence, but is truly a result of Blood's neuroticism.

But with that space and separation can come great clarity. Blood players must learn to relax their grip, and allow people room to breathe - including themselves. Once able to grasp that sometimes bonds must be forged with a soft touch, Blood players' natural empathy shines through, allowing them to build something so much kinder and greater than the sum of its parts.

LIGHT / VOID

Light and Void are both concerned with knowledge, ontology, and "narrative relevance".

Light (as well as its counterpart) are perhaps best understood through the lens of "narrative" - this idea that, of all things that do and don't exist, and all events that do and don't happen, only the ones put to page are "relevant". Thus, Light is associated with knowledge and luck - that is to say, it's associated with the knowable, the objective, and the concrete, and the ability to determine "important" events. Light players have read the book they're participating in, and able to serve as luminary guides from one plot point to another, lighting the lampposts for others to follow.

Light players, naturally, are erudite and educated, possessing keen intellects and cunning minds. They are fond of knowledge itself, of markers of status and prestige - whether that's wealth, the adulation of the masses, or a massive library. They harbor a desire to be important, to be seen, to be acknowledged, and are happiest when they are looked up to. Conversely, they deal poorly with being looked down upon. Their confidence transmutes easily into hubris, and they struggle with having that pride challenged. As such, they tend to be volatile and unpredictable, quick to retaliate against those who threaten their egos, or obsequious to those whose acknowledgement they desire.

Their desire for the limelight can quickly spell disaster - they can become incredibly cruel, harsh, and egotistical in their pursuit of narrative significance. They forget, in their obsession, that they, too, are fallible and flawed, and the inevitable reminder can come very harshly. Light players struggle with moderation, and as such, when they feel shame, they'll often take drastic measures to cope with it - deliberately darkening their own influence or intellects, removing themselves from the "story" entirely - something which superficially resembles Void's penchant for the background, but which is firmly rooted in Light's obsessive need for drama.

But in experimenting with narrative insignificance, Light players can reach an epiphany - in their absence, others may shine, and that can be a wonderful thing. Light players, then, can learn to shine not just for their own sakes, but for the sake of others, allowing them to weave a story even more brilliant than any that can be weaved alone.

Void, in contrast, is the blank spaces between the words. That which is secret, subjective, unknowable - these are Void's domain. It's associated with taboos and hidden things, sexuality and pleasure. It's also associated with the empty canvas - the blank space before creation, and the oblivion to which creation is eventually destined for. Thus, it stands for infinite possibility, though the collapse of those possibilities into a reality removes that reality from Void's domain.

Thus are Void players ever cosigned to the background, though this generally suits them fine. Void players are very self-possessed. Where Light players tend to exaggerate and complicate, Void players are honest and simple, preferring straightforward solutions. They don't tend to think very hard, instead letting intuition and emotion guide them to where they want to be - which makes them one of the more stable personalities on a team. However, this simplistic, feelings-driven approach often leads to pleasure-seeking behavior, poor impulse control, and overindulgence in vice, and from there, to irrelevance, with which Void is so closely interlinked.

Void players are especially prone to vice, and at their worst, will become so drunk on pleasurable activities that they pursue them to the active detriment of the party's goals or the Void player's self-improvement - making them the ultimate irrelevant character. They can also very easily drag others into their mélange, with a forcefulness that resembles Light's illuminating guidance, but which is ultimately rooted in Void's pursuit of personal pleasure.

But there's a lesson to be learned in Light's domain: how to bring themselves into relevance and greatness. A Void player, once they learn to pursue not just personal pleasure, but a greater satisfaction for the collective whole, can drag the Void behind them, kicking and screaming, to where it'll be of use.

MIND / HEART

Mind and Heart are concerned with what it means to be a sentient being, with identity, and with why we do what we do.

Mind is the Aspect associated with logic, rationality, karma, ethics, and justice. To a Mind player, they "are" because they "think". They are keenly aware of the consequences of every action, and well-versed in cognition and behavior, such to the point of manipulating others with ease. Deeply concerned with the "effect" of cause-and-effect, Mind players are always cognizant of debts and credits, where justice is owed and where it has been over-meted, and their subtle machinations culminate, like well-placed dominoes, in grand and explosive finales.

Mind players are schemers - it's in their nature. They have a tendency to view the world as a puzzle or game, with themselves and the people around them as pieces on a board, and set as their standard rules the laws of ethics and karma - owed debts and overhanging credit - guilty and innocent. Mind players are wickedly cunning, and have an high success rate with every scheme they commit themselves to, but the grand downfall of all these tendencies is that they tend to lack in a sense of identity, and have a poor grasp on their own emotions or desires. While they may know how to provoke a desired reaction, they don't know how to change someone's mind. They often find themselves grappling very painfully with their own selfhood, with feelings of emptiness, inadequacy, or uncertainty.

Thus, a Mind player at the worst zenith of their Aspect is heartless and cruel. Leaving no space for empathy or even personal feelings in their plans, the Mind player will plot for an ending as heartless as they are. But a Mind player is never truly without emotion, and ignoring their own feelings causes them to manifest in terrible ways - Mind players have a tendency to seek toxic, codependent relationships, hoping to find external validation, subjecting themselves to the wishes of others, which can appear like Heart's fixation on feelings and desire.

But in recognizing their own need for emotional validation, and the importance of their own feelings, a Mind player can realize that there's an entire dimension to the game they've been playing that they've been ignorant of. When a Mind player learns to temper their schemes with empathy, compassion, and kindness, how much more success they'll see - and how much happier that grand finale will be!

Heart, then, is associated with feelings, motivations, intuition, the soul, and the self. To a Heart player, they "are" because they "feel" like they are - and they're keenly aware of the multitudes that are contained within themselves. Deeply concerned with the "cause" of cause-and-effect, they're drawn to desires, those of themselves and of others, especially where strong feelings are concerned. Heart players are gifted with an intuitive understanding of those around them, both their good and bad qualities, and are tasked with the grand task of bringing out the best.

It stands to reason, then, that Heart players have a firm grasp on who they are and what they want. For the same reasons, it's difficult for a Heart player to truly hate or condemn another person, because they are so adept at understanding them. However, this understanding comes with a price - because the Heart player is so aware of themselves, they can't escape their own worst traits - nobody self-loathes as accurately as a Heart player can. Nor can they ever truly be untruthful with another, making them poor manipulators. Capable of presenting a different facet of themselves as the situation calls for it, certainly, but just as it's impossible to lie to a Heart player, who always knows how someone really feels, it's impossible for a Heart player to lie to themselves.

With this sincerity comes vulnerability. Heart players wear theirs on their sleeves, and at their worst, this can make them demanding, needy, and sensitive - so eager to connect with others emotionally that they'll cramp themselves to fit others' desires. But they can't ever keep this up for long; Heart players have a tendency to withdraw from others after being hurt too often, finding it easier to be alone and silent about their feelings than to deal with the pain of rejection. They may even work to manipulate others, preying on their emotions and desires to force them to act in their worst interests. This superficially resembles Mind's cold logic, but unlike Mind's cool rationality, Heart's aloofness is a mask, an attempt to avoid pain by pulling away.

But this isn't purely a negative, because a Heart player can learn a healthier form of detachment, and separate out healthy and helpful desires from harmful and detrimental ones. Given this clarity, the Heart player becomes the team's emotional core, able to raise up each teammate's best qualities, while helping them deal with their worst, enabling everyone to be the best possible version of themselves - which the Heart player knew them to be all along.

LIFE / DOOM

Life and Doom are concerned with outlook, with journeys, and with trials and tribulations.

Life is an aspect concerned with healing, growing, and improving. It is associated with beginnings, optimism, and positive emotions. The very essence of Life lies in its healing abilities, in this idea of overcoming the odds and triumphing over hardship and difficulty. Life is action, movement, and motion, and its players can scarcely hold still. Life will find a way - and Life players harbor the same immutable belief; they are the most stubborn weeds in the garden, the cockroach that survives the apocalypse, and the beating heart that refuses to stop.

Life players tend to be optimistic and confident. They are self-assured individuals, with a stubborn belief that good things are on their way, and any hardship they face is not only temporary, but something that can be overcome. They can find the silver lining in any cloud, and enjoy themselves under any circumstance. They love to nurture, to care for others, though this love has a tendency to be one-sided. Indeed, Life's stubborn nature is its players' greatest pitfall; their persistence easily becomes obstinacy, and their confidence can become condescension. Their self-assured nature easily becomes egotism, and they can have great difficulty grappling with those who don't share their views - even coming to oppose those who bring emotional pain and suffering that can't be easily fixed.

It's very easy for a Life player to decide another person isn't worth their attention, and opt to leave them behind - after all, Life has to move forward, no matter what it tramples in the process. At their worst, they're stubborn to the point of not listening to anyone but themselves, confidence becoming blockheadedness. This focus on forward progress without looking back can even cause Life players to become harmful to others, so focused they are on their own growth that they don't notice that they're choking everyone else out. This may resemble Doom's death in its worst case - arresting everything else, eventually blocking even their own path with unruly, out-of-control fecundity.

Thus, a Life player needs to learn to more gracefully accept Doom's influence - to pause, slow down, and consider viewpoints that are negative, unpleasant, or difficult. A Life player, endowed with moderation, will be able to cultivate a bountiful garden, rather than an unruly jungle - a place for all to flourish and live in plenty, never wanting for anything.

Doom, then, is the aspect concerned with death, with rest, and with endings. Doom is associated with suffering and with negative emotions, with peace, with sleep, and with dreams. Doom players have a natural penchant for prophecy, and are often dual dreamers, able to take advantage of both Skaia's oracular clouds and the Horrorterrors' voices over Derse. All things must eventually come to an end, and not all times will be good; in these troubling times, Doom players shine, as they are the guides who call the murk home, and know best how to navigate rough waters, course-correcting until the storm passes.

Doom players tend to be deeply pessimistic. They experience, to a much more magnified degree than others, negative feelings and impulses, and it's difficult for them to see the world without seeing its flaws, first and foremost. They are not healers, but commiserators, those who understand greatest that sometimes there's no way to deal with tragedy but to simply sit with it and wait for it to pass. The counterpoint to Life's insistence on breathless positivity, Doom is a reminder that pain, grief, sadness, shame, and guilt are not unnecessary things - in fact, excising them can lead to terrible consequences. Doom players are the universe's martyrs, often taking it upon themselves to course-correct, to sacrifice themselves in order to give others a chance to continue on, to avert a terrible fate.

Unfortunately, this tendency also brings with it a tendency for Doom players to wallow in misfortune, or worse, to take themselves out of the picture, giving up entirely on seeing a better ending. As if energized by their own sense of futility, a Doom player at the "inverse" of their aspect may seem to echo a Life player's focus on forward progress and motion, actively spurring their team on towards an untimely demise.

A Doom player must learn to harness this sense of progress for good, rather than harm. A Doom player, once able to grasp the joy of life even in the greatest depths of despair, will be able to fill even the darkest hours with peace, meaning, and hope.

HOPE / RAGE

Hope and Rage are concerned with permission, and are the lens by which we define reality.

Hope is described by Hussie in the book commentary as being "framed as the most powerful aspect" because it is, literally, an aspect that defines reality. Its specific ability is lies in reducing the "fakeness attribute" of something, thus making it "real". Hope is associated with convictions, with idealism, with faith, order, holiness, and, of course, with magic - which Hope turns real. Hope is permission itself - a reality-breaking ability to look at the world and decree that it must be another way, a way in which the Hope player believes it ought to be.

Thus, Hope players tend to be hard-headed zealots, with no self-awareness whatsoever. Their inclination towards powerful beliefs makes them very difficult to dissuade from a path they've set their minds to, and their specific suite of abilities makes them terrifyingly likely to make their vision come true. Hope players are usually not particularly cunning, nor particularly intelligent, nor even particularly empathetic. Given the Aspect's focus on conviction and faith, it's usually very difficult for Hope players to notice anything occurring beyond their own minds and feelings. Thus are Hope players hopeless optimists, hopeless romantics, and hopeless in general - often great sources of embarrassment to their teams, as their naked sincerity is painful to witness. However, their ability to define reality does not leave them when their beliefs are faulty (which they often are, given Hope players are not particularly introspective, either), which is what makes a Hope player so dangerous.

A Hope player can easily be set on the wrong path - as convicted as they are, and as difficult to shake from that conviction as they can be, Hope players can easily march down a path of destruction, if not persuaded with a deft touch and gentle guidance. In the event that their faith is broken, Hope players easily become despondent and lost, floundering and wishy-washy, which superficially resembles Rage's self-consciousness, but is truly just a lack of direction.

But Rage has a powerful lesson to teach Hope players - that of questioning themselves, interrogating their own beliefs. Once their convictions have gone through rigorous scrutiny, revised into the best, brightest versions of themselves they can be, a Hope player is a worker of miracles - speaking into existence a beautiful future on faith alone, proclaiming that how they see the world is how the world shall be.

Rage, then, is the power of denial. If Hope reduces the "fakness" of a thing, then Rage reduces its "realness". Rage, too, is a means of defining reality, in this case taking a torch to the aspects of reality that it rejects. In more passive Classes, this works in subtler ways, stoking others towards destructive fury. Rage is associated with anarchy, chaos, revolution, destruction, anger, and nihilism. A Rage player will not suffer a world that does not satisfy them, breaking it to pieces, such that something new can take its place.

Therefore, Rage players are prone to harboring anger and resentment, discontentment with the status quo, and faith only in that what currently exists must somehow be dismantled. However, unlike Hope players, who can't help but be pathetically sincere, Rage players are incredibly self-conscious, and often try to mask and hide their embitterment and anger. This, ironically, leads to further ostracization, as others can tell they're being inauthentic. This only further compounds their sense of alienation, and drives them further into smoldering resentment. This makes Rage players sound volatile and dangerous, and they are - but the same fury that moves them is the fury that ignites revolts and tears down oppressive regimes, a necessary and vital well of energy and momentum. It takes careful handling to ensure that the team's Rage player can channel this energy towards righteous causes, rather than marking all as a target for their destructive ire.

In the worst-case scenario, the Rage player turns that rage out indiscriminately, deciding that there is nothing worth fighting for - only unpleasant things to be brought to ruin. This is Rage at its toxic overabundance. Conversely, a Rage player can retreat so harshly into their mask that they allow others to dictate their beliefs, taking them to heart - an action motivated by Rage's destruction (this time, turned inwards) that superficially resembles Hope's convictions and faith.

The true path for a Rage player is a healthy balance - to allow themselves some of Hope's sincerity, and by doing so, to become more sincere and true. This will let them release the pressure of their mounting ire, such that it can be converted into productive, rather than destructive, energy - the heralds of a revolution, razing away the faulty, corrupt old systems such that something better and new can take their place.

CLASS

As previously stated, Class governs a character's character arc - the character's starting circumstances, whether their conflict is primarily internal or external, and what major aspect of their Aspect becomes a hurdle for them to overcome.

In the same way an Aspect's sways tie into the character's base personality, the character's Class abilities tie into the kinds of struggles they face, and have great influence on how their Aspects manifest.

That being said, a character - and their Class - are always subject to their Aspect, as their Aspect is tied fundamentally into who they are. Thus, it can be said that a Light player will always have an affinity for knowledge and provide Seer-esque guidance even when not in a Seer role, a Doom player will always have prophetic abilities even with a non-prophetic class (note that Mituna, an Heir, still had prophetic visions, despite those generally being the realm of Mages and Seers), and a Life player will always have a penchant for healing, even paired with a destructive Class like Prince or Thief (the Condesce, after all, could still extend life; a Prince of Life would likely manifest not as one who causes plants to wither and die (this would actually suit a Prince of Doom), but one who destroys in the way of nature overtaking an abandoned shack, or a forest breaking down a body).

This means that when a character's Classpect inverts their Aspect, it doesn't mean that they suddenly become a hero of the opposing Aspect - rather, it means that, at their very worst - at the nadirs of their character arcs - they will lean so much into their Aspect's worst traits that it will superficially appear as the opposite, when all it really is is an absence of themselves. Dave, a Time player, usually so attentive to detail (despite his disaffected facade, he's always paying rapt attention to Karkat's rants, and noticing all the clues pointing to his destiny of defeating LE), at his lowest emotional point (arguing with Grimbark Jade after sobbing about his lost childhood whimsy), states that he doesn't think Lord English is that big a deal, and never even did anything directly bad to him or his friends - when he was literally directly haunted by LE via Cal his entire childhood. Similarly, Rose drinks herself stupid in order to cope with her mother's death.

Note how, superficially, this almost appears to be an invocation of Space's "big picture thinking," its passivity and permissibility, or how Rose's case appears to be Void's tendency to indulge in vices and pleasure - but they're not. Time's worst traits superficially resemble Space, Light's resemble Void, and vice versa - Grimbark Jade is the Condesce's taskmaster, and Porrim at her worst was as much of a nag as Kankri, trying to do a Time player's managerial job. Horuss and Equius at their worst won't shut up and won't stop talking over their partners. So on and so forth.

Finally, Calliope tells us a couple things about Active/Passive pairings. The first is that Calliope introduces the idea of paired classes with the idea that both Rogues and Thieves "steal" (and later, that both Princes and Bards "destroy"). This presents the idea that both classes can be roughly summed up with the idea that every pairing can be summed up with a common theme.

The second is her description of what makes a Class Active versus Passive - that Active Classes move their Aspect to benefit themselves, whereas Passive Classes allow their Aspect to be moved in order for others to benefit. In a way, they're like active and passive voice in grammar (to tie in with the way Classes and Aspects are so tied to ideas of narrative and character arc) - an Active Class performs their Aspect, and a Passive Class allows the Aspect to be performed "by others" (the famous piece of advice regarding telling the two apart being that a sentence written in passive voice can have "by zombies" tacked to the end of it - eg, John is attacked "by zombies", as compared to active voice - John attacks).

Thus, the Class pairings, along with their basic themes, are as follows:

KNIGHT - / MAID +

"One who controls."

Knights and Maids are paired together through two key factors: the first is that they both hold leadership or managerial roles; the second is that both classes carry the connotation of serving a Lord. Fittingly, they are both struggle with the control of malicious forces - Knights with prophecies indicating their role as heroes, Maids with direct usurpation by malicious forces.

PAGE - / HEIR +

"One who inherits."

Pages and Heirs are paired together because they both fundamentally deal with the great inheritances placed before them. Pages can come into incredible, limitless power - but they must struggle and work hard for it; Heirs begin the game in societal comfort and wealth, and must learn to defect from their decadence.

THIEF - / ROGUE +

"One who steals."

Thieves and Rogues are highly adaptable, as Thieves are capable of fantastic on-the-fly adaptation, whereas Rogues have an infinite toolbox at their disposal. They are both provocateurs, shakers of the status quo, though the Thief does so for personal gain, while the Rogue does so to right injustice.

MAGE - / SEER +

"One who guides."

Mages and Seers are tied together by the gift of prophecy and future sight. Seers are privy to the endless branching paths that the future may take, while Mages are gifted with the ability to outright determine a future that will certainly happen, appearing to be prophecy.

WITCH - / SYLPH +

"One who changes."

Witches and Sylphs are individuals blessed with great magic, but poor judgement. Sylphs heal and nurture, but are drawn to those with strong desires, and enable them to cause great harm; Witches, meanwhile, possess strong emotions, which they often use as moral guidance, for better or worse.

PRINCE - / BARD +

"One who destroys."

Princes and Bards are representatives of society - the one who determines its course, and the one who recounts its passing. Princes suffer from a toxic overabundance of Aspect, and are prone to spectacular meltdowns, whereas Bards are always poised for a crisis of faith. Both are responsible for catastrophic failures - but also breathless victories.

INDIVIDUAL CLASSES

KNIGHT

"One who controls [Aspect] or controls using [Aspect]."

Knights are frontline warriors, rallying points behind which the party falls into line. Although they are often leaders, just as often, they are logistical planners, strategists, or simply the team's beating heart. They are almost always thrust into positions of narrative significance, often carrying grand destinies or even outright heroic prophecies on their shoulders. The are the party's rallying force, its center, and a guiding light - the one to lead the charge, behind which the party will follow.

The primary character struggle a Knight will have is with crippling insecurity. Knights are prone to self-loathing and imposter syndrome, and will often adopt a façade in direct opposition to their aspect (ie, their fundamental personality) in order to cope with their feelings of inadequacy. Thus, their relationship with their aspect becomes love/hate - though they're naturally drawn to their aspect, and even naturally skilled at utilizing it, they have a tendency to become their own worst enemy, as their insecurities make them push their façades, and their façades distance them from their aspect.

"Controlling their Aspect" means that the Knight has easy access to their Aspect, wielding it like a tool or weapon - for good or for ill; "controlling using their Aspect" is what grants Knights their leadership abilities, able to dictate how others ought to act in accordance with the Knight's Aspect - whether their understanding of their Aspect is high or low, whether their advice is good or bad.

Therefore, at their worst, a Knight will fall prey to their insecurities, retreating into their facades, rejecting their Aspect, which will allow disharmony or misuse of it to proliferate throughout the team. They may even wind up deliberately twisting their Aspect's presence within the team so that they never have to be confronted by it; these distortions ripple outwards and eventually culminate in major catastrophes, all on account of the Knight's negligence.

But at their best, a Knight is a shining beacon and guiding light; when they come to terms with themselves, and allow themselves to be comfortable in their own skin - when they no longer allow themselves to be ruled by their insecurities and anxieties - they ensure that their aspect is harmonious wherever it appears throughout their party, and can wield it expertly as a weapon, as if it were their own flesh and blood.

MAID

"One who allows control through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be controlled."

Unlike Knights, which take positions of frontline prominence, a Maid is a managerial presence in the backlines, though no less crucial for the smooth functioning of a party. Just as the invisible hands of the hired help keep a household running, the Maid will be called upon to provide vital services to keep the game stable, even if those services are more noticeable by their absence than their presence. Maids are often the party's unsung heroes or even shadow leaders, tugging at invisible strings, fingers on the pulse.

A Maid's primary character struggle will be that of escaping oppression. Maids tend to start the game in positions of subjugation or subservience, especially to malicious forces, and their abilities often end up being exploited to serve their masters' ends. Therefore, one may even have the impression that a Maid is ruled by their aspect, held prisoner and slave - at least until they're able turn the tables.

"Allowing their Aspect to be controlled" means that Maids are capable of directly dispensing their aspect unto others - a Maid of Time can dispense time unto foes, pausing them in their tracks; a Maid of Life can grant so much life that they can revive the dead. Their boons are great and direct, straightforward in a similar manner to Knights. "Allowing control through their Aspect" grants them their uncanny managerial abilities, as their aspect dictates the realm in which nothing occurs without the Maid's knowledge or permission, a realm made available to whomever the Maid's allegiance lies with.

Thus, at their worst, the Maid becomes a saboteur. Exploited by malign forces, their abilities to allow control over others through their aspect, or control of their aspect, makes them perfect vehicles by which their aspect can be hijacked or usurped, and made to turn against the party, and they often find themselves placed into these positions through no fault of their own. It takes the party banding together to shake off the forces that would keep a Maid in bondage.

However, at their best, Maids ensure that the party can never go too far off the rails. There is a place for everything, and everything will be in its place; a Maid is a supply line, a safe haven, and a promise that everything will be neat and tidy when the party returns from war. When the Maid belongs to themselves, their homestead becomes a fortress, and nothing occurs under the Maid's watchful eye without their express permission.

PAGE

"One who works to inherit [Aspect] or inherits [Aspect] for themselves."

Pages are a class defined by promise. As the name suggests, a Page begins weak, but has the great potential to develop into one of the most powerful players in the game. The exact nature of a Page's powers are vague, not because they are insignificant, but because they are so great that it's difficult to encompass them all. At the apex of their arcs, Pages are capable of miraculous feats, overpowering even Lords and Muses - if only they could reach that point and stay there.

A Page begins the game weakest of all, reflective of their long journey of growth. Where most classes only fall into deficit of their Aspect at their lowest emotional points, Pages begin their arcs in deficit - exhibiting character traits opposite to those their Aspect normally encompasses. Moreso than any other class, a Page must learn to grow into their Aspect. Weak-willed, naive, and easily hurt, Pages require careful nurturing if they're to come into their own.

"Working to inherit their Aspect" describes the endless journey of growth the Page must undertake - one with many missteps, backslides, and setbacks along the way. Still, they "inherit their aspect," meaning that their full potential, when realized, is overwhelmingly great - practically becoming their Aspect in humanoid form, capable of utilizing it to its glorious full potential.

However, their nature defeats them, and even if they can attain this state, the Page usually can't stay there for long. At their very worst, the Page's deficit of their Aspect's better qualities can turn the Page into a gravitic well of misfortune - an albatross about the party's neck, the centerpoint, if not inciting incident, of a massive disaster, as their team is sucked in by the Page's natural weakness.

But this is only true as it contrasts to a Page at their best - having grappled and won with the greatest of all weakness, a Page is poised to come into the greatest of all strength. Shown kindness, compassion, and support, a Page at full power reflects a party at their best. A Page at full strength is breathtaking to behold, an unstoppable force of nature, their Aspect made manifest.

HEIR

"One whom [Aspect] grants inheritance or inherits [Aspect] for others."

Heirs, in contrast to Pages, start the game strong. They usually belong to the upper echelons of their respective societies, a position of great wealth, leisure, and comfort, and are set to be inheritors of even greater wealth. Similarly, their Aspect comes to them as if of its own will - it is powerful, but difficult for the Heir to control, reflecting the wealth and status they've enjoyed as birthright.

An Heir's main challenge is that of examining their privilege, and learning where they wish to spread the gift they've been given. Because of their positions of sheltered comfort, Heirs are not particularly world-wise, and often harbor massive blind spots to the suffering of others and the ills of society. As such, they tend to be fairly aimless, given great power but no strong motivations, and have a tendency to simply indulge in their Aspect without contributing great help or hindrance to their team at all.

The Heir's Aspect is practically an independent entity. Being one whom "their Aspect grants them inheritance" refers to how the Heir starts powerful, able to summon their Aspect to perform great, miraculous acts. However, it is highly intuitive and difficult to control. The Heir's challenge lies not in attaining great power, but in attaining control over, and the ability to direct, their existing abilities. Once they do, they can "inherit their Aspect for others" - Heirs become a conduit through which their party can experience their Aspect, making it a usable pool of wealth for them all to draw from. However, because of their comfortable positions, many Heirs end up dallying, finding no pressing need to do so.

But this dallying hides a ticking clock. An Heir's inheritance will come to them, one way or another, and if they aren't ready to receive the great responsibilities that come with such great power, then the power will eventually consume them. An Heir with no clear direction will eventually become lost to their Aspect, entirely removing both from play. Like how wealthy inheritors simply become part of the status quo, so, too, does an Heir disappear into their Aspect, fixing it in place.

Thus, Heirs must learn where they have been blind, where they have been foolish, and what it means to be underprivileged. Then, once they turn their energies towards addressing those injustices - to taking responsibility for building a better future - when their wealth comes to them, they'll be able to distribute it where it's needed most. An Heir, fully-realized, brings their Aspect to heel, and makes it a resource available to their entire team, as if welcoming them all into the family.

THIEF

"One who steals [Aspect] or steals using [Aspect]."

Thieves are, as the name suggests, greedy - much of their arc revolves around a desire to amass wealth, though what's considered "wealth" varies based on the Thief and especially their Aspect. They tend to be callous people by nature, capable of ignoring or trampling over the feelings of others in order to take what they want, in the hopes of filling an emotional void the Thief may not even be fully aware of.

The Thief's playstyle is one of careful resource management. Reflecting a natural tendency to take "wealth" from others, Thieves are unable to use their Aspect without first "stealing" it - a subtractive act which leaves the victim bereft of the Aspect, weakening them in the process. Because of the finicky nature of these abilities, it takes great cunning to be a Thief, and the Class both demands and requires the player to be adaptable, flexible, and quick on their feet, able to effect complicated schemes and engineer the perfect situations for their powers to have the greatest effect. Thieves aren't necessarily strong, but they have a very high victory ratio, because they're experts at turning a situation to their own advantage.

"Stealing their Aspect" refers to the fundamental way in which the Thief class is played, this resource management game; "stealing using their Aspect" reflects how the Thief often becomes a malignant force within the party, viewing their own teammates as caches of wealth to plunder. Thieves are naturally prone to hurting others for their own purposes, craving drama and attention, and being of such callous dispositions that they're able to perform extreme acts of cruelty given the right motivations.

Thieves often become a target of ire within the party, disruptive forces whose quest for personal wealth and fulfillment comes at the cost of those around them. At their worst, they can bring so much heat down upon their own shoulders that the party feels the need to treat them like an enemy, which is disastrous for party harmony. Moreover, it's disastrous for the Thieves themselves, as Thieves seek wealth to compensate for some emotional emptiness, and making enemies of their friends only serves to deepen their ennui.

Thus, a Thief must be taught that true happiness and fulfillment doesn't come from the struggle for wealth, but from the building of something better with those they care about. A Thief, thus turned to heroic purposes, becomes the party's pinch hitter - an adaptable spy, an unpredictable maverick, an element of surprise - and above all, a reliable ally, capable of turning any tide in the party's favor.

ROGUE

"One who steals from [Aspect] or steals [Aspect] for others."

Rogues, on the other hand, call to mind such figures as Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to distribute to the poor. Rogues are at their best when they're agents of a well-planned heist, as they possess an unlimited toolbox - their own Aspect - to play with. Their Aspect is a treasure trove, just waiting for the Rogue to plunder it and share its riches - if only the Rogue can figure out how.

Rogues are forces of revolution. They naturally carry a rebellious spirit, one which bristles at injustice, takes a stand against authority, and questions the status quo. Their ideas are unfocused, however; they know they must rebel, but usually don't start with a clear idea of against who or what. They know that their society is injust, but they don't know how to address that injustice. They know there are villains, and may even know these villains' identity, but they don't know how best to defy them. In a similar way, they're often lost as to how to utilize their Aspect beyond its most basic applications, and usually require external assistance in order to bring out its full potential.

Rogues' true potential lies in "stealing from their Aspect" - an additive act, rather than a subtractive one, as a Thief's stealing is. Rogues are capable of removing their own Aspect's sway over another entity, allowing it to exhibit the characteristics of the opposite Aspect; a Rogue of Void can create things out of nothing, a Rogue of Heart can tease out behaviors and actions. They can also "steal their Aspect for others," allowing them access to their own Aspect's suite of abilities as well. This allows the Rogue incomparable flexibility, their abilities - like their dispositions - rebellious and subversive.

But their rebellious spirit, coupled with their lack of understanding as to who their real enemies are, is dangerous when left unchecked. Rogues often suffer from a failure to start, giving up on trying to understand the deeper implications of their abilities, and of the society they can't seem to find contentment in - but they can also suffer from a worse fate: rebellion without a cause. Rogues' free spirits can lead to them bucking the status quo in ways that actively harm others, performing acts of taboo or poor taste just because that rebellious energy needs to be put to use somewhere. These can have disastrous knock-on consequences, as some things are taboo for good reason.

Thus, Rogues need to be guided - to make connections with others, and come to a greater understanding of the world at large. Once they know their target, and what needs to be done, the Rogue makes sure there are no obstacles along the way - no safe is uncrackable, no prison inescapable, and no problem unsolvable, so long as the Rogue is there to work their magic.

MAGE

"One who guides [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for themselves."

Mages are prophets, of the "always correct" variety - or so it seems. In actuality, Mages don't "predict" the future, they "choose" it - in a setting where the future is mutable, the Mage's ability is to speak into existence a future they desire, to tip the scales of causality and collapse possibilities into a single definite course. Their Aspect is the lens through which their "prophecy" occurs, a realm in which they command the fabric of reality itself.

As if to karmically balance this incredible power, Mages are afflicted by deep and terrible sadness. They start the game miserable, having been subjected to the greatest injustices their Aspect can offer, tormented by guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Their worldview has been shadowed with a lens of suffering and anguish, and so, too, is their view of the future. Mages usually begin the game having already set several prophecies into motion, and these early prophecies are usually obstacles that the party must overcome.

Mages "guide their Aspect" - this refers to the way their prophecies, that is, their chosen futures, always come true. Their visions may be limited to the sway of their Aspect, but it remains a powerful ability nonetheless. "Guiding their Aspect for themselves," then, outlines the Class's Active nature - the futures the Mage picks must be ones the Mage believes will come to pass.

Unfortunately, Mages have a tendency to pick ugly futures. This isn't out of malice or anger; this is because Mages start the game sad, and without intervention, grow sadder. They're prone to spirals of negativity, self-loathing, and depression, and as their outlook dims, so, too, do their forecasts. Mages suffer, but even suffering can grow familiar - can even appear comfortable or desirable, if the Mage suffers long enough. It's easy for them to grow so accustomed to misery that misery is the only outcome they can see - spelling doom for the rest of the party, one prediction at a time.

But a Mage whose party shows them kindness and forgiveness, compassion and empathy, can pull them out of their misery. How beautiful, then, the future appears! A Mage who believes in a brighter future is a force to be reckoned with. When a Mage can bring themselves to say, "and everyone lived happily ever after," you had better believe they did.

SEER

"One who who is guided by [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for others."

Seers, meanwhile, are the true future-sighted, able to see the myriad paths the future could take. Like Mages, their Aspect serves as the lens by which their vision is colored; the Seer can sense, with fine accuracy, which paths are closest to the sway of their aspect, and which paths will take them further away. As if gifted with a guide to the game, their intuition is tied directly to the mechanics of SBURB, and they serve as the party's guides, a role indispensable in a game with so many moving parts.

Seers will struggle with blindness, first by hubris and ego, and then by self-harm. Seers begin the game quite full of themselves, proud of their prowess in their Aspect - usually arrogantly so. When this pride is inevitably shattered, Seers have a tendency to deal with their feelings of shame and guilt with willful, self-induced blindness - as if flipping a switch, they become ashamed of the pride they once placed in their Aspect, and seek to place as much distance between it and themselves as possible. There's comfort in ignorance, even if it renders the Seer useless.

Seers are "guided by their Aspect" - able to sense its presence, they gravitate toward it, and towards futures with it in abundance. And, in the same way, they "guide their Aspect for others," lighting the way for others down the path of greatest reward. Seers truly love their Aspect, no matter how much they may misplace their faith in it, and seeking it out is a great joy for them.

This is why a Seer at their worst is so tragic. By inducing intentional blindness within themselves, they are functionally deadening the strongest part of their soul. No matter the temporary relief this brings to the sharp, jagged pain of shame, it invariably deepens the Seer's suffering, as they deny themselves not only their own joy, but their ability to help others - another act which inherently delights them.

Thus, a Seer needs to be made to deal with their shattered ego head-on, to accept their own shortcomings, to become at ease with the idea that they don't have all the answers. Once their vision becomes clear, and their view becomes honest, the party nevermore has to fear becoming lost or straying from the path - the Seer will see to that.

WITCH

"One who changes [Aspect] or changes [Aspect] in others."

Witches are the winds of change, tweaking reality all around them until it suits their desires. A Witch is presence that commands both fear and respect, and their Aspect bows down before them, reduced to a mere minion in the Witch's presence, ready to attend to all their needs. In a way, the Witch's powers are straightforward - they can manipulate their Aspect as they desire, changing its qualities as they see fit. "How they see fit," then, is where the issue lies.

Witches are usually of "outsider" status, never truly being part of the society from which the rest of the party descends. Free from the same rules and common sense that govern the others on their team, Witches instead operate on a value system heavily reliant on their own emotions. What a Witch deems to be correct, to be true, or to be righteous, are often based not in any objective measure, but in subjective, emotional bias - and they're emotional creatures, indeed. Prone to fits of great anger, Witches can be benevolent one second and malicious the next, and their abilities let them imprint, to a greater degree than any other Class, their desires onto the world that comes after them.

Witches "change their Aspect," as in, the crux of their abilities lies in manipulating the qualities of their Aspect in their surroundings - extending, shortening, magnifying, shrinking, growing, removing… so on and so forth. It's a fearsome power. They also "change their Aspect for themselves" - their Aspect is hapless but to obey their desires; Witches change the world to suit themselves, and their feelings of how things "should" be often become how things "are" in short order.

Thus, a Witch who has been swayed toward evil entities and nefarious ends is a truly dangerous opponent - and it is unfortunately easy for this to happen. Witches' social isolation means they tend to trust their emotions, and a force that flatters these emotions can easily win a Witch's trust. By the same token, those that fail to flatter the Witch are often considered enemies, even if they're benevolent forces. A Witch's morality can thus become warped and topsy-turvy, which has grave consequences for the world that the Witch then shapes.

Therefore, a Witch's struggle lies in learning to see beyond their own emotions, to take in the opinions and assistance of others even when it seems superficially unpleasant, to move beyond the childlike rejection of that which is uncomfortable. Once able to see a more nuanced form of right and wrong, once able to tell evil from good, Witches can build even utopia.

SYLPH

"One who allows [Aspect] to change others or changes [Aspect] for others."

Sylphs are nurturers and healers; they bring to mind fey folk whose very footsteps cause plants to grow. Wherever they go, whatever they touch, all becomes suffused with the Sylph's Aspect, which flourishes under their careful cultivation. Sylphs adore their Aspect, and their Aspect adores them; Sylphs generally feel at peace with themselves, surrounding themselves with what they like.

A Sylph's main challenge - or rather, the main challenge that Sylphs wind up posing the rest of the party - is that Sylphs are enablers. They're attracted to those with strong wills and extreme dispositions, amused by the havoc they wreak and pleased by their attention. Sylphs love to pick out favorites and lavish them with care and attention, excusing any wrongdoing on their behalf and shielding them from consequences. At the same time, those who don't strike the Sylph's capricious fancy find themselves discarded in the Sylph's mind, shut out from the boons the Sylph can provide.

A Sylph is "one who allows their Aspect to change others" - this almost always manifests as healing, as it's an additive ability (that is to say, the Sylph can grant more of their Aspect to someone). "Changing their Aspect for others," on the other hand, explains this enabling nature of theirs - the Sylph will intervene to make the world into a playground for their favored individuals, even to the point of turning other, less "interesting" teammates into playthings for the Sylph's beloved.

Thus, while the Sylph themself isn't particularly prone to wild mood swings and acts of malice, their influence can still cause disaster by allowing unscrupulous individuals to flourish - even encouraging their worst tendencies. A Sylph's touch is subtle, but that subtlety only lends it an insidious quality, as the Sylph quietly works against the good of the many for the cruel, selfish pleasures of the few. At their very worst, the Sylph can deem themselves their only favorite, and render everyone else a minor character in their one-man show.

Thus, Sylphs must be challenged. They must be made to reckon with the fact that favorable treatment is not necessarily kindness, and that bias can easily become harm. When a Sylph is able to grasp the difference between bias and doing good, and tune their approach toward that greater good, uncolored by bias and personal preference, then there is no place safer, kinder, and more conducive to growth than the Sylph's embrace.

PRINCE

"One who destroys [Aspect] or destroys using [Aspect]."

Princes are the most anxious, psychologically anguished members of a party. They suffer from a toxic overabundance of their Aspect - its traits are taken to an extreme, and not only the Prince, but those around them, are made to suffer for it. Princes are naturally set on a path of self-destruction, the culmination of their uncontrolled accumulation of their Aspect, and their meltdowns are spectacular, taking their Aspect - and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room - with them.

A Prince's challenge, therefore, is as simple to understand as it is difficult to overcome. The Prince needs to learn how to calm down, relax, and find inner peace. Princes are terribly prone to circular thinking and downward spirals. Their natural inclination is to feel anxious and responsible, like they carry the weight of the world, and this causes them to act out in extreme and aggressive ways. Eventually, others pull away, put off by the Prince's intensity. This only deepens the Prince's malaise, and Princes are - pushed by this hovering sense of urgency and catastrophe - willing to employ drastic, desperate measures to enforce compliance with their wills. They wake on their moons early, reflective of their driven natures. They're determined to a frightful degree, and no sacrifice is too great, no work too dirty, if it means achieving what they see as the greater good.

Princes "destroy their Aspect" in this way - by presenting their Aspect at its worst, they make others take distance, ruining it for everyone else. Their hard wills, intense emotions, and unshakeable drive to do what (they feel) needs to be done - at any cost - is their source of power. Thus, Princes "destroy using their Aspect" - their toxic overabundance of Aspect lets them channel it into a pure, annihilatory force; what they lack in the delicate utility of the other classes, they make up for in raw, ruinous power. Princes can easily deal the greatest damage in a combat scenario, their ability to destroy overriding nearly everything that would stand against it.

Thus is the problem with Princes. They're ticking time-bombs of anxiety and frustration; when they finally go off, they carve a path of destruction, before ultimately self-destructing, leaving no trace of their Aspect behind. Not only that, but it's very difficult to defuse the bomb early; Princes have finicky, aggressive, and complicated personalities, and tend to react poorly to straightforward attempts to calm them down and reason with them. They often appear to be their own worst enemies, marching inexorably toward their own destruction.

But Princes not only can be saved, but must be saved. They must be saved because kindness and compassion must exist for their own sake, and a Prince rescued from their own worst tendencies is living proof of the truth of that sentiment. A Prince, given the peace they need to reorient their priorities, will not rest until they see a brighter future realized. They will be the first to rise, and the last man standing, banishing - as if by royal decree - all obstacles, all enemies, all misfortune, and all ills.

BARD

"One who invites destruction through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be destroyed."

Bards are the wild cards of a party, responsible for both improbable victories and catastrophic defeats - sometimes both in a single session. The methods by which a Bard works are a mystery to even the Bard themselves, which make it easy for the party to dismiss their powers - and, by extension, the Bard themselves. After all, who would expect there to be consequences for something so ridiculous as a Bard?

Bards are usually targets of abject ridicule by their teams. They can't help it - they're religious types, or at least types that hold great, lofty, ridiculous beliefs near and dear to their hearts. A Bard's primary struggle invariably winds up being a crisis of faith. Bards begin the game with a positive, "correct" faith in their Aspect; however, something will inevitably occur that shakes the Bard's faith in this viewpoint to its core. In this state, Bards are incredibly fragile, and it's very easy for them to succumb to whispers of cruelty and destruction, for their beliefs to warp, and for the Bard to come to serve the worst aspects of the society they represent.

A Bard "invites destruction through their Aspect" - their powers are subtle, but have catastrophic effects. Bards are instinctively drawn towards causing the first flap of a butterfly's wing, which cascades into a grand, impossible karmic backlash. They "allow their Aspect to be destroyed" by being the conduits for the forces of their faith - whatever faith they hold - to wreak unimaginable consequences across the game.

Thus, a Bard must not be allowed to fall into darkness. The cost is too great. They must be treated with kindness, patience, and sincerity, and given a chance to re-establish their faith in a better, brighter future. If this can be done, then at the party's direst moment - in their darkest hour - they will find that kindness paid back a thousandfold, as an innocuous act by the Bard that no one remembers balloons into a miracle.

#homestuck #homestuck analysis #classpect #classpecting #classpects #homestuck classpect #this essay is 10k words long #you may be wondering why i didn't split it up into smaller essays and the answer is pretty simple #so many of these ideas are interconnected and interrelated that it's not actually useful to hear about JUST Hope or JUST Maids or JUST Heir #like even aside from the equal-and-opposite splits #(which is how some of the less thoroughly explored classes and aspects need to be understood)#there's things like how pages actually start in deficit of their aspect personality-wise #jake has few convictions and is wishy-washy - tavros lacks freedom and independence - horuss lacks simplicity and emptiness #this isn't something you would “get” if you didnt know about the way aspect is tied to personality #it's fascinating because if you compare characters that share the same class similar things keep jumping out #but yeah again i have textual evidence to support every claim so please feel free to ask #i just couldn't justify doubling or even tripling the length of the essay to include things like #'ever notice how karkat - the BONDS and FRIENDSHIP knight - has a big Leader Who Dont Need No Friendship persona #and how dave - the Details and Minutiae knight - has a disaffected coolkid who doesn't give a shit about anything persona #and how latula - the Justice and Cunning knight - has a loud dumb obnoxious gamegrl nice-to-everyone persona #which she even admits is a persona she uses to hide how smart she is out of the apparent anxiety that people won't like her otherwise #i know people will object to the heir thing because 'mituna was oppressed on beforus' but let me clarify here #heirs are set to inherit comfortable lifestyles and wealth *by the standards of their society*#john is literally the heir of crockercorp and equius is blueblood nobility #but if you really think about it those aren't necessarily happy outcomes either #john would've had to become a stuffy businessman like Dad (and an evil capitalist lol)#and equius is also Still Oppressed and would've had to become a murderer cop #but it's still a position of wealth and comfort *for their society* - mituna would've been culled (like sollux)#but that would've meant being pampered and provided for #which is a great deal by the standards of his society regardless of how good or bad (bad) it actually is in practice

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