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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.

[merakiui]

I’m gonna need an entire fic (mera length one shot) about skully and cemetery sex I AM NOT WELL

Maybe it’s a soft noncon/dubcon

- jelly (tossing and turning in my own grave, just hoping for a little skully to bring me warmth joy)

>:) putting that on my list of Skully concepts to inevitably write because oooooo cemetery sex is so scrumptious. Soft non-con but with the added horror of Skully, who already dug a plot for the both of you to lie in when he kills you and then himself in a romantic murder-suicide. Do you see the vision!!! Something something your boyfriend who you didn't realize was so messed up and genuinely creepy and obsessed, and now he's rambling on about the most insane things... T_T so soft with you, kissing your tears away, as he fucks you in that cold, grimy hole in the ground and promises you it won't hurt.

With this, you'll be together forever in death!! There's no need to struggle so much. He understands how appealing it is. After all, he really wants to tie your souls together right this very second, but before that he must love you in every conceivable way (physically first). Then you'll have an eternity to spend cherishing one another. So just be patient with him, dear. <3

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Three: Determination

Chapter WC: 13,883

Chapter Warnings: drama!!! some wound stuff, obligatory emotional turmoil tag even though we all knew that was coming

A/N: I am back! I was able to build up my draft chapter backlog again, starting with this one. It's a lot, but we can all rest easy knowing this will be the last one like this for a while.

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???, 21 BBY

The moment the two of you step into the hallway, it becomes clear that this isn't a minor glitch or an unexpected turn of events.

The alarms are still blaring, and the ship's computer is still repeating the same message over and over again, and the emergency lighting has turned the hallways into a sea of red and black, making it difficult to see where you're going. Rex and you hurry towards the bridge, following the trail of panicked troopers and harried officers as they rush around, trying to get the situation under control.

Halfway there, a group of troopers rush past you, and one breaks away, waving the others on as he jogs towards you and Rex. You spot the Republic cog on his faceplate and feel a flood of relief.

"General, Captain," Jesse salutes, sounding a bit breathless. His helmet is slightly askew, and his armor is covered in dust, his boots scuffed and dirty. You watch as he glances down and freezes, and it’s only then that you realize Rex is still holding your hand.

"Jesse," Rex greets, not letting go, and you do your best to keep a straight face as Jesse clears his throat. "What's going on?"

"There’s been an explosion in the engine bay," he answers quickly. Rex's grip on your hand tightens, and Jesse gestures down the corridor, his voice rising over the alarms blaring. "One of the hyperdrives blew out and triggered the failsafe on the others.”

"How did this happen?" you ask sharply. You have no idea what the technicalities are behind hyperdrives and how they work, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand the implications of Jesse's words. A single failure means that the ship is now stranded in the middle of nowhere. A series of failures means something else entirely. "Are we—"

"It's going to take some time to figure out the cause, General," Jesse interrupts, his voice tight. He glances around nervously and drops his voice to a low whisper, his words almost lost beneath the roar of the alarms and the chaos surrounding you. "But I think someone set off an explosive charge on purpose."

“Sabotage?” Rex repeats incredulously. He looks at Jesse in shock and lets go of your hand, stepping closer, his voice rising above the noise. "Are you sure?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jesse replies grimly. "We're lucky the blast didn't kill anyone."

"We need to get to the bridge," you say quickly, and Jesse nods, motioning for you to follow him.

You and Rex fall into step beside him, the three of you weaving through the chaos, dodging around the crew and the troopers who are rushing in the opposite direction. You reach the doors to the bridge and wait impatiently as they open, the three of you stepping through, and the alarms cut off abruptly. The room is eerily quiet after the loud commotion of the corridor, and it takes a moment for your ears to adjust.

The bridge is a hive of activity, with everyone doing their best to deal with the emergency, but as soon as you enter, all eyes are on the three of you, the expressions ranging from fear and worry to anger and confusion. Anakin and Ahsoka are standing around a holotable with Admiral Yularen and a handful of technicians, their voices raised in anger, and their attention shifts to you as you approach.

“It’s about time you showed up," Anakin snaps, his jaw clenched, and you frown at his tone. His eyes move between you and Rex, his lips curling into a sneer. "We're in the middle of a crisis here. What took you so long?"

The immediate urge to defend yourself rises up inside you, and your hands clench at your sides, a surge of indignation rushing through you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rex tense and shift on his feet.

He glances at you, and the two of you share a look, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, a reminder to stay calm. You take a deep breath and force your expression into a mask of calm.

"What's the situation?" you ask, ignoring Anakin's question, and Rex moves closer, standing beside you. His presence is reassuring, and you can't help but think of what happened just minutes ago. What might've happened if the two of you hadn't been interrupted.

A flush creeps up your neck, and you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. There'll be plenty of time to think about that later.

"We're in trouble,” Anakin growls.

"I'd gathered that," you reply dryly. Ahsoka and Jesse glance at each other, the former rolling her eyes, the latter shaking his head. Rex shoots you a warning look, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes as well, turning back to Anakin. "Do we have a damage report yet?"

"Most of the main systems are offline," Yularen replies, his voice calm and collected, a stark contrast to the anger and frustration emanating from the two of you. "And we've lost contact with the rest of the fleet."

"What does that mean exactly?" you ask. Yularen takes a deep breath and glances at Anakin, who waves his hand impatiently, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He turns back to you and gives you a grim look.

"We're trapped in the middle of nowhere," he answers flatly. "At the current speed, it'll take us over two months to reach Kamino, and that is if we make it through the Rishi Maze.”

"Is the hyperdrive salvageable?" Rex asks, his eyes moving between the admiral and the techs, who are all shaking their heads. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowing. "So what's the plan?"

"We're going to have to repair the ship and wait for help," Ahsoka says, her hands on her hips, and you can hear the frustration in her voice. You look at her, and she meets your gaze, her expression hardening. "I'm working with the maintenance crews to fix the engines. It shouldn't take more than a few hours."

"We need to figure out why this happened," you add, turning to Jesse, and he nods, his expression solemn. "Did you find the source of the explosion yet?"

"Not yet, sir," he replies.

"I'll help with the investigation," you offer. Jesse and Rex exchange a look, and you can sense their unease. Jesse frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly, and his gaze moves between the two of you. "What?"

"With all due respect, General," Jesse says carefully. He looks at Anakin, and when the other man doesn't speak, he continues. "This may have been an attempt to assassinate a high-ranking officer. If it was, the investigation will need to be handled with discretion. Someone on board this ship might be the culprit."

"And by handling the investigation discreetly, you mean not including the person being targeted in the investigation," you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, and Jesse winces. Rex sighs and steps forward, his hand reaching out to grasp your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. You shrug him off and glare at Jesse. "That's not happening."

"If it was an attempt to kill you, General, it's possible that the attacker will try again," he explains, his tone apologetic. He hesitates, and when you don't respond, he squares his shoulders. “It would be safer if you were to stay on the bridge."

"He's right," Ahsoka adds. She meets your gaze, her eyes full of concern, and her voice is gentle. "You'll be safer up here."

"I can handle myself," you snap, and Ahsoka shakes her head.

"We know that," she replies. She motions to the holotable, and her mouth curves into a small smile. "But let us handle this. Okay? We'll figure out what happened. I promise."

"Fine," you mutter, and Rex gives you a sympathetic look, his hand returning to your shoulder. He squeezes it once more and turns to Jesse, his expression shifting from sympathetic to stern.

"Let me know if you need anything," Rex tells him.

"Will do, sir," Jesse nods. He looks at Ahsoka and tilts his head towards the door, and she falls into step beside him, the two of them heading towards the exit, their voices low and urgent. You watch as they leave, and a pang of regret shoots through you.

"This is bad," Anakin mutters. You glance at him, and his eyes meet yours, the irritation and anger gone, replaced by weariness and worry. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's okay," you sigh, and he snorts, giving you a wry smile. You shrug and look away, a grimace twisting your face. "Well, it's not. But I get it."

"Thanks," Anakin mutters. He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, his gaze moving between you and Rex. "Can you two make sure everything is under control? I need to go speak with the Chancellor."

"Of course," Rex answers. Anakin gives him a curt nod and turns away, marching towards the door with Yularen at his heels. 

You watch them go, the unease in the pit of your stomach growing. The thought of having to stay on the bridge while everyone else does their best to fix the situation makes you want to scream. The desire to run off and search for the culprit is overwhelming, but you know better than to do that. 

And even if you didn't, Rex wouldn't let you.

"You're not happy about this," Rex murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"No, I'm not," you admit. You turn to him, and he raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile. You narrow your eyes and poke his chest. "This is not funny."

"I didn't say anything," Rex chuckles. You glare at him and cross your arms over your chest, and he gives you a sympathetic look. He lifts his hands and rubs them over his face, letting out a tired sigh. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For earlier," he says quietly, and a rush of heat floods your body. "I shouldn't have said what I said."

"Rex..."

"It was inappropriate," he says, cutting you off, and the guilt in his voice makes your heart ache. His head drops and he rubs the back of his neck, a small frown tugging at his lips. "I...I don't know what I was thinking."

"Hey," you say, and his eyes snap up to yours. "It's okay. It's...we're both stressed and worried. We're dealing with a lot right now."

"That's no excuse," he mutters. His brow furrows and his gaze drops, and the shame and guilt that emanate from him are so strong that it takes everything in you not to reach out and pull him into your arms. But you can't do that. Not here. Not now. And not until the two of you have talked about what happened.

"Look, we'll talk about it later," you tell him gently. He glances at you and nods. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he sighs, and you can feel his mood shift, the tension and stress melting away, replaced by a quiet resignation. His shoulders slump, and a resigned smile spreads across his face. "You're right."

"I usually am," you joke. Rex rolls his eyes, and you give him a quick grin before looking around the bridge. "Alright, we should—"

"General," a technician interrupts. He gestures towards the holotable, and you walk over, Rex following close behind. The image of a star chart is projected above the table, and the technician taps on the display, zooming in on the image. “We’re receiving a distress signal from a nearby planet. It's coming from the surface."

"That's odd," Rex mutters, his brow furrowing. He leans closer and studies the image, his head tilting to the side. "There aren't any habitable planets in this system."

"Maybe it's automated," you suggest.

"Possibly," the technician agrees. 

He taps a few more buttons, and the image changes, showing the planet from above. The landscape is covered in a dense, gray fog, obscuring most of the details. You can just make out the outline of a single structure, surrounded by a ring of large, craggy rocks. The technician points to a small, blinking dot on the display. 

"The signal is coming from a small outpost on the planet. The inhabitants appear to be human colonists, but it's unclear who they are."

"It could be Separatists," Rex murmurs. He looks at you, and you can see the concern in his eyes. "They could've staged this attack and then fled to the planet. They could be waiting for us."

"Maybe," you reply. Your eyes return to the display, and you frown, a familiar feeling tugging at the edge of your senses. There's something about the planet that's nagging at you, and you can't quite put your finger on it. "There's only one way to find out."

"Are you suggesting we send a squad down there?" Rex asks, shaking his head. "We can't risk a confrontation. We don't have the manpower or the resources to handle another fight."

You look back at the image and nod slowly. The more you think about it, the more certain you are that the feeling is the Force telling you that there's something important on the planet. You take a deep breath and meet his gaze.

“No, I’m suggesting that I go down there," you tell him, and Rex's expression turns incredulous, his eyes widening.

"You're kidding," he says, a note of disbelief in his voice. He straightens his back and shakes his head. "No. No way. You're not going down there alone."

"Yes, I am," you argue, and Rex glares at you, his hands moving to his hips. At your side, the technician shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking between the two of you. "There's a chance that whoever's down there might need our help. If they do, I have a duty to assist them."

"Your duty is to stay here," Rex counters. "On the ship. Safe and sound. Away from any potential danger."

"Don't be dramatic," you scoff. "I'll take a ship, go down there, check it out, and then come right back. Simple."

"Simple," he repeats. He lets out a frustrated sigh and looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Nothing is ever simple with you. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware," you reply dryly. Rex huffs and rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor. His expression is strained, and he's doing his best not to look at you. He knows that if he does, you'll be able to convince him, and he doesn't want that.

You wait, watching as he tries to come up with an argument, but it's obvious that he's struggling. He knows that the odds are against him, and the longer he stays silent, the more difficult it is for him to find a valid reason. Neither of you are willing to concede.

"Please," you finally say, and his eyes flick up to yours, his brow furrowing. You meet his gaze and offer him a small smile. "I have a feeling that I should go down there."

"A feeling," he repeats. He lets out a deep, weary sigh, and his shoulders slump. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

"No," you protest, but Rex shakes his head.

"Either I go with you or you don't go," he says firmly. He folds his arms across his chest, his expression hardening. "Pick."

"You're not serious," you retort, but Rex doesn't budge, and a heavy silence fills the air. The technician shifts awkwardly and clears his throat, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"I can arrange for a shuttle," he offers, and Rex gives him a curt nod.

"Thank you," he says. The technician hurries away, leaving the two of you alone. Rex looks at you, and his expression softens, his lips twitching upwards. "Don't argue."

"I'm not arguing," you retort, and he snorts, shaking his head.

"You always argue," he points out. He glances around the bridge, and his eyes settle on a group of troopers gathered near the far wall. "I'm going to see if anyone's willing to volunteer for the mission."

"We're not telling them about the distress signal," you tell him quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want anyone else to go down there," you explain, and his eyebrows rise.

"You want to keep this a secret?" he asks, his tone disbelieving.

"I'm not trying to keep it a secret," you reply, and his eyebrows rise higher. You let out an exasperated sigh and shake your head. "I'm trying to protect them. If the Separatists are down there, they're going to be heavily armed and dangerous. I'm not sending anyone else down there."

"And if they are, and it's a trap?" Rex counters.

"Then, I'll have you," you retort. You tilt your head to the side and smile. "You'll keep me safe, right?"

"Always," he says quietly, his expression growing serious. The two of you hold each other's gaze, and you can sense the conflict and worry radiating off him. After a moment, his eyes move to the side, and he rubs the back of his neck, his expression shifting into a frown. "We should get ready."

"Agreed."

The two of you turn and head for the exit, falling into step beside each other. As you step into the corridor, the alarms blare once again, and you wince, the sudden loud noise catching you off guard. The red lighting flashes and casts a crimson glow over the hall, and the computerized voice calls out over the alarms.

"Attention. Attention. This is an emergency..."

Rex shakes his head and grumbles under his breath. You give him a sympathetic look and reach out, squeezing his arm.

"Come on," you murmur. He nods and follows after you as you make your way through the ship toward the hangar where the shuttle is waiting. It's not a long trip, and you don't say anything along the way, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. The unease that has been building inside you grows with every passing second, and by the time you reach the hangar, you're certain that this is a bad idea.

"Rex," you start, but he cuts you off, grabbing your arm, pulling you to the side. A group of troopers rush past, their armor reflecting the red glow from the lights, and the two of you stand there, watching them run by. When they're gone, he lets go and sighs.

"Whatever happens down there, we stick together," he tells you. You nod, and his hand reaches out, gripping your shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Got it?"

"Got it," you reply, and he smiles and lets go, taking a step back. He turns and walks away, heading for the shuttle, and you follow after him, doing your best to keep the doubt from showing on your face.

The Twilight is already prepped and ready to go, the ramp lowered, the engines sputtering. The idea of taking Anakin's prized freighter without him knowing isn't exactly appealing, but it's not like the two of you have a choice. And besides, it's not like you'll be gone for long. You'll just take a quick look, check out the situation, and then get the hell out. Simple.

"Sir!" A voice calls out as you and Rex scale the ramp. Jesse jogs over, his helmet tucked under his arm. "What's going on? Why are you leaving?"

Rex looks over at you and tilts his head towards the entrance of the hangar, gesturing for you to go ahead. You nod and step inside, moving towards the cockpit, leaving the two of them alone. As soon as you're out of earshot, you slow down, stopping just outside the door, listening to their conversation.

"We're going on a mission," Rex answers. You hear the clink of his boots against the durasteel decking and a small thump, probably him setting down his helmet.

"What mission?" Jesse asks. You lean against the wall, watching as he frowns and looks at Rex, his expression skeptical. "General Skywalker said we should stay here and fix the ship."

"Something's come up," Rex replies, and Jesse's frown deepens. He glances towards the cockpit, and you move further away, pretending to inspect the wiring. You watch as his eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Does it have anything to do with why you were late to the bridge earlier?" he asks. Rex hesitates, and Jesse's gaze moves back to him, his expression turning suspicious. "Sir, did something happen between you and the General?"

"It's none of your business, Jesse," Rex tells him sharply. You wince, and Rex glances towards the cockpit, his eyes locking onto yours, his cheeks flushing slightly. He gives you a tight smile and looks away, clearing his throat. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. There's...there's a lot going on."

"Is she in trouble?" Jesse presses, and Rex sighs, shaking his head.

"Not yet," he answers. "But there's a chance she might be, so we're going to check it out."

"We?"

"Yeah," Rex replies. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his head, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I'm going with her."

"Of course you are," Jesse snorts, and Rex looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sir, with all due respect, this is not the time for the two of you to be sneaking off together," Jesse says, his voice rising slightly, his tone growing agitated. Rex winces, and his eyes move to you again, and you can feel the guilt radiating off him.

"We're not sneaking off together," he tells Jesse, his tone firm. "And even if we were, that's not any of your business. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jesse replies. He pauses, and you watch as his eyes move back and forth, his mind working furiously. "Well, if you're going, I'm going too."

"That's not—"

"I know, I know," Jesse interrupts, holding up his hands, and he gives Rex a small grin. "The General doesn't want anyone else involved. But if she's in danger, it's my duty to protect her. If you're going, I'm going."

"It's dangerous," Rex warns.

"We're soldiers. That's our job.," Jesse replies. He shrugs and gestures towards the shuttle. "And besides, I can't leave you two alone. You might do something stupid."

"Like what?" Rex scoffs, and Jesse smirks.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, his tone casual, but there's a hint of a teasing edge to his voice. "Do I really need to spell it out?"

Rex scowls and looks away, his cheeks reddening, and Jesse lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, sir," he assures him. "Your secret is safe with me."

"There's no secret," Rex grumbles. Jesse rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look.

"Whatever you say, sir."

The two of them start up the ramp into the shuttle, forcing you to dart into the pilot's seat. You pretend to fiddle with the controls, and a few seconds later, they enter the cockpit, both men looking at you expectantly.

"All set?" Rex asks, and you nod.

"I think so," you reply. You glance between the two of them, a frown forming on your face. "Jesse, why are you here?"

"He's coming with us," Rex says, and you can feel your frown deepen.

"I said that no one else was coming with us," you argue. Jesse shrugs and sets his helmet on the console.

"With all due respect, General, I'm coming anyway," he tells you. His tone is polite, but the stubborn set of his jaw and the determined look in his eye make it clear that he won't be easily swayed. "You might need backup."

"We'll be fine," you snap, and Rex sighs.

"Let him come," he says quietly. His eyes lock onto yours, and when you see the pleading look in them, you give him a frustrated huff.

"Fine," you mutter.

"Good," Jesse grins, and you roll your eyes.

"Whatever," you grumble, and you start flipping switches, the engines roaring to life, the controls lighting up. The three of you strap yourselves in, and you grab the controls, guiding the ship out of the hangar and into space. As soon as you're clear, you tap the coordinates for the planet, and the autopilot takes over, guiding the ship towards its destination. 

You turn to Jesse, who's busy checking his equipment, and point at the viewport. "This is a reconnaissance mission. We're going to take a look, check out the situation, and then get the hell out. Got it?"

"Got it," Jesse agrees. You glance at Rex, who gives you a small nod, and the three of you settle in, watching the stars streak past the viewport. After a few minutes, the planet comes into view, the gray mass looming in front of you. You frown and peer out at it, watching the fog clouds roil and swirl. Something about the planet gives you a strange, uneasy feeling, and you can't shake the feeling that this is a bad idea.

"General," Rex says softly. You look over at him, and he raises an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply, and his eyes narrow. He doesn't believe you, but you don't want to worry him. Or Jesse. Or yourself, for that matter. You push the feeling aside and gesture towards the planet. "Let's do this."

The shuttle descends, the planet growing larger as it approaches. You lean forward and watch as the fog begins to part, revealing the surface. As you get closer, the details become clearer, and the gray landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. There's nothing green or brown or blue, just the same endless gray expanse. The only landmark is a small cluster of structures near the edge of the horizon.

You frown and press the controls, the shuttle changing course, angling towards the buildings. You scan the area and let out a soft sigh. There's no sign of life anywhere.

As the shuttle continues its descent, the fog closes in, and the ground becomes obscured. The buildings loom ahead, and you adjust the course, flying over the structures, circling around. The shuttle's scanners sweep the area, searching for any signs of life, but there's nothing. No movement. No heat signatures. No signs of any living creature.

"It's deserted," Rex says quietly. He glances at you, and his expression hardens. "Are we sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah," you reply. You look out the viewport, watching as the structures pass by beneath the shuttle, and the uneasiness inside you grows. The Force is telling you that there's something important on the surface, and the feeling is growing stronger with every second. "We should land and check it out."

"That's not a good idea," Jesse protests. He leans forward and points towards the edge of the fog. "We can see the outpost from here. We can scan it and get a better look without putting ourselves at risk."

"There's something here," you tell him, and Rex gives you a sharp look. You shake your head, ignoring his concern, and focus on Jesse, doing your best to keep the doubt from showing on your face. "We need to find out what it is."

"General—"

"Jesse," Rex interrupts, and the other man sighs. He rubs the back of his neck, a frustrated look on his face, and he glances between the two of you.

"Alright, alright," he finally relents. He unbuckles his harness and stands, grabbing his helmet, pulling it over his head. "I'll do a quick sweep, and then we can head back. Sound good?"

"Perfect," you smile, and Jesse grunts, walking past the two of you, heading towards the ramp. You wait until he's out of earshot before looking over at Rex, and the moment your eyes meet, the concern radiating from him is overwhelming.

"Please, tell me that you're not feeling the same thing I'm feeling," he says quietly, and the desperation in his voice sends a pang through your heart. You hesitate, and he sighs, running a hand over his face. "Great."

"Rex..."

"What's the point of the Force if it can't warn you about these things?" he mutters, shaking his head. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and his hands grip the harness tightly.

"It is warning me," you tell him, and his eyes fly open, meeting yours, his expression full of disbelief. "I can feel it. The Force is trying to tell me something. I just...I don't know what it is. I just know that I need to go down there."

You unbuckle your harness and stand, and Rex follows suit, his movements stiff and robotic. He pulls on his helmet and checks his blasters while you pull the rebreather over your nose and mouth. You give him a reassuring smile and rest your hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm going to be fine," you assure him, and he shakes his head.

"No, you're not," he retorts. He looks at you, and you can sense his fear and frustration and anger. "Nothing ever goes right when we're together. Every time. Every damn time."

"Hey," you say sharply, and he huffs. "That's not true."

"It is," he mutters. His head drops, and his shoulders slump, the tension and anger leaving him. He lets out a tired sigh and turns towards the open hatch. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't," you promise, and he scoffs, his brow furrowing. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Jesse returns, and the two of you turn towards him. He gives the two of you a quick look and holds up a finger.

"Okay, I did a quick sweep, and it looks like the place is empty," he reports. He taps the side of his helmet and shrugs. "Nothing on the thermal either. If anyone's down there, they're well hidden."

"We're still going," you say, and Jesse lets out an exasperated groan.

"I knew you were going to say that," he complains. He looks at Rex, and you can tell that the captain is rolling his eyes behind his visor. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Rex replies dryly. 

He tilts his head towards the hatch, and Jesse lets out a resigned sigh, leading the way down the ramp and onto the ground. You follow after him, stepping onto the gray surface, your boots sinking into the wet dirt. Rex is right behind you, and the three of you begin making your way towards the outpost.

The fog is thick, and it's difficult to see more than a few feet in any direction. You pull the hood of your robe up, the fabric covering your head and the top half of your face. The ground is uneven and soft, and the air dank and cold. 

A few steps into the fog, the visibility drops to almost nothing, and you find yourself relying on the Force to guide you. It's disorienting, and after a while, you're not entirely sure where you're going. Jesse's at the front of the group, and Rex is at your side, his blasters at the ready. Every few steps, the three of you stop and listen, scanning the area for any signs of life.

There's nothing.

The only sound is the muffled crunch of the ground beneath your boots and the soft rustling of the fog. It's unsettling, and you find yourself moving closer to Rex, his presence calming your nerves.

You can see his helmet tilt toward you, and you can sense his unease. He doesn't want you out here. He wants to turn around and go back to the ship. And if it were up to him, that's exactly what he would do.

But it's not.

You're the one in charge.

So, the three of you continue walking, the outpost growing closer and closer, the structure looming ahead of you. The gray stone walls are covered in moss and vines, and the wooden gate is open, hanging from its hinges. The interior of the compound is obscured by the fog, and you pause, your senses on high alert.

There's no sound. No movement. No signs of life.

"Jesse," you murmur, and he glances back at you. "You and Rex search the perimeter. I'll check inside."

"I don't think—"

"Just do it," you order, cutting him off, and he huffs, shaking his head.

"You heard the General," Rex says, and Jesse gives him a curt nod. "Let's go."

The two of them turn away and move along the edge of the wall, disappearing into the fog. You watch as they fade into the grayness, and then you take a deep breath, drawing your lightsaber and activating it. The blade ignites with a hum, the yellow glow illuminating the fog, and you step towards the open gate.

As you pass through the entrance, a chill runs down your spine. There's a feeling in the air, a dark energy surrounding the area. It's familiar, but you can't quite place it. It's a feeling that you've experienced before, but not here. Not in this place.

You pause, listening, searching for any signs of life, and when the silence continues, you step forward, heading towards the center of the compound. There are a handful of structures, most of which are dilapidated and falling apart. A few of them are nothing more than piles of rubble, the walls crumbling, the roof caving in. 

You've only taken a few steps when something out of the corner of your eye shifts. A dark shape moving in the distance. Your eyes dart towards the source, and you watch as a shadowy figure emerges from the fog, its movements slow and deliberate.

"Jesse? Rex?" you call out, and the figure stops. You take a cautious step towards it, and it vanishes.

"General!"

You turn towards the sound of Rex's voice, and the figure appears again. It's standing behind you, and when you look back, it's gone.

"Rex!" you shout, and you hear him calling out for you, his voice getting closer. The figure appears again, further away. It's tall and humanoid, its limbs long and spindly. It's facing away from you, and when you try to follow, it vanishes once more.

You hear a faint noise coming from the direction the figure disappeared. A soft tapping sound. It's faint and distant, but it's there. You turn towards the source, and the figure appears again. You make out the shape of a cape, a hood, and your hand tightens on your lightsaber.

"Hey!" you call out, and the figure spins around, the fog swirling, obscuring its features. The tapping sound continues, and the figure takes a step towards you. "Who are you? What do you want?"

You take a cautious step forward, and the figure vanishes, the tapping fading away. You wait for a moment, listening, and then the tapping returns, the sound growing louder. It's coming from somewhere close by, and when you try to follow the noise, the figure reappears. You spin towards it, and as soon as you do, the noise stops.

"This is ridiculous," you growl, and you take a step towards the figure, but before you can reach it, it disappears. The tapping returns, the noise even louder, the sound echoing off the walls of the buildings. It's close.

You move quickly, sprinting after it, your heart pounding. You can hear Rex and Jesse calling out for you, but you ignore them. The fog swirls and twists, and you follow the sound, the tapping growing louder and louder. It's coming from inside one of the buildings. You skid to a stop and look up. The building is smaller than the others, and the doorway is barely big enough for you to squeeze through.

"Come on," you murmur, and you push the door open, slipping inside. The tapping stops, and the room is completely silent. You look around, searching for any sign of the figure, and when you don't see anything, you let out a frustrated huff. "I know you're here. You wanted help. Well, I'm here. So, let's talk."

The silence stretches on, and then the sound returns, the tapping louder and faster than before. It's coming from below. From beneath the floor. You look down and realize that the floor isn't made of stone or wood. It's metal. It's a hatch.

You kneel and press your ear to the surface, the tapping getting louder, the noise echoing off the metal. There's a muffled thumping mixed in with the tapping. It's a steady rhythm. Like a heartbeat.

You grab the handle and yank, the hatch sliding open, revealing a ladder leading down into a dark pit.

"Oh, for Force's sake," you mutter.

"General! Where are you?"

"Rex!" you call out, and the noise stops, the silence deafening. "I'm over here."

You look down the ladder, and a few seconds later, Rex and Jesse emerge from the fog. They jog towards you, their blasters drawn, and when they get close enough, they slow down.

"What are you doing?" Rex asks. He looks down at the hatch and back to you, holstering his blasters and placing his hands on his hips. "You weren't thinking of going down there alone, were you?"

"...Maybe," you admit, and Rex's helmet tilts skyward.

"Of course, you were," he grumbles. He glances at Jesse, and the other man shrugs.

"She's got a death wish, sir," Jesse tells him. Rex lets out a resigned sigh, and Jesse leans closer, giving you a disapproving look. "Don't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever done anything stupid?" you ask. Rex and Jesse both snort, and you frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't think I like your attitude."

"We don't like your attitude," Rex retorts. He crouches and peers down the hole, and when he looks up, the annoyance in his voice is clear. "Well, we're not doing this without a plan. Or at least without some kind of idea about what's down there."

"It's some kind of tapping," you reply, and he gestures for you to elaborate. You huff and shrug. "There's a rhythm to it. And I keep seeing a figure in the fog. It's humanoid."

"A figure?" Jesse repeats, and he and Rex exchange a look. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side, waiting for one of them to speak. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head earlier?"

You scowl, your hands curling into fists, and you're about to tell him exactly what you think of his comment when Rex steps between the two of you. He holds up his hands and shakes his head.

"That's not helping," he says firmly. Jesse grumbles under his breath, and Rex glances over his shoulder at you. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm going down there," you tell him. You step towards the ladder and start climbing, and when Rex starts to protest, you hold up a finger, silencing him. "You can either come with me or not. Either way, I'm doing this."

Rex hesitates, and when he looks at Jesse, the other man just shrugs. He lets out an exasperated sigh and nods.

"Fine," he mutters. He points at Jesse. "Stay up here. If we're not back in thirty minutes, call for backup."

"Copy that," Jesse replies, and Rex climbs onto the ladder, following after you.

You descend into the darkness, the sound of the tapping getting louder and louder. When you reach the bottom, you step off the ladder, and Rex lands beside you. His helmet scans the room, and he reaches out, his fingers closing around your wrist. He pulls you behind him, his body shielding yours.

"Be careful," he whispers.

"Always am," you murmur, and his helmet swivels to look at you. You can feel his skepticism and amusement radiating from him, and he shakes his head, turning back to the darkness.

"Sure, you are," he chuckles. "I've seen the scars."

"That was one time," you protest, and he snorts, taking a step forward.

"No, it wasn't," he retorts.

"I thought you liked how reckless I am," you tease, and his helmet tilts, a low, rumbling growl escaping from the speakers. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, and when he turns his head, you give him a sweet smile. "You said it. Not me."

"That's not what I said," he mutters.

"Yes, it is," you laugh, and his hand tightens on your wrist, pulling you close. You stumble forward, bumping into him, and he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you against him.

"Be. Careful," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, and the sudden change in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You look up at him and lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. "Promise me."

"I will," you whisper. The intensity of his stare is overwhelming, and you find yourself frozen, your breath catching in your throat. "I promise."

"Good," he murmurs, his voice softening. He releases his grip on your waist, his hand sliding up your back and resting between your shoulders, gently nudging you forward. "Come on."

The two of you walk side by side through the darkness, the sound of the tapping growing louder with every step. As the two of you move further into the tunnel, the darkness begins to give way, the walls illuminated by dim red lights. You glance at Rex, and he gives you a quick nod, gesturing for you to keep moving.

"It's an escape tunnel," he mutters. He moves closer to the wall and examines the lights, his helmet tilting towards the ground. "Probably goes all the way to the outpost."

"Why would they need an escape tunnel?"

"Maybe they were hiding from something," Rex replies. He stands and glances around the room. "Or someone."

The two of you continue walking, the tapping growing louder, the tunnel narrowing. You reach a junction, and the sound is coming from the left, the path sloping downward. Rex hesitates, and you nudge his arm, pushing him forward. He lets out a resigned sigh and follows after you.

As the two of you walk down the slope, the tapping becomes deafening, the sound bouncing off the walls. It's coming from a closed door up ahead. Rex draws his blaster, and you ignite your lightsaber, the yellow blade illuminating the area. The two of you reach the door and pause, listening. There's no movement, no sounds other than the tapping.

"You ready?" Rex asks, and you nod. He raises his blaster and places his hand on the door handle. "On three."

He counts down, and then the door swings open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. It's empty, and the only furniture is a table and chair. There's a tarp draped over the wall behind it, and the tapping is coming from beneath.

You glance at Rex, and he takes a cautious step inside. When nothing happens, he holsters his blaster and moves towards the tarp.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he waves a dismissive hand.

"Just stay there," he orders.

You frown, your eyes narrowing. "Don't tell me what to do."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, grabbing the tarp and pulling it off the wall, revealing a series of monitors and control panels. There's a microphone on the table, and the source of the tapping is revealed. It's a small, cylindrical device attached to the microphone, and when Rex picks it up, the tapping stops.

He sets the device on the table and looks at the monitors, his helmet tilting to the side. You move towards him, and he points to the screens, showing you the messages and audio files.

"Someone was trying to lure people here," he murmurs. He flips through a few more files and lets out a disgusted huff. "Whoever it was must have figured that a fake distress call would bring us running."

"So, this is a trap?"

"Looks like it," Rex replies. He looks down at the device and tilts his head to the side. "And, judging by the fact that there's no sign of whoever put this here, I'm guessing that they got away. Guess we scared them off."

"Yeah," you mutter, and he turns to face you, his helmet lifting, his visor scanning your face.

"I know that tone," he says softly. You raise an eyebrow, and he folds his arms over his chest. "What is it?"

"I just..." you begin, and you trail off, letting out a frustrated sigh. You shake your head and lean against the table, rubbing your forehead. "This whole thing feels...off."

"Off?"

"It doesn't make sense," you tell him. "Why would anyone set up a fake distress signal and then leave? It's not like they could've known that we would come. Or even if we would. For all they knew, no one would hear their signal. Why waste the time and energy putting this all together?"

"Maybe they panicked," Rex suggests. "Maybe they didn't think things through."

"Maybe," you reply. You push away from the table and pace around the room, frowning. "But something about this feels...familiar. Like I've seen it before."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," you mutter. You stop and look at him, shaking your head. "It's just a feeling. A hunch. And I can't explain it."

"Okay," Rex says slowly, his voice hesitant. He pauses, and then he walks over to the tarp and grabs it, throwing it back over the wall, covering the monitors. "We'll talk to General Skywalker. See what he thinks. Maybe he can make sense of all this."

"Yeah," you agree. You walk past him, and he follows, the two of you heading back towards the ladder. The tapping starts up again, the sound echoing off the walls. Rex's hand reaches out, resting on the small of your back, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your robe. You look over at him, and his helmet tips toward the source, his voice low and soothing.

"Ignore it," he murmurs, and the two of you start walking, the sound fading away. "It's just a recording."

"I know," you whisper. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, and as the two of you walk, his hand moves lower, his fingers brushing over your hip. The gesture is subtle, but it's enough to make your pulse race, a shiver running down your spine.

Your eyes flick to him, and Rex pulls away, clearing his throat.

"Sorry," he mutters. His voice is rough and strained, and he glances away, his hand running over the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to, uh...yeah."

You watch as he hurries towards the ladder, and you follow after him, biting back a grin. His flustered state is adorable, and the sight of him embarrassed and fidgety makes your heart melt. For a man who was inches away from kissing you only a few hours ago he's certainly acting shy.

"Don't worry about it," you call out, and Rex lets out a soft snort. He glances over his shoulder, his helmet tilting to the side, and you shrug. "I don't mind."

He looks at you for a long moment, and then he climbs onto the ladder and begins to ascend. You watch him go, a small smile on your face, before you shake your head.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself. There are more important things to focus on than Rex and his adorable antics. Like finding out who was behind the distress signal.

With a determined huff, your hand grabs for the first rung of the ladder, but something stops you. You pause and listen, your senses heightening. There's something wrong. The tapping has stopped.

And then you see it.

The shadow.

It appears at the edge of your vision, the dark shape moving along the wall. You spin around, and it vanishes, the shadows stretching, enveloping the space. The red lights flicker, and when they do, you can see it.

It's humanoid. Tall. Spindly. Dressed in black. A hood covers its face, and a cape billows out behind it. The same figure that's been following you. The same one that attacked you ten years ago, the same one that you saw on the footage the night Yaddle died.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," you growl.

A low, raspy laugh fills the air, and the figure turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness. You run after it, sprinting down the tunnel, watching as Dooku's retreating form vanishes into the blackness.

You reach the junction, this time taking the path to the right. You follow after him, the tunnel sloping upward until you reach another door. You draw your lightsaber and open it, the bright glow of the yellow blade illuminating the room.

Dooku is standing in the center of the space, his back to you, his hands clasped behind his back. He's wearing a long black cloak and a hood, and the light from your saber casts his shadow across the walls, the edges of his image elongated and distorted.

"You're pretty spry for an old man," you tell him, and his shoulders twitch, a low chuckle escaping his lips. He turns to face you, and when his hood falls, his features are illuminated.

"Still the same reckless girl," Dooku says, and he tilts his head to the side, his voice filled with amusement. "Always so eager to prove yourself."

"I don't have anything to prove to you," you retort, and his eyes narrow. His lips curl into a sneer, and his head lifts, his expression becoming haughty and condescending.

"Don't you?"

"No," you snap. You take a step towards him, and his smirk fades, his eyes narrowing. "But I'm curious. What are you doing here? Don't you have an entire army to run?"

"I could ask you the same question," Dooku replies. He looks at you and chuckles, shaking his head. "But I think we both know the answer. You came here because you felt something. A connection to me. To the Force."

"That's not true," you protest, but he ignores you.

"You wanted answers," he continues, his voice soft, his tone almost gentle. "Answers that no one else can provide. Answers that you desperately need."

"I don't want anything from you," you growl, pulling your shoto from your belt and igniting it. The twin blades flare to life, their glow reflecting off his skin. "Just stay still, and maybe this will hurt less."

Dooku takes a step towards you, and your stance shifts, your body moving into a defensive position. He chuckles and holds up his hands, stopping a few feet from you.

"Really, dear girl, you should learn some respect for your betters," he tells you, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm done playing games," you snap, and before he can react, you attack. 

You lunge towards him, swinging your lightsabers, and his blade ignites, blocking the blows. You press the attack, pushing him back, and he counters, the two of you trading strikes and parries. He's skilled, his movements graceful and elegant, and the longer the fight continues, the more he seems to be enjoying himself. It's as if your actions are fueling his pleasure.

"You've gotten better," Dooku tells you. "I'll give you that."

"Yeah, well, last time, you didn't fight fair," you retort, and he smirks.

"Neither did you," he counters. His lightsaber flicks, the blade moving in a blur, and you barely block the strike, the tip of his weapon grazing your shoulder. The fabric of your robe tears, and you hiss, the burning sensation making your blood boil.

"Bastard," you snarl, and the two of you lock blades, the light from the glowing swords reflecting off the walls, casting shadows across the room.

"Temper, temper," he tuts. He presses his weight into the hilt of his lightsaber, and the heat from the blades grows hotter, the tips of the hilts burning against your palms. "It's unbecoming."

"I'm not interested in a lesson in decorum from a murderer."

You shove him back and swing, forcing him to jump away, and you chase after him, unleashing a series of strikes and thrusts. The two of you dance around the room, the light from the sabers reflecting off the walls, and the battle quickly devolves into a duel, both of you matching the other's attacks, neither of you gaining an advantage.

As the minutes pass, your frustration grows, and the anger and hatred inside you builds. You lash out, and Dooku dodges, the tip of your blade cutting through his cloak, the fabric fluttering to the ground. It's a small victory, but it's enough to spur you on.

"That was expensive, you know," he drawls.

"Good," you snarl.

The two of you continue your dance, and as the fight progresses, his attacks become more vicious. He pushes you harder, his strikes growing quicker and more precise, and your defenses crumble, leaving you open. 

The tip of his blade slices through the sleeve of your robe, and the skin beneath burns, forcing you into dropping your shoto. You grit your teeth and parry, deflecting the next strike, and when the opportunity presents itself, you kick him in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunts.

"Stop talking and fight," you snap. You launch yourself at him, slamming into him and sending the two of you tumbling to the floor. You land on top of him, and you grab his collar, dragging him to his feet, slamming him into the wall. "Tell me why you're here."

"I have my reasons," he replies. His voice is calm and composed, his expression blank, unfeeling. You grip his collar tighter, and he lets out a soft chuckle. "You want to kill me, don't you? Go ahead. Try."

Your hand tightens, and you pull him away from the wall and throw him back, sending him flying into the opposite wall. He crumples to the ground, and you march towards him, your lightsaber raised.

"Stop. Talking," you growl. You level the blade at his throat, and when your eyes meet, his expression changes. A cold, cruel smile spreads across his face, and his gaze becomes sharp, calculating.

"I knew it," he murmurs, and your grip on the hilt of your lightsaber wavers, a wave of unease washing over you.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've changed," he tells you. His eyes narrow, and he leans closer, his breath tickling your cheek. "You are not the same Padawan I knew."

"I've learned a few things since then," you mutter.

"Oh, yes," Dooku chuckles. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes move over your face, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I can see that."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a shiver runs down your spine. He's staring at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His gaze is piercing, his expression calculating, and you can't help but wonder what he's looking for. Whatever it is, he seems pleased.

"Why did you kill her?" you demand. Better to keep him talking. The longer he's distracted, the more likely it is that the others will arrive and help you deal with him. "What did she ever do to you?"

"It's not about what she did," Dooku replies. His voice is soft, and his eyes flick to your lightsaber. "It's about what she could have done. The potential that she represented."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's no need to be coy," he tells you. His eyes return to your face, and his gaze is almost hungry, his lips curling into a smirk. "I know you've figured it out."

"She was in your way," you say. His expression changes, his smirk fading, and his gaze hardens. "She knew too much. She knew you were planning on betraying the Republic."

"Close," he murmurs. His head tips to the side, and his gaze sweeps over you, a look of admiration in his eyes. "But not quite. You've come so far, but there's still so much you don't understand."

"Then enlighten me," you snap, and his brow furrows, a confused frown forming on his face. "Tell me why. Why did you kill her?"

Dooku’s eyes narrow, and his gaze becomes distant, as if he's seeing something far beyond the room. He doesn't seem to be aware of the fact that he's about to die. As if he's reliving some memory, some experience that is only known to him. For a split-second, he looks almost vulnerable. And, in that instant, you feel something.

He's afraid.

And whatever he's afraid of, it has nothing to do with you.

"It's not just about her," Dooku says, his voice a low murmur. You frown and lean closer, your lightsaber still pointed at his throat, and when his eyes refocus, they lock onto yours. "Do you know why I left the Order, young one?"

"Because you're a power-hungry monster?" you suggest, and he shakes his head.

"I left because they refused to see the truth," he replies. The intensity in his gaze is unnerving, and you swallow, doing your best to keep the tremble from your hand. “I left because the Jedi are flawed."

You stare at him, unsure how to respond. Your anger and hatred are still there, but there's something else, too. He’s not saying anything you don’t already know. The Jedi are flawed. They are imperfect. And yet, somehow, you know that what he's saying isn't coming from a place of malice or spite. He's speaking the truth. Or, at least, what he believes to be the truth. And, for some reason, that scares you.

"You're lying," you tell him, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"The Council is weak. The Order is blind. They've lost sight of what it means to be a Jedi," he continues. He shifts, the tip of your blade brushing against his skin, but he doesn't react. "They've become nothing more than a band of soldiers, fighting for a Republic that's dying."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the Order is corrupt. That the Republic is broken.” Dooku leans forward, and you can't help but notice how close his throat is to your lightsaber. All it would take is a twitch, and his head would roll. You could end it. Right now. The thought is tempting, but something holds you back. You want answers. "The war is pointless. And, no matter what happens, we will lose. We are fighting a losing battle. The Republic is finished. 

"Your master knew this. Yaddle was one of the few who believed in the true purpose of the Jedi Order. One of the few who understood the truth."

"That's not—"

"She was a good person," he interrupts. The warmth in his expression takes you by surprise, and a pang of guilt hits you, making your chest ache. He looks at you, his brow furrowing. "Don't blame yourself. What happened was necessary."

"Necessary?"

"She was wise and strong, and she saw things that others could not," he explains. His tone is soft and reverent, his gaze distant, almost wistful. "And she cared for you very much."

Your heart skips a beat, and a lump forms in your throat, a rush of emotions flooding your system. You bite the inside of your cheek and clench your jaw, trying to ignore the pain and the fear and the sadness, but it's too much. The pressure in your chest is overwhelming, and you can feel the tears stinging your eyes.

"What does that have to do with anything?" you ask, your voice breaking. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and your vision blurs, tears filling your eyes.

"She would want you to survive," Dooku says, his voice gentle, his gaze locked onto yours. "No matter what."

The pressure in your chest grows, and a tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. You try to wipe it away, but it's too late. He sees it. And, somehow, his expression softens even further, a look of understanding in his eyes.

"You and I have more in common than you think," he murmurs. You blink, your eyes widening, and he gives you a knowing smile. "We both understand the truth. We both know what it means to sacrifice. We've both witnessed the corruption and hypocrisy of those we once trusted. And we've both experienced the pain of betrayal."

"The Council didn't betray me," you say, and his brow furrows, his head tipping to the side.

"Did they not?"

"No," you reply, the conviction in your voice wavering. "They didn't."

"I think we both know that's not true," he counters. "They abandoned you. They let you suffer and struggle alone, and when you needed their help, they turned their backs on you. Just as they did with Yaddle."

"The Council had their reasons," you insist. "They did what they thought was best."

"For themselves," Dooku retorts. His eyes narrow, and a look of disdain crosses his face, his jaw clenching. "Not for you."

"You're wrong," you tell him, but even as the words leave your lips, a part of you knows that he's right. The Council didn't believe you. They didn't believe in you. They let you flounder, and they never did a thing to help. Even Obi-Wan had abandoned you, and while he'd tried to apologize, it hadn't changed anything.

"You know it's true," he says, his voice barely a whisper. He stares at you, and you stare back, your mind racing. "You feel it. Deep down, you know I'm right."

"I'm a Jedi. I can't turn my back on them," you say. "Not when there are innocent people suffering."

"And yet, you're here, chasing after a ghost, searching for a reason to hate the ones who hurt you," Dooku replies. You open your mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, silencing you. "I am not judging you. I understand. You have been betrayed, and you are in pain. I can sense it. It radiates from you, filling the air."

"You have no idea what I'm going through," you mutter.

"I can assure you, dear girl, I do," he tells you, and his eyes move over your face, studying you, his gaze curious and contemplative. "You remind me of myself. We are alike, you and I. We both seek justice and answers. We both question the world around us, and we both understand the sacrifices that must be made in order to achieve peace."

"I'm not like you," you say. You shake your head, and a bitter laugh escapes your lips, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm nothing like you."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm not a murderer."

"You've killed before," Dooku counters. He stares at you, his expression unreadable. "And, if given the chance, you would do it again."

Your grip on your lightsaber falters, and the blade lowers, the tip scraping against the stone floor. Your eyes meet his, and the weight of his words settles over you, a feeling of unease and dread filling the pit of your stomach.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you tell him, but the lie is obvious. You can hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your heart races, and Dooku smiles, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his expression.

"You may not have the blood on your hands, but it's there," he murmurs. He stands and steps towards you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his touch gentle, almost comforting. "There are no more lies between us. We know the truth. We see what the Order has become, what the Republic has become. We see their flaws and their faults, and we know what must be done. The question is, are you willing to do what needs to be done?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head, but he squeezes your shoulder, his grip tightening.

"You can't hide from the truth," he says. His voice is soft, his tone soothing. "You can't ignore it. The Force brought you here, to me, because we are kindred spirits. We are alike. We understand each other."

"Stop saying that," you snap, and his fingers dig into your shoulder, his eyes boring into yours.

"You have been betrayed," he says, his voice cold and clinical, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. "You are alone. And you are angry. The Order has taken everything from you, and now, they are taking your life. They have failed you, and they will continue to fail you. They will not stop until you are dead."

"I'm not going to let you manipulate me," you tell him. You push his hand away and step back, your lightsaber raised, and he lets out a resigned sigh, his gaze never leaving yours. "You murdered Yaddle, and you tried to kill me. That's all there is to it. I'm going to kill you."

Dooku doesn't react. He just stares at you, his gaze intense and steady. A part of you expects him to try and reason with you, but he doesn't. He doesn't argue or try to change your mind. He just looks at you, his eyes moving over your face, studying you.

"Maybe," he allows. He straightens his back and squares his shoulders. "But not today."

With a flourish of his cape, he steps towards you, his lightsaber igniting with a hiss. The crimson blade hums as it slices through the air, and you react, your own blade coming up to block his attack.

The two of you dance around each other, trading strikes and parries. The battle is brutal and fierce, both of you giving it your all.

It's only after a few minutes that you realize that Dooku isn't even trying. He's playing with you, using his skill and experience to taunt and provoke you. And, while his attacks are strong, they are easily blocked or deflected.

He's not taking this seriously.

He's toying with you.

He wants to see what you're capable of.

As if he's testing you.

"You're holding back," you accuse. He slashes at your chest, and you step to the side, avoiding the blow. You lunge, your blade arcing towards his head, and he blocks, the humming blades locking together, the light from their tips illuminating his face. "I can feel it."

"Of course, I am," Dooku replies. He spins, and the two of you lock blades, his eyes locking onto yours. "I have no wish to hurt you."

"You're a fucking liar," you snarl, and he pushes you away, sending you stumbling backwards.

"On the contrary, I am the most honest man you will ever meet," he says, and the arrogance in his tone makes you bristle.

You swing at him, and he steps back, dodging the blow. His footwork is perfect, his movements fluid and graceful, and the longer the fight goes on, the more confident and relaxed he becomes.

It's like he's in a different world.

He's not fighting you.

He's playing a game.

"I should've known that this would end in tears," he sighs. He lunges, his lightsaber sweeping towards your head, and you duck, the tip of his blade slicing through the air above you. "You aren't ready."

"Shut up," you snap. You step forward and swing, but he's faster than you, his body twisting out of the way, his cape billowing behind him. The fabric brushes against your cheek, and he kicks, his boot connecting with your hip.

The force of the blow sends you stumbling, and you nearly fall, your balance shifting. You grit your teeth and brace yourself, your lightsaber moving into a defensive position.

"You're still angry," he tells you, and he shakes his head, his eyes narrowing. "I can sense it."

"Of course, I'm angry," you retort. You slash at him, and he blocks, his blade coming up to deflect your strike. "You tried to kill me. You murdered Yaddle."

"That's not what I meant," he replies, and before you can react, he lunges, his blade coming down. You scramble, barely managing to hold onto your saber and bring it up in time to block his next strike.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not angry at me," he says, and you freeze, his words sinking in. Your eyes widen as he tilts his head to the side, his gaze moving over your face. "You're angry at yourself."

"Shut up," you growl, but the anger in your voice is fading, a sense of dread filling the pit of your stomach.

"You're still angry that she died," he continues, and you can't bring yourself to speak, a lump forming in your throat. "You're angry that she left you. You're angry that she never came back."

"Stop," you whisper, but he ignores you, his gaze boring into yours.

"You're angry that the Order betrayed you. That they left you alone," he says, his tone sympathetic, almost apologetic. "You're angry that the Jedi refused to believe you. That they turned their backs on you. And now, they expect you to fight for them."

"They didn't abandon me," you insist, but even as the words leave your lips, the image of Obi-Wan's retreating form flashes in your mind, his last words echoing in your ears.

"Didn't they?"

"They just...didn't listen," you say. You blink, a tear escaping, rolling down your cheek. "They didn't...understand."

"Because you wouldn't tell them the truth," he replies.

His voice is soft, gentle. It's soothing, and for a split-second, it feels like he cares. It feels like he understands. And a part of you wants to believe him. A part of you wants to trust him. But another part of you knows that he's manipulating you, trying to trick you.

And it's working.

Dooku takes another step forward, his shadow stretching across the floor, the light from your blades flickering in the dark.

"You were afraid. Of the power you wielded. Of the truth. Of yourself."

He's closer now, and you can't bring yourself to move. To resist. To do anything but stand there, staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For what I did to her. For what I did to you."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You can't breathe. Your chest is tight, and your lungs are burning, and you can't bring yourself to move.

"You can't run from this," he says. His eyes meet yours, and he shakes his head, a sad smile forming on his lips. "No matter how hard you try. No matter where you go. But if you let me, I can help you."

"Help me?"

"You're not a Jedi. Not anymore," he tells you. He moves closer, and you take a step back, your body acting on instinct, trying to get away from him. But he follows, his steps measured and slow. "Not after what happened."

"You did this," you whisper, and he lets out a soft chuckle, his expression changing, a look of admiration and pride on his face. His eyes flicker to the scars stretching across your hands, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"No," he says. "I didn't. You did."

He's only a few feet away now, and the shadows stretch, wrapping around him, engulfing him. The air grows cold, and the light from the blades begins to fade, and the darkness grows, consuming everything.

"We can't control our power. Our emotions. They control us," he tells you. "You know that better than anyone."

You close your eyes, and for a split-second, it feels like the darkness is wrapping around you, cocooning you. It's warm and safe and familiar. You want to stay here, to let go and just drift away, but a small part of you is screaming. A small part of you knows that something isn't right.

Something pulls at your senses, tugging at the edges of your awareness. It's like a whisper, a soft murmur in the back of your mind. A feeling. An emotion. Fear. Worry.

And it's growing.

"They took everything from you," Dooku says, and your eyes snap open, your vision focusing on his face. He looks different now, older, his skin withered and wrinkled, his hair thin and gray. The warmth in his eyes is fading, replaced by a look of disdain and disgust. "But you can take it back."

He's holding out his hand, his fingers splayed, his palm facing you. It's an invitation. A temptation. And you know what it means. If you accept his offer, everything will change.

You look at his hand, and your gaze flickers to his face, to his eyes. They're darker now, colder. They're not the same. And you know that whatever he's offering isn't real. You're not sure if it ever was.

You stare at his hand, and your mind races, a million thoughts flashing through your mind. But, as the seconds pass, one thought becomes clear, one word echoing in your mind.

"No."

"Very well," he sighs. He steps towards you, his voice calm and level. "If that is your decision, then I have no choice but to—"

You reach out, calling your shoto, and it flies into your open palm, igniting with a loud snap-hiss. Dooku's eyes widen, and his lightsaber springs to life, the red blade humming, the light from the weapon casting shadows across his face.

"Don't," he warns, but it's too late.

You launch yourself at him, and his lightsaber comes up, blocking your blow. The two of you trade strikes and parries, the sounds of the clashing blades echoing off the walls. You spring up, swinging your blade, and he blocks the attack, the red and yellow blades hissing and crackling as they grind against each other.

"You're making a mistake," he tells you.

"I'm done listening to you," you retort.

You push him back, and he stumbles, catching himself, his gaze narrowing. The two of you square off, and the anger inside you burns hotter, brighter. Your fear and frustration fuel your rage, and you attack, unleashing a series of wild, erratic strikes, each blow more vicious and brutal than the last.

Dooku counters, his expression becoming serious, his movements growing quicker, more precise. He's no longer playing games, and as the fight continues, you can't help but notice the look of concern in his eyes. He's worried. He's afraid.

He's afraid of you.

He should be.

Because in that instant, all of your fear and pain and rage converge, coalescing into a single, blinding thought.

He needs to die.

You rush towards him, and he meets you, the two of you locked in a deadly dance, your lightsabers flashing and hissing. You press the attack, driving him back, and he blocks your strikes, his blade moving with a grace and precision that leaves you breathless.

Your vision blurs, and the sounds around you grow distant, muffled. It's like the whole world is fading, dissolving, and all that's left is him. His eyes. His blade. And the opportunity that's presenting itself.

A chance to end this.

To kill him.

The two of you are locked together, neither of you able to break free. You push harder, your muscles straining, your bones creaking. Your body is on fire, burning from the inside out, and you can feel the sweat rolling down your back, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The pressure is unbearable. You can feel his blade digging into your own, cutting into the hilt, and you know that if you don't act soon, you'll lose. You grit your teeth, and his lips twitch into a smirk.

"You can't beat me, girl," he sneers, his voice low, taunting.

You open your mouth to retort when the sound of blasterfire erupts in the hallway outside. You glance towards the door, and when you do, Dooku shoves you, sending you stumbling backwards. He lunges towards you, and your instincts kick in, your blade coming up to block his strike.

The hot sting of pain erupts in your hand as his blade slices through the hilt of your shoto, severing the weapon in two. You watch in horror as the halves fall to the ground, the plasma blade sputtering out. Dooku kicks them away, and you back up, your remaining lightsaber raised, the bright glow casting shadows across the walls.

"I offered you a way out," he tells you. “I will not suffer even a Jedi like yourself to live in ignorance."

He steps towards you, and as he does, a series of blaster bolts slam into the door. The hulking form of a B2 teeters and falls backwards, taking the door with it.

The room fills with smoke and dust, and you cough, waving your hand in front of your face, trying to clear the air. You can barely make out the shadowy shapes of Rex and Jesse as they enter, their blasters raised.

The two men take aim, and Dooku reacts, the crimson blade of his lightsaber blocking the incoming barrage. He turns, his cape billowing out behind him, and the red beam of his weapon flashes, deflecting the shots, the bolts ricocheting off the walls.

Jesse ducks and rolls, and as he does, Rex runs towards you, his arm wrapping around your waist. He pulls you away, dragging you behind him, his body shielding yours. As the two of you move, Jesse unloads, the volley of shots forcing Dooku back, the barrage keeping him on the defensive.

Rex grabs your wrist and tugs, pulling you towards the exit. As the two of you rush out into the hallway, a series of explosions ripple through the room, the stone walls trembling. You look over your shoulder, and Dooku emerges from the cloud of dust and smoke, his blade flashing. Jesse fires again, but the Count deflects the shots, the bolts slamming into the walls.

"Move," Rex barks, and the three of you take off running, racing down the corridor. Dooku gives chase, and the crimson beam of his lightsaber streaks through the air, the heat from the weapon scorching the stone.

You run as fast as you can, your chest heaving, the rage inside you burning hotter with every step. He killed Yaddle. He murdered her. And he was the one who attacked you. He was the one who tried to kill you. Now, he's trying to kill you again.

"I'm going to kill him," you growl, and Rex's grip tightens, his voice low and harsh.

"Don't," he snaps. "Focus on getting out of here."

"He has to die," you snarl. You pull against him, but his hold on you is iron-clad. "Let me go. I'm going to kill him."

"No," Rex growls, and you glare at him, a fire raging inside you.

"I have to do this," you tell him, your voice cracking, your hands balling into fists. "I'm going to make him pay."

"You can't," he snaps. He tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your skin, and he pushes you ahead of him, guiding you forward. "Not like this."

The three of you round a corner, and a series of blaster bolts slam into the wall to the side, sending fragments of stone and debris flying. Jesse spins and returns fire, and as the two men exchange shots, Rex takes advantage of the distraction, grabbing your arm and yanking you towards him, the two of you stumbling into the next room.

"I can," you insist, and Rex grabs your shoulders, shaking you.

"No, you can't," he snaps. "Look at me. You can't do this."

His tone makes you stop, and you look up at him, a flicker of doubt creeping in. His helmet tilts towards you, his visor scanning your face, and his hands move up, cradling your cheeks.

"I need you to listen to me," he says, his voice urgent and pleading. "I know how much Yaddle meant to you. I know what she was to you. But if you go after him, you'll die. You can't beat him. Not alone. Not like this. Please."

"Rex—"

"Listen to me," he interrupts. He moves closer, and you can hear his ragged breathing through his helmet. "I'm begging you. I need you to be here with me. I need you to come home."

His words strike a chord, and the anger inside you begins to ebb, slowly giving way to something else. Something deeper. You stare at him, and his head tips forward, his visor resting against your forehead.

"Come home," he repeats, his voice barely audible, and your chest aches, a lump forming in your throat.

"I..."

You can't finish the thought. You can feel the fear in his voice, the pain, the desperation. He's scared. Terrified. And it's because of you. Because he cares about you. He needs you.

You swallow hard and nod, and Rex presses his forehead against yours, his body relaxing with a shaky sigh.

"Thank you," he breathes. He strokes his thumb along the line of your jaw, and when he pulls away, his gaze holds yours, his voice laced with regret. "We'll get him, I promise. But not like this."

"Okay," you whisper, and Rex nods, his helmet tilting towards the ground. You place a hand on his chest, waiting for him to meet your gaze again before you speak. "I trust you."

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your eyes. Then, he nods, his shoulders straightening.

"I'll make sure we get him," he tells you. "I promise."

You give him a weak smile, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, his body enveloping yours. He squeezes you, his grip almost crushing, before he pulls away, his helmet nodding to the doorway.

"Let's get out of here," he says, and you follow him, the two of you sprinting out of the room, leaving Dooku and his men behind. Jesse catches up to you, his blaster still raised, and the three of you continue running, heading back towards the main corridor.

As you race down the hall, Rex's words linger in your mind. He was right. Dooku was too powerful. If you went after him now, there was no way you would survive. And even if you did, what would you be fighting for?

Vengeance.

It wasn't enough. It never would be. Not for Yaddle.

But she wasn't all you had left. There was another reason.

You didn't want to die.

You didn't want Rex to lose you.

You didn't want to hurt him.

So, you ran. You ran as fast as you could. And as you did, a single word echoed in your mind, repeating itself over and over again.

Home.

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[amtrak12]

After a conversation with a friend about this weird trend of fic readers who only want epic length fics (and also what seems to be a massive misunderstanding between parties on terms and their definitions), I went searching for the fandom sources I cut my teeth on. I don't have much bookmarked from those days anymore, but googling got me to this fiction length/terminology breakdown from a Livejournal blog. (Which also has good fandom definitions for other terms like A/N and fanon too, so if you're super new to fandom, go check that out.)

The definitions come from the publishing world (hence the page counts), but fandom and fanfic has always borrowed heavily from official publishing terminology. Flash fiction (aka, anything less than 1k words) is called a 'ficlet' within fandom. We call everything else a fic until it reaches the novella mark -- which may start at 20k words but as synecdochic breaks down on their Dreamwidth blog, there's a lot of overlap between short stories and novella word counts. Because, when you're not constrained by physical page counts, the real dividing line between short stories and novellas are the number of plots and themes you're using. (Seriously, go read their meta on this topic. It's fantastic!) Either way, once you're hitting tens of thousands of words, you're in longfic territory. And then if your fic is even longer than that -- 100k+ like shown in the screenshot above -- it's called an epic fic.

And these terms, longfic and epic, are important because they're used to differentiate these stories from the average fic. Because, at least in the 2000s up until the 2020s, the most common fic lengths you ran into were between 1k-20k words. "Fic" made the reader assume only a few thousand words at most. It's only when you changed the term to drabble or ficlet or longfic that they would realize 'oh this is going to be shorter or longer than normal'.

I don't really understand why that baseline assumption has changed amongst the newer demographics (and maybe amongst some long-running fandom members too?). I've seen a lot of theories and 'tiktokification' complaints, but I honestly don't know what's true. And I don't want to start a fight or even try to change anyone's minds if they are dead set against reading short story length fics. You can do what you want!

Just maybe shift your attitude about it a little bit? Remember that it's a personal preference the same way tropes are, and that one story length isn't better than another. Just like tropes, each story length serves its purpose. Some stories are best told in 1-2k words. Some are best told as 100 word drabbles -- or even a single sentence! And then, yes, some stories do need to be 100k+ in order to be told properly.

But that's not every story. And it shouldn't be expected of fic writers to pad a 1500 word plot into some sprawling epic just because they left it on a cliffhanger. The cliffhanger is probably the point of that fic! Short stories are an entirely separate art form to novels and as such are able to cover different topics than novels can or cover the same topics differently. And that's what makes them special!!

And look at that word count breakdown by genre! That's mainstream publishing standards! Now, go back up there to the definition of a novel and notice that the average published novel is 80k words long.

Let me repeat that:

The average length of a published novel is 80,000 words long.

Could a novel go longer? Sure! And if you're dipping into adult sci-fi or fantasy, absolutely it will be longer! But does your fic need to be longer than the average novel in order to be good? In order for you to feel satisfied when you finish reading it? Why does the length of the fic matter more to you than the content?

idk just some rambling food for thought, but I guess too long, don't read:

~✨~ Every story length is valid ~✨~

It just depends on the plot you have and the structure you want to use to tell it.

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 299/4.786

Title: Pink Asters

Author: Jouska the Deer (AngstAndAlliums)

Website: Ao3

Published: 09.01.2019

Word Count: 5.299 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Teen and up

Warnings: No

Smut? No

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mild Language

Author Summary: Sonic shares his passion for flowers with Shadow, bringing him everywhere and teaching him about the symbolism behind each flower they see.

My summary: Sonic teaches Shadow some things about flower meanings, and they both start telling each other their feeling through flowers. Really cute.

You can read it here

[alectoperdita]

What you can't bury

Part 18 of Lure

Rated: E Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters Pairing: Jounouchi Katsuya/Kaiba Seto Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Tags: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Organized Crime, Internal Conflict, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Blood and Torture, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Sex as Coping Mechanism, Unhealthy Relationships, Trauma Bonding, Codependency, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Degradation, Masochism, Impact Play, Asshole Spanking, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Breeding Kink, Sex Toys, Rough Sex, Painful Sex, Mild Painplay, Punishment, Cock & Ball Torture, Mild Breathplay, Come Feeding, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Somnophilia, Sexting, Dick Pics, Semi-Public Sex, Workplace Sex, Light Bondage, Nipple Play, Nipple Clamps, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sounding, Misogyny, Public Blow Jobs, Choking, Ass to Mouth, Urethral Play

As discontent swells amongst the Aoryu-kai's ranks, those wishing to seize power for themselves emerge. They threaten everything—Kaiba's leadership position, the tiny sliver of peace Jounouchi's managed to carve out for himself, and whatever tenuous bond exists between the two of them. Will saving Kaiba's hide save Jounouchi too? Or is this finally his chance to escape from under the kumicho's thumb?

Read Chapter 7 on AO3 Series Masterlist

---

You must take what you want, Gozaburo lectured repeatedly. It had been one of his earliest lessons. No one will give anything to you.

It all belonged rightfully to Seto, the presumptive heir. The Aoryu-kai, the power, the house, the cars, the kowtowing sycophants—it was his by blood price.

The tanto sank into flesh like it was butter. Gozaburo jerked beneath him. His eyes flew open as his mouth rounded, but only a wet gurgle escaped. Slowly, Seto drew the blade out, letting the man feel every centimeter of the steel leaving his body along with his lifeblood.

Seto, Gozaburo mouthed silently, his eyes glistening like the moon sunken in the pit of a sake cup. His feeble hands, fat from complacency, scrambled across Seto’s shoulders. They lacked even the strength to ruffle his yukata.

Lurching forward, he struck again, plunging the tip straight into the gut and slicing sideways.

A fountain spilled from the twitching body, soaking into his yukata. It burned hot and slick between his inner thighs, bathed, no, baptized for his ascension.

Seto hacked.

Stabbed.

Sliced.

He ignored his screaming muscles and the white-hot sensation in his chest and took.

[aprito]

hi! do you have any recommendations for sasosaku fic with more than 10k words?

a couple (a lot) of the top of my head (burned into my retina) in no particular order finished and unfinished (they are all important to me)

!!! IF YOU READ ANY OF THESE BE A COOL KID AND LEAVE A REVIEW !!!

hope springs eternal by simplelations (wholesum retelling of p1 naruto but with same age au sos i have made fic art that's how you know the love is real)

incantations by thirrin (extremely underrated howl's moving castle inspired magic au)

the neighbourly thing to do by koneko_taichou (wholesome middle aged sos are neighbours au. especially love the reason ss divorced in this fic and cant wait to see where this goes)

against all odds by koobabear (unfinished but platonic canonverse sos that's very fun)

these days by stormdragon6 (the one and only extremely long and extremely fullfilling mutual pining sos childhood friends modern au. scenes from this fic are burned into my brain)

a second chance by invisibleninja12 (200k literal retelling of p2 naruto with same age au sos where sasori got yeeted into the future and sakura is committed to help him before he makes the final turn for the worse. incredibly wholesome)

deep into the woods by muffin_ride (twisted beauty and the beast meets horror meets sos in their 40s far too old for this bullshit. thats the type of content we love around here)

lost year by omgitspocky (the fic that literally started my obsession with same age au basically sakura goes back in time and not only distracts sasori from defecting but also gets to hang out with a young tsunade)

bait and hitch by aelynthi (after the fantastic previous fic homesick comes one of the funniest takes on the fake dating trope with outrageously good characterization. i am emotionally invested in this one)

acaso mi madre engaña a mi padre? by takewaelel (i recommend this cheating fic at least once every full moon cycle because it has some of my favorite characterisation ever. every reread i discover some other amazing take)

lady of the blackthorns by vesperchan (amazing fantasy sos au. and thats why vesper is the GOAT)

pyrrhic victory by watevermelon (same age au sos with sasori's parents alive is one of the three ships and we're rooting for them)

grading on a curve by sayyikes (100% pure comedy and we're here for this painfully realistic and hilarious modern au)

sword of damocles by angelofdeath10 (medieval sakura is sasori's knight au. sasori is extremely pathetic but that makes it fun. i recommend everything they write in general <3)

spring fever by tsuki hoshino (sakura quits her job with sunan royalty and is ready to settle down and have kids in the middle of sasori's 10 year meticulously planned how do i get her to date me plan. watch as he desperately tries to bring his plans to fruition in the most sasori way possible)

invocation of the muse by nenalata (toxic college au sos that ruined me as a person, it's so fucking good even if i took immense psychic damage after deluding myself sos somehow will make it work. you need to read this immediately. this is exactly how i envision a bad ending outcome)

porcelain by shoujojunkie (not 10k but i will rep this doll maker falls in love with his tiny vain selfish creation fic until the day i die)

[ranahan]

Eventually I’m gonna get this thing edited and eventually it might even have a search function…

[harrydracompreg]

- Title: Very Simple Author: Anonymous Prompt: Draco doesn’t think he’s ready to have children, seeing that all his friends are struggling with their newborn babies. He decides that he doesn’t like babies all that much. And yet, just one look at Baby Harry with his parents in a photo is enough to ignite Draco’s baby fever— he strongly feels the urge to duplicate more little Potters inside his own body. Word Count: 9.9 k Rating: Explicit [NC-17] Contains: Magical Pregnancy, Dirty Talk, Anal Sex, Breeding, Marriage, Weddings, Wedding Night, Miscommunication, Pregnant Sex Spoilers: No Spoilers Marked. Who is pregnant: Draco Notes:

Title from an Anita Diamant quote. Thanks to A for the enthusiastic and supportive beta read!!

Summary:

Draco doesn't mean to keep the whole thing from Harry. It's just that he still forgets, sometimes, that Harry was raised by Muggles, which means he may not know that there are ways for men to get pregnant in the Wixen world. Oops?

Very Simple Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

[thefandomlesbian]

Me interacting with any media: Sometimes things that are shorter... are better. Me writing a 100k+ fanfic, sobbing into my hands: Sometimes things that are shorter... are better!!!

[may-bee-its-just-me]

✨Trauma dump sesh;

but make it classy because effort was put into the wordage and I cant count how many takes i did for the recording

"I’ve a naturally hyper personality; I dance while I work, sing while I clean and I try to brighten everyone’s day. I get asked why I am the way I am. “Oh it must be the coffee, that’s why she’s so quirky again after her lunch break”. Truth is, I push myself to my limits daily and crash by the afternoon. Any spare physical energy is immediately used up; taken advantage of. I’m a one woman circus act walking the line of energetic and productive, over a hundred ft. drop into despair, with nothing but the safety net that is God’s grace to protect me. I go through swings like nobody’s business, taking the highs as they come; Until I swing too high and fall out the back of my seat. In rough waters, I take every moment above water breathing heaps of fresh air up until the millisecond the next wave engulfs me; Breathing salt water with it. I’m Icarus, taking my temporary wings for a joyride; Flying too close to the sun. Sometimes this worries people. They ask if I’m okay, seeing me hunched over the kitchen table praying for another ounce of strength. They want to help but, seeing as how it’s daily, I tell them “same ol’” and let them move on with their day. And, when they ask me why I haven't seen a doctor after a year, I haven’t much to say. I can’t explain it, I don’t have the energy and they won’t understand.  People look at me like I’m crazy. My knee jerk reaction is to deny. I’m not crazy, I’m just struggling, I’m trying really hard, I’m. Not. Crazy. But the truth is, who wouldn’t be? No one understands how hard it is to live every single day in pain, until they experience it themselves. To have every motion of your hand matter. To have every action, reaction, tone of voice matter. To be ever conscious of every maneuver your body makes -  trying to limit mistakes and dropping things but still go fast enough to keep up with your job. To be hyper-aware of every micro-adjustment to your posture; In hopes that one of them makes the pain lessen and allow your mind to focus on something else for a moment. And, when needing to lift heavier objects, be careful not to lift too long or to speed-walk with them too fast, lest you cause your arms to flare up again. And, when the flare up inevitably happens, how much of the muscle spasm in your shaking hands do you allow others to see in hopes of being cut a break, but not enough that it makes your work sloppy? What do you do when your mind is fuzzy, and the room is spinning - Your heart is beating harder and you’re losing your balance - Your ear keeps ringing intermittently, and your chest feels heavy - You think you’re going to pass out, but your body isn't ready - and you don’t want to, but your heart rate still unsteady - you’re catching yourself from falling, and you’re just trying to get through the work day - So you’re stuck in limbo, between conscious and fainted - Until eventually it tapers off and you begin to question; Am I somehow faking it? Did it ever even happen in the first place? You make mention of everything hurting, all the time, just for older family and coworkers to joke about “becoming an adult - Not understanding just how deep that cuts, or what they’re really joking about. . I’m exhausted. I’m broken. I’m weak. I’m frustrated. I’m burnt out. I’m beat. I want to rest, but even after a long day of hard work and minimal issues - The pain creeps up when I lay my head down for sleep. I don’t want to be a miserable person, I don’t want to be consumed by my struggle. I want to keep hold of faith for healing, stay hopeful for better days. I want to spread joy. So I break my body to keep up in the day, deal with the consequences by night, and repeat in the morning. I’ve a hyper personality, tied down by my body. A personified contradiction, walking a tightrope, swinging forward and back, halfway underwater, too close to the sun."

~ Bee, 11/20/2024 [Wannabee poet and rich person]

[laugtherhyena]

There's something inherently entertaining in writing Kizuna lines to me

[salparadiselost]

I always kinda forget that I wrote a 70k horror suspense fic for the Thor (Marvel) fandom.

[torchickentacos]

nobody understands feta cheese like i do

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 303/4.788

Title: Shadow's Delivery Service

Author: Kera Error

Website: Ao3

Published: 08.04.2019

Word Count: 7.557 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Teen and up

Warnings: No

Smut? No

Finished? No

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Maria Robotnik, Miles "Tails" Prower, Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Rouge the Bat, Knuckles the Echidna

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Fluff, Romance, Drabbles, and oneshots, subtle meme references that are wholesome, Swearing, Sonadow - Freeform

Author Summary: “Shadow? Shadow is that you? Yeah, it's got to be you! I can recognize that red ribbon and fur from a mile away!" A familiar voice, bubbling up with joy and cheer -too bright for his tastes- came from behind him. With a scowl while bringing his broom towards him, he side eyed the nuisance calling his name.

[Kiki's Delivery Service Spinoff]

My summary: Shadow is a witch working at a Delivery Service, and Sonic always comes to annoy him.

You can read it here