#kismet!drista

[mayz1er]

drista doodles bc ever since phrog made presidential ties fanart i’ve been drawing her in my schoolwork constantly

[mayz1er]

NEW CHAPTER OF PRESIDENTIAL TIES IS OUT WHAAATTT??

blood red presidential ties is a c!tubbo centric fic where he is/was a shapeshifter. how do u cope w all the trauma AND trauma from being a shapeshifter?!? you’ll see tubbo try!

here are my favourite excerpts!!

He would never believe it. What was the process of creating a human, and at one point did it become cruel to let them live? Tubbo doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want the answer, either.

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Maybe god is a poet. Maybe She has a desk made out of wood from stark white forests, maybe She twirls a quill dipped in blood ink and maybe She writes down her thoughts as poetry. Oh, what words do the gods write? And when do they truly have a meaning?

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But it was oddly cathartic. The two of them bonding over a missing friend. The mutual pain of a missing piece. Maybe it was poetic, Ranboo wouldn’t know. But it definitely made them feel a little less alone.

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As Ranboo glances at Tubbo, with his strange new golden iris that looks like an angels eye when they’re in the presence of the heavens, and pure white strands of hair and glowing cracks in his star encrusted skin and the most heartbreaking smile that screams love, they know Tubbo has come to the point where he is more than a friend.

Because Tubbo is so much more. He is something so much better.

Ranboo is not a poet, but if they were, Tubbo would be their muse.

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But where he currently stood, before his maker, with stitched together skin and an even more stitched together soul, he is not given the privilege of human ignorance.

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Even though Tubbo and love don’t have the same amount of syllables, Ranboo thinks they’re synonymous, anyways.

check it out!! this chapter had a lot of fluff :D (i’m lying)

(but beta reader jaz says that it’s best chapter so far, so read it!1!)

[mayz1er]

omg look and drista and tubbo!! they’re having so much fun 2gether they’re besties :DD

[mayz1er]

If you want to explain stuff from brpt, then maybe you could give some more info/explanation on the starlight/moondust metaphor?? 'Cause I feel like any fun details would be really cool to hear. Also, like I'm just kinda intrigued with how you came up with it and like your thoughts behind it, lol. ~AnAnon

hi ananon!!!!!!!!! hope u r doin well ty for the ask now prepare for the rambling

kismet!tubbo and kismet!drista are supposed to be embodiments of the stars and moon.

i dont think it was particularly hard to catch, because i know i made an analysis post about kismet!tubbo representing a fallen star not too long ago, but that was the whole gist of starlight/moondust shit.

im not too sure if it could be considered a metaphor, rather it feels more like a comparison of how they saw each other. like, look at tubbo. he is constantly feeling alienated and not human, because he believes so deeply that he hurts other people, so he isolates himself from them. kismet!tommy was a representation of earth; of living beings and human emotions and humanity. kismet!tubbo being a star, so far from earth, and yet falling down anyways. and it takes some time for him to get up and recover from the crash, and a lot of bad things happen along the way, but in the end tubbo, the star, remains on earth.

kismet!drista is a moon, and moons never touch earth. we can only see the moon because of the sun, since the light reflects of the moon, and you know what a sun is? a star. drista as a moon, complete in the loneliness of being an angel, who can feel the loneliness in space just as the stars can, is never closely examined on how this represents her and her actions until eventually, she starts fucking shit up.

(there is also this thing i saw where the moon moves farther and farther away from the earth each year and idk if thats true, but i see it as drista (moon) drifting away farther and farther from humanity (earth) after she died and became an angel.

drista sees tubbo as the light and company among the loneliness in space and tubbo can only see drista when there is light that forces him to look at her (I mean this in after he fled from the town, years after.)

honestly i just thought the moondust and starlight nicknames were cute and i liked how they werent moon and stars, rather a piece of it. a piece of light, a piece of dust, and theyre pieces of a gods soul, so i think its nice.

anyways i am now going crazy over kismet!tubbo and kismet!drista's dynamic theyre so quirky

[mayz1er]

you are the gardener and i am a wilting flower – a poem from chapter 13 pieced back together

The cracks in your soul stay there forever. There’s no way to repair them, to heal them, they are permanent. They will live forever, even after your heart stops and your lungs stop consuming air.

Could you try to make something beautiful out of something so broken?

Death will leave you hollow, an empty shell of someone you used to be. Maybe you'll become someone different, maybe you’ll love the same way you did before, maybe you’ll never love again at all. Death is tricky. She is tricky, She is kind, she is unbearably cruel.

The cracks in your soul stay there forever. And it turns out, the cracks in your skin after an invasive revival stays too.

The cracks in your skin stream along your arms and legs like your circulatory system, looping and twisting and turning and containing the blood of gods. Or maybe the stardust from the sun.

You plant seeds in the cracks of your skin. You will plead them to grow and live and bloom. You hope and pray that you can make some kind of beauty out of the horrid cracks in your skin. The cracks that will never go away.

But rather than pretty flowers, like alliums or tulips or chrysanthemums or marigolds, thick vines crawl out.

They wrap around your arms and legs, they grow and bloom from the cracks in your skin, and maybe they’re finding their way to crawl into the cracks in your heart.

What will happen to you, then? When the vines enclose your body and choke you and prevent your breath? When the vines have wound themselves around your soul, tightening and squeezing any life from you?

What will you do when the weeds push up from your throat in pursuit of your happiness? What will you do when the vines have you in their hold, all because of your reckless desperation?

But even then, when you’re choking and you can’t breathe and your soul might be broken and irreparable and there’s tears streaming down your face, there’s just something so beautiful about it.

Something so beautiful about something broken. The cracks in your skin, the life that grows from it. It almost looks like it was crafted to end up like this. Crafted to be beautifully broken.

Despite the cracks in your skin, the cracks in your soul, the words of broken broken broken screaming in your head, you are not broken.

You are not broken. Even if you’re on the verge of it.

A gardener stops by. He’s bloody and bruised and looks just as broken as you are. There are cracks in his skin, as well, even though they don’t glow golden like yours do. And if your vision wasn’t so blurred, you would’ve been able to see the cracks in his soul, as well.

You don’t need to see it, though. Because you know it’s there, you know the cracks in his soul exist, you know that some of them, you caused. You know that, because you know the gardener, and he knows you, too. You two know each other like the sun knows the moon.

So even then, through uneven breathes and tears and choked apologies, you feel less alone.

You know the gardener. He has the same cracks as you do. He uses his calloused hands and tears the vines away from you ever so gently. He’s so kind, so full of love, you wonder how the gods created him.

You know the gardener. The gardener knows you. You both have the same cracks in your skin, in your souls.

The gardener holds out his hand.

You take it. You take it, and you grip it so tight, and you will never let go.

[mayz1er]

hey heyy ily here’s a snippet of presidential ties

this is one of the parts i like more, i think.

[mayz1er]

the stars have vanished. – a poem from chapter 11 pieced back together

In the deafening silence of space, the loneliness amongst the stars must be utterly horrifying. You could only hope there was some sort of luminous astronomical object keeping you close, tugging you with its gravitational pull to keep you afloat.

But despite it all, it must be beautiful. The collection of planets tied together by a pull, so entranced in each other’s patterns that they stay together, clinging on for the resemblance of a familiar family.

But sometimes, sometimes a star will be let go. Sometimes, the pull won’t be strong enough. Or the star was deteriorating, and it had been for a long time, and it had to be let go so its destruction to itself wouldn’t infect the rest of the solar system.

The star wanders. The star explores the universe, and maybe it’ll be pulled into a different solar system and maybe it will find solace there.

But it won’t last. It won’t last, because nothing ever lasts, and even the most beautiful, shining stars lose themselves to their own strength.

A star finds itself alone. Alone, in the big expansion of the world no human has ever seen. Alone, in the deafening silence of space. Alone, in the unbearable silence of the universe.

But now the star isn’t alone and now the star is being engulfed by something different, something stronger, something much more powerful than itself. The star isn’t alone, the star isn’t lonely anymore, but the deafening silence of space rings louder than ever across galaxies, heard from curtains of multi universes and heard as a cry for help.

A cry for help that is never answered.

The star is consumed by the ever living black hole. The star is torn apart at the seams, ripping its forces in half and forcing its core to show, weak and vulnerable and broken and lost and lost and ever so lost in the deafening silence of the universe.