#stories are meant to be shared and talked about

[salsa-and-light]

@spidersteelandsmile

Your story is beautiful. Than you for sharing, these sorts of things aren't talked about enough.

Knowing Queer people and Queer stories is the strongest antidote to prejudices like these.

I respect that you tried to approach this diplomatically.

I don't know if you were being brief to come off as non-hostile or if you genuinely aren't familiar with many of the tactics of homophobic Christians, but in my experience they do not have reasons for their beliefs.

Many have very rudimentary explanations which are either entirely untrue or fall apart upon examination. Examination that they can not or do not do themselves.

So I will admit that talking to them seriously can be taxing, even if they do have good intentions. It does not appear to me that that this person has good intentions.

I would be happy to explain more on the different ideas and sources surrounding this subject if you are curious, and you are more than welcome to read on. But in my opinion, I don't think you are going to get reasonable answers from someone like this.

>>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>> >>>>>>>

@artist-issues

"But it’s kind of pointing out a flaw in your understanding of God’s Word to open your post with “give me verses” and then narrow it down to “but only the ones where Jesus is talking.”"

Christ specifically was operating in opposition to the religious norms of his day.

At various points both in his ministry and in the rest of the New Testament the Law and contemporary Jewish norms are specifically ended, removed or condemned.

Christian follow Christ, Christians focusing on Christ is the default.

We shouldn't be acting out the arrogant legalism of the pharisees who killed him, that's for sure.

"“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.“ John 1:1"

This is actually a good thing to mention.

As Gay Christian and historian of Christianity, Diarmaid MacCulloch put it:

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

So yes, Jesus the Christ seems to be the most important person to listen to in.. Christianity.

"“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness..."

No one said that scripture was useless.

What you're doing is talking around the fact that the founder of our faith didn't have anything to say about homosexuality.

If you want to argue that it doesn't matter, then fine, do that.

Arguing against points no one made makes you seem defensive, or paranoid.

..

Though you have stumbled upon something worth mentioning.

The scripture is trustworthy.

But why would you be⸮

You can have your opinion of course, it's just that your opinion isn't worth much.

In a way it's telling that when questioned you cite the inerrancy of God and scripture.

As if the authority of God.. makes your argument stronger.

Difficulty with separating your opinions from God's is usually a problem.

"Peter, in his letter, said Paul’s words were Scripture"

..No..

but also,

"His letters contain some things that are hard to understand, which ignorant and unstable people distort, as they do the other Scriptures, to their own destruction." - 2 Peter 3:16b

It's odd that you decided to breeze past the part where he says people distort scripture.

I'm not even disputing the legitimacy of Pauls readings, but if I were, why would I trust Peter more?

And even if I did trust Peter more.. he doesn't use the word "scripture" in Greek, he said "writings".

["γραφὰς-graphas" is the Greek word in quetion, being the source for the English root "graph" as in "photograph", "graphics" or "grapheme" a linguistic term for a fundamental unit of written language"]

Even the English word "scripture" just originally meant writings but through the isolated exposure to the word through the Catholic church the word gained religious connotations. Spanish, French and other romance languages have a doublet of the term but have to specify "escritura sagrada", "Saintes Écritures" or holy scriptures, because their terms are the equivalent of "writing(s)".

This is mostly a English phenomenon.

So no one was arguing that Paul was unimportant, but if they were.. then your argument would still be bad.

"And if you doubt that the Apostle Peter had the authority to say what was and was not the Word of God, then you’re doubting that anything you know Jesus to have said was ever actually what He said"

Again, no one is disputing the accounts of Peter.

But if they were this would, again, be a terrible argument.

There are four Gospels and Peter didn't write any of them.

If someone wanted to ignore Peter's account they could and still have the majority of the accounts of Christ's ministries.

..

i think you're misunderstanding the problem here.

I don't think anyone here is saying that Christ is the only source of information.

Christians are people who follow Christ, it' not that deep.

But if we are listening to Paul we should listen to him.

Here's what he said.

"One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul?" - 1 Corinthians 1:12b-13

We are not saved by the Law or by Peter or Paul.

Appealing to them to supplant the ministry of Christ is contradictory to the ministry of Christ and that of Peter & Paul.

"a lot of the eyewitness accounts of what Jesus said come from the Apostle Peter."

I don't even know what this means.

Peter didn't write the Gospels, at most he Wrote 1st Peter and 2cd Peter.. and that's disputed too.

This isn't even the topic, I don't care and you're not the person to talk to about this anyways,

but these claims are just puzzling.

"If you’re going to say Scripture is your authority, you have to answer the question “why.”"

Interesting that you didn't give a why when you were making things up about how being straight was a fundamental part of the faith.

"The only reason to make Scripture the authority for your life and how you live it is if, indeed, it is the Word of God."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"And you have to believe all of it is the Word of God. All of it."

This is called a false dichotomy.

Another lie.

Not that anyone was saying that they didn't believe the Bible.

Which again,

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"Now that we’ve established that it’s all-or-nothing"

You didn't establish anything.

You said something insane and blathered for a bit.

No one is even arguing that parts of the Bible are untrue, your arguments are just terrible

It's amazing that language teachers can't correct this sort of thing.

"you can’t just pick and choose which verses have authority and which don’t"

No you don't get to choose.

If you're listening to the whole Bible then you are actually commanded to ignore certain portions of it.

Which I know that you know, because I know you're not making animal sacrifices correctly.

"here are the ones where homosexuality is prohibited.[Leviticus 18:22 & Leviticus 20:13]"

This is so embarrassing for you.

..

I'm going to ignore the hypocrisy of quoting a code of law that you don't follow and I'll even ignore that I count five mistranslations in just two verses and I'll focus something worse.

You're being dishonest.

Let's make this very, very simple.

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Is two men having sex together a form of homosexuality?

Yes.

Now,

Is two lesbians raising a child together a form of two men having sex together⸮

No.

This is the equivalent of saying that clothes are banned because hats are banned. You're exaggerating the meaning to match your personal feelings, not the semantics of the actual text.

This verse, which is A) mistranslated and B) defunct, still does not prohibit homosexuality.

It doesn't prohibit gay marriage, it doesn't prohibit gay parents, it doesn't prohibit anything that a lesbian might do.

It doesn't even prohibit all forms of sex between men.

Even in a defunct, mistranslated text you still felt the need to lie.

Because nothing about your views is based on reason, or honesty. It's certainly not based on text.

It's based on your prejudice.

"This is God...telling the Israelites in His Law"

It's Levitical Law, the law of the Levitical priesthood. Priests from the tribe of Levi.

And among its lists of laws, [which you do not follow], are laws requiring the execution of rape victims and systematizing the ownership and sale of women; among other things.

So I'm actually grateful that you spent so much time building up Paul so you can't backtrack when Paul writes about the Law.

"But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code." - Romans 7:6 "So the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian." Galatians 3:24-25 "The former regulation is set aside because it was weak and useless" - Hebrews 7:18

But supposedly you got your conclusions from the text.

"It’s meant to reveal the standard that humanity falls short of, not condone falling short of that standard."

Sure the perfect version of humanity wears tassels.

Funny, Adam and Eve didn't wear anything.

"Jesus has not changed His mind about this. Homosexuality is an abomination. And ⬇️ [Romas 1:26-27]"

This is lazy.

I could tell you to just read the whole chapter; but who knows what you'd come up with.

If you had read the whole chapter.. you would know that this chapter is talking about a pagan sex cult.

And if you knew what you were talking about, then you would know that these men usually had sex with women.

Condemning a bunch of cultists is not a commentary on homosexuality even if the members were homosexuals, which they decidedly were not.

"⬆️ This was written in the New Covenant"

What would that even mean‽

Not everything in the New Testament, is a part of the new covenant.

You realize that the New Testament also includes the crucifixion and commands for slaves to obey their masters right?

"God hasn’t changed His mind. What He says is natural is natural...it’s not natural to be “consumed with passion” for the same sex as yourself."

You're talking about what's ""natural"" as if you aren't online. Be serious.

You want to know what else is unnatural⸮ Modern medicine, electricity, indoor plumbing, the written word.

If you had thought about this for more than a second you would have realized how stupid naturalism is as a moral standard

And if you had done that then you might have actually attempted to understand the meaning of the text.

The Greek term "φυσικὴν - physikēn" just means instinctual or inborn. It's a relative of the English word "physical".

It does not reference any such concept like an universal natural order.

It just means that these men were usually with women and not men.

This is the closest the Bible ever comes to describing orientation.

If Paul had intended to make broad sweeping commentary on homosexuality, a concept that would not exist for another eighteen centuries, then why would he be specifying that these men were acting out of character.

Probably because having sex for the worship of a pagan god is even more heinous when it's not even the sex you'd want to be having.

"Jesus talks about the correct view of marriage by quoting...[Matthew 19:4-5]"

Jesus does not say that this is the correct view of marriage, Jesus never even calls this a marriage, and neither does Genesis 2:24 which he is quoting.

You're compulsion to lie is troubling.

And because I actually know this topic fairly well I suspect that you're thinking that it must be about marriage because the verses mention wives.

But no

English translators added "wife", both the Hebrew and Greek terms of this quote(Genesis 2:24 & Matthew 19:5 respectively) just mean "woman"

And again, it's fortunate that you've spent so much time defending the validity of other scripture because if you want to argue that all scripture is equal.. then Jesus can't be claiming that the correct view of marriage is heterosexual monogamy.

Because the Bible frequently refers to polygamy and makes a distinction between marriage and other forms of relationship like concubinage.

So if you're claiming that no other sort of marriage can exist, then you're contradicting scripture.

"I know you said you don’t understand how what Jesus does say condemns homosexuality."

There’s nothing to understand, this is an imaginary problem.

Mentioning heterosexuality isn't condemning Queer people.

Queer people manage talk about heterosexuality all the time without being homophobes.

"Jesus was talking to people who were trying to trap Him by asking about the right way to handle divorce—a matter of marriage. And Jesus answered by explaining what the correct view of marriage is"

Assumption.

"We fall so hard that even what we desire is twisted and broken, and even our ability to know what brokenness is"

Clearly yours is.

"And that’s why it’s so good that you asked me to give you verses. Because when we can’t trust whether or not we know what’s good or bad, right or wrong"

You're a fool if you think feelings stop at the page.

Your feelings influence you.

You are not impartial, objective or even terribly knowledgeable.

Your interpretation is less reliable than the conscience of someone who actually knows something about the Queer experience.

"The Bible. God’s Word."

"The Bible is not the word of God. Jesus is the word of God, it says so in the Bible."

"You can’t base what God wants for you, what’s right and wrong, on your feelings"

That's what you're doing hon'

You arguments don't make sense and your behavior is more in line with an emotional outburst.

"Life experience is meant to be informed by what God says in His Word"

I'd love to see where you got that idea from.

All human communication is formed on the basis of past experiences.

Anything you could interpret must be transmitted through the lens of past experiences.

Which is why bias is an inherent part of the human condition.

"Because your analyzer, your mind, your heart, are broken,"

Oh look gaslighting.

Isn't it rich that you remember the basic reality of bias and fallibility only when they're using them to explain why you should be the authority.

"What I am telling you is that your interpretation of that experience, that it’s somehow “from God,” that He set it up that way and that’s how you know He approves of your homosexuality—that is what’s incorrect"

Cool story, but you can't prove it.

"Your interpretation of what you’ve lived through as “from God” is incorrect, and it is very dangerous."

Real quick, how many people died from being gay and happy⸮

It's "dangerous" because you can't disprove it. And you know that no one will buy the misery you're hawking without censoring any alternative.

"There are plenty of verses about that."

Oh yes there are plenty of verses about being wrong about scripture.

But history seems to indicates that that doesn't stop people frome being wrong.

One of us must be wrong don’t you think, but do those verses tell us who⸮

"This is against saying that “God placed a burden on me to do this or that” because you run the risk of perverting His words."

I guess you're also abstaining from the "burden of proof" too.

"Again, this verse proves[Jeremiah 23:25-27] you can think you’re hearing from God, or something is coming from God, and be wrong."

And you're exemplifying that problem beautifully.

"But you don’t have to read very far into the Bible to notice that God is a specific, existing Person with His own set of characteristics, wants, loves, and dislikes, and you can’t change them or decide what they really any more than I could change or decide what your characteristics,"

Says the homophobe using non-binary pronouns to blaspheme a God of Love.

This is a non-point.

No one is trying to change God here but you.

You're the one making the claim that God's grace is undone by homosexuality.

That's heresy.

"The only way to know is to line what you’re thinking about His will up next to Scripture. See if it matches."

Oh girl, don't you know better.

If your only standard for your base ethics is whether scripture "agrees with you" then it's no wonder you're so nasty.

For one you don't know much about the Bible, so basing your morality on your hazy recollections is.. not exactly ideal.

But let's suppose that you actually knew something.

You want to know who reads the Bible and comes away thinking they have God's approval⸮

Everyone who wants it

I'm sorry but even I and the other Queer people you so despise regularly come to the conclusion that the Bible supports us.

Your own pseudo-logic condemns you.

Queer people don’t usually go around bragging about it because anyone can get scripture’s approval: me, you, nazis, slavers, imperialists.

And lest you be confused, this is not because everyone else is lying to themselves and you are the one true Christian who reads the Bible honestly.

It’s because bias is inherent to the human condition and we can be wrong no matter how good or bad our intentions are.

"And if you’re living as if He does not think homosexuality is an abomination,"

Abomination is one of those mistranslations from the laws that you don't follow that I mentioned;

by the way.

"One more verse, because it’s the one where Hope is found.[1 Corinthians 6:9-11] See? Do you see?"

Another instance where some more research would have saved us both some time.

Please refer to the documentary about this

1946: The Mistranslation That Shifted Culture

Or if you can't find that documentary, you can look at this recorded presentation made by one of the presenters.

Both 1 Corinthians 6:9 & 1 Timothy 1:10 are mistranslations totally unsupported by historical analysis and even modern English semantics.

You don’t have to watch these videos, but if you want to claim to be informed with any honesty it would behoove you to actually be informed.

"Don’t be deceived - you can be wrong about this."

But not you is that right.

- negative self awareness -

"It is defined as normal by the Bible TO be deceived"

Yeah,

Which explains why Christians have proclaimed evil prejudices like racial hierarchy and imperialism for centuries.

Can you think of anything similar⸮

"You can be deceived—into believing that any of the sins he lists are somehow NOT sins"

And you were deceived into thinking that Love was immoral based on mistranslation.

"It’s in the verse. It’s plain. Nothing twisted or hard to see or understand about that."

You wouldn't be saying that unless you already knew that the translation is contentious.

If you had spent time trying to understand the situation instead of covering your own ass, then you might have been able to learn something.

"Homosexuality is a sin. But it’s not a super-sin. It’s not special"

Lie. You don't believe that.

And I know you don't believe that because you didn't write angry pouts about other sins.

You also didn't claim that the arrogant or the hypocritical stop being Christians.

Presumably because you aren't so stupid.

But you're not smart enough to not get caught in an obvious lie.

"Such were some of you - Christians have been homosexuals."

And Christians continue to be homosexuals.

Gay conversion is not possible through any ethical means, nor is it possible through unethical means, and we know this because we've tried all of them.

Advocating torture because you can't handle reality is evil.

"But it’s past-tense. It was who they were. It is NOT anymore."

Being gay has never been who anyone is.

And you would know that if you saw Queer people as your equals instead of as evil bogey man made to torment you.

"Homosexuals" is a mistranslation. And your wild conspiracism is embarrasing.

"The name of Christ? “Christian.” An identifier that is incompatible with the name “homosexual.”"

Prove it.

You have no credibility, your knowledge is inaccurate, you honesty is wanting and you're a minority opinion even among the bigoted.

This isn't an argumment, it's begging.

"You aren’t a homosexual. If you’ve been washed, sanctified, by the Spirit of God"

And we're still not heterosexual or straight.

Which is it. Is God's power limited⸮ Or are you⸮

There is a wrong answer.

"Please don’t jump right into responding to this reblog by saying things to me like “I pray that one day God opens your eyes to a world of love, not hate,”"

Oh.

So you do have an understanding of how impersonal platitudes are annoying.

So you weren't ignorant, you were a hypocrite.

"as if anything I’ve said is hateful"

- negative self awareness -

I don't know what needs to be done for you to have an attitude adjustment, but I teach rich pre-teens and they're not this bratty.

"or anything apart from what God says is love can be love. He is love."

Lower my expectations and keep digging.

You're somehow deluded into believing that Love can be evil.

I follow a God of Love, you’re doing something else.

Look at 1 Corinthians 13

You know.. Love is patient, Love is kind..

Ring any bells⸮

Why don't you read that chapter and let me know when you find a gender requirement.

"He says it is is better than the lies the world has convinced you is “love.”"

Oh so your evil.

Queer people are in fact capable of Love.

How you think you're not full of hatred is beyond me. Though I suppose you could be lying.

"Read what is typed in this post and weigh it and consider it, as if it’s the first time you’ve heard it."

So without all of your homophobic biases.

Funny, without assuming that homosexuality immoral and that Queer people are incapable of Love the Bible doesn't seem so prejudiced after all.

Way to tell on yourself.

Get real.

People aren't going to magically acquire your biases even if they could somehow get rid of their own.

You are not some blank slate interpreting without motive, you are dripping in bias, with a large helping of self-importance to boot.

"And THEN make the decision"

I did.

I got three degrees worth of knowledge and read a pile of books on the subject.

You can't even be bothered to read your own posts so you don't get caught in a lie.

Maybe you got off on being able to dominate the other boys and girls in Sunday school, I don’t know, but this behavior is terrible.

I once believed the way you do. Then I got better.

You could too. But you choose to wallow instead.

"Or are you going to stop trusting your deceitful heart and what the whole world says, and trust in God alone?"

You can't even Trust that God made a Love you don't experience.

Don’t bother talking about trust when you’ve shown that you don’t value it.

"If you’re a Christian, you chose to die to your old self and be Christ’s. Be what He tells you to be."

Which is a Queer fuck.

And if you don't like it, kick rocks.

"One is a traveling nurse who was engaged to another woman, the other is a 15 year-old girl who was dating another girl. They gave their lives to Christ in this past year and are happy, even though it’s hard, following Him."

80% of supposed "ex-gays" are openly Queer again within five years.

And that's according to the manipulated data of "conversion therapists."

But if you're hanging around we might be able to cut that time in half.

Wishing them a speedy recovery.

"“Let God be true though every one were a liar…”"

Well we already know which one you are.

I will say it again:

The LGBTQ+ person who asks Christians to "welcome and accept them without telling them they should change" is openly demanding that the Christians change. From being Christians, to being non-Christians.

Because Christ died to save you from who you used to be. When you become a Christian, you're choosing to change from who you were to who He tells you to be. That is Christianity. To tell Christians to stop talking and behaving like that is what they believe is to not only reject Christianity yourself, but demand that they reject it, too.

Do not listen to any influencer, pop culture icon, or person who says to you that Christians do not love LGBTQ+ people, because they say LGBTQ+ people should change who they are.

Christians change who they are. More accurately, they let Christ change who they are. That’s how they became Christians. Truth goes hand in hand with love—it is not avoiding it. Because love is not anti-rejection. Love rejects plenty of things! Love rejects hatred, self-focus, and lies. So of course Christians who believe in a God that says, “let Me change you into who you’re meant to be” can tell you that you need to change—and that is loving. They love you, and they’re not okay with leaving you the way you are. Because Christ didn’t leave them, the Christians, the way they were.

Don't listen to anyone, "Christian" or otherwise, who tells you different.

[obx-may]

Together -Rafe Cameron

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, lots of fluff at the beginning, angst with a happy ending, self doubt (rafe), comfort, excessive alcohol consumption.

summary: after telling rafe he was going to be a father you were surprised with how well he took it, though when he felt the first kick everything got a little to real and he freaked out, leaving you crying in your shared apartment and hoping that he’d come back to you.

notes: this is an unofficial part two to this fic that i wrote a little while ago (which you don’t need to read to understand this). i’m stuck on ideas so i decided to just add to that original story! hope you enjoy angels🧸🤍🫶🏼 - this is a long one for me so strap in!

The first few weeks after telling Rafe were hard. You were so stressed about telling your family and everyone on the island possibly whispering about how stupid you could’ve been to get knocked up at such a young age. But Rafe was always there to reassure you.

He was surprisingly calm and collected. He was nervous, anyone would be in that situation but he kept himself together for you.

“It’s okay baby, let it all out.” He’d whisper as you battled morning sickness, one hand on your back rubbing soft circles as the other held the hair out of your face.

He held you when you cried and sobbed about how you were just so scared. He’d let you talk before reassuring you, “I’m here, we’re going to be okay. We can do this.”

When you eventually broke the news to your and his parents he held your hand and did as much of the talking as you wanted him too.

Ward was disappointed, Rose managed to crack a fake smile, you were so relieved when your mother pulled you into a hug and told you she’d be there for you, even though your father sat straight and glared at Rafe with rage in his eyes.

Eventually he calmed down and after around a week he became accustomed to the idea. You knew he was accepting when you were going to spend the night at Rafe’s house and before you left he said, “now you be carful driving on those roads, it’s been raining and you’ve got my grand baby in there.” He gestured to your stomach. You hugged him and he hugged you back, which is something the both of you didn’t know you needed.

After that Rafe proposed moving in together. He knew it was inevitable so he said he’d rather be settled at a place when the baby arrives than scrambling last minute.

Within a few weeks he - with the help of Ward - had found and bought an apartment, it was spacious yet cosy. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open plan kitchen and living room with a sweet little balcony overlooking the sea. It was perfect.

News spread fast once you went to your first appointment, told your friends and began to show - just slightly but it was there.

The stories were ridiculous. “She baby trapped him for the money.” “I heard it’s not even Rafes.” “She’s faking it for attention.”

You tried not to think about it too much and Rafe helped with that. Though sometimes he made the situation significantly worse by reacting to the stares when you were out. “What the fuck are you looking at punk? Huh? That’s what I thought.” His excuse always being that he was just protecting his girl, which you didn’t argue with.

Your old life was completely gone, being pregnant meant no drinking, partying or staying up late since you were always exhausted anyway.

Though Rafe on the other hand did continue his drinking and partying late, just now without you by his side.

You were pleased at first. You hadn’t wanted him to give up all the tings he did before since you thought he’d be much worse if he had to suddenly change his lifestyle.

Unfortunately, at some point - actually around the time you started to show and a small bump formed on your stomach - it got excessive.

You brushed it off at first, the coming home at two in the morning completely plastered, the increasing nights spent at the country club with Topper and Kelce, but you now realised he was beginning to slip away from you.

Arguments about his behaviour became a reoccurring thing. You cried all the time, though he was never there to hold you and tell you everything was going to be fine like he would’ve in the beginning.

Something had changed in him but you couldn’t understand why.

You felt so alone. Pregnancy is weird like that, even though you’re actually never alone because you constantly have a little human in your stomach it makes you feel like you are, even when there’s people around you who do care.

One night, you heard Rafe stumble through the door as usual. The door to your shared bedroom swinging open just moments later. “Hey baby,” he murmured drunkenly.

You sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with your knees to your chest, tear marks on your face.

His brows furrowed as he immediately sobered up a little, noticing your state.

He sat on the side of the bed. You flinched when he went to place his hand on your leg. “y/n-”

“I’m going to live with my parents for a while,” you blurted out, voice shaky.

“You’re- what?” He was surprised, caught off guard.

“We- no I need some space. In five months we’re going to have a baby Rafe and you’re off getting drunk twenty four seven. I’m tired and I don’t know what’s happened to my Rafe. The one who took care of me when I was sick, the one who reassured me when I was scared, the one who actually seemed like he loved me-” your sentence broke with a sob, “I don’t recognise you.”

He sat there, blindsided. “I… yeah, maybe you should go stay with your parents,” he replied.

You couldn’t believe it. He really wasn’t going to fight for you? Not even a little bit?

With one nod you got off the bed and started to pack. Was it two o’clock in the morning? Yes. Could you spend even one more second in his company? No, no you couldn’t.

So you packed, left without another word and drove to your parent’s house.

Rafe remained in the same position on the bed. He’d fucked it all up.

In the following few weeks there was little to no contact between you and Rafe. It actually did you good to focus on yourself for a little while though after two weeks you were really starting to miss him.

One night, you were sat on the floor of your childhood bedroom folding your laundry when your phone rang.

It was Rafe. You took a deep breath and answered the call, bringing it to your ear.

“y/n?” Was the first thing he said but he didn’t give you time to respond, “I’m so sorry, I freaked out okay? I love you so much and I know I want this with you. This life, this baby, I want it all and I fucked it up. I’ve stopped drinking, I promise I’ll do better. Can you forgive me?”

You slowly took in his words. You knew what you were signing up for when you got with Rafe and you’d been through worse. “Of course I’ll forgive you, I always will because I love you Rafe. But if this happens again-”

“I know.” He knew he only had a limited number of chances and that you might not forgive him so easily next time.

After that night everything slowly but surely got back to normal. You moved back in, he went to your appointment with you where you found out it was going to be a little girl and he spent every night with you in his arms.

A week later you were mostly back into your usual routine. You woke up, took a shower with Rafe, he left for work and you had recently started a job that you could do from home so that’s what you spent your day doing.

His parents were rich and so were yours - everyone knew that - but the both of you wanted to live your own lives, not relying on your parents for everything, so that’s why you started working and you were slowly building your savings that would mostly go to things for your baby girl.

Hours later Rafe finally arrived home. He greeted you with a gentle peck on the lips before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

He sat down next to you on the sofa and peered over at the website you were scrolling through on your laptop.

“Looking at cribs already?” He asked, before opening and then chugging some of his water.

“There’s a sale on - thirty percent off. I just thought I’d have a look,” you replied calmly.

“Get whichever one you want babe,” he mumbled before kissing your forehead and then standing up.

He got halfway to the bedroom to freshen up before you gasped.

He turned around quickly. “You alright?” He asked, slight panic in his voice.

“Come feel!”

He noticed as he moved towards you that you’d moved the laptop and now had your hand resting at the base of your stomach.

As soon as he was close enough you grabbed his hand and placed it where yours was.

“What- oh? Is that…?”

“She’s kicking! The doctor said it might take a while but she was starting to worry me, I’m so relieved,” you excitedly rambled.

He just stood there, slightly bend down, hand still on your stomach with an emotion you couldn’t quite read on his face.

“Rafe?” You questioned, brows furrowed, “are you okay-”

He pulled his hand away and stood up straight. “I just,” he cut you off, “I can’t- sorry.”

He glanced from your stomach up to your face without fully meeting your eyes then he turned and made b-line for the front door.

Leaving you, now stood in shock. What the hell just happened.

You tried to convince yourself that he’d just got a little overwhelmed and would come back in a minute.

A minute turned into thirty which turned into an hour and then two.

You were now a mess. Just when you thought you’d got him back he was slipping again.

You sat on your bed, head in your hands as you cried. The raging hormones causing through your body definitely weren’t helping the situation.

He’d left everything. His keys, his phone so you couldn’t even call him. You called Topper though, then Kelce, then Sarah, no one had seen or heard from him.

When the clock hit nine you were seriously worried. You decided you couldn’t just sit around any longer so you got up, slipped some shoes on, grabbed your keys and left the apartment.

Since he hadn’t gone to any of his friends or family you decided to go to his most frequented places.

First you went to the country club, he wasn’t there. Next you visited the beach by tanning hill, nope. Lastly you drove to the place you used to hang out at in your early teens, the place you shared your first kiss.

It was a long shot since it’d barely been mentioned since you left school but you were running out of options.

You parked at the bottom of the cliff edge and then walked the ten minutes up hill to get to the top.

By the time you reached it you were huffing and puffing. The baby now pushing down on your lungs meaning you were out of breath doing the simplest of tasks.

But it was all worth it because there he stood. Hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as he stared out at the crashing waves below the cliff.

“Rafe?” You called from a few meters behind him.

He was quick to turn around, clearly not expecting you to have found him.

You approached him slowly, as if you were trying not to scare him off.

“What’re you doing up here? It’s almost dark,” he asked, his voice soft and quiet.

“I was looking for you dummy. You scared me,” you replied, now standing next to him with your hands crossed over your chest as the evening breeze passed over your skin.

He sighed, a deep, troubled sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. “Talk to me Rafe,” you whispered gently.

“I’m worried,” he began.

You placed your hand on his arm, insinuating that he should continue.

“I’m worried I’m going to turn out like my dad,” he finally admitted.

Your heart sank.

“Look at me.”

He did, finally meeting your eyes.

“You are nothing like him. I know you, I know you’re going to be the best father. You already care so much and the fact you’re worried means you do. Your childhood wasn’t easy, I know, but that’s not us.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for you to laugh or take all that you said back but those things didn’t happen, all he found in your eyes was genuineness.

Rafe never had a way with words so instead he just leaned down and pressed your forehead against his.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“I love you more,” he replied, his voice full of emotion before he closed the gap between the two of you.

The kiss that you shared was full of love and relief.

His hands moved to grasp your waist as yours intertwined with the hair on the back of his head.

Once you pulled away the both of you were smiling, because in that moment you knew everything was going to be okay.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

From Now On ~ 1

FROM NOW ON MASTERLIST

Word Count: 2,090ish

Summary: Tony Stark and you meet. Basically a rushed intro.

Notes: This is a short chapter. I promise the chapters will get longer. Please send in reactions!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

1995

You were twenty-five, attending a Stark Industries weapons expo as part of your assistant job with a security company. It was an entry-level position that meant you mostly took notes, fetched coffee, and tried to stay out of the way while men in expensive suits talked about efficient ways to destroy things.

You weren’t impressed. The expo was loud, over designed, and reeked of testosterone and high-yield explosives. The air buzzed with false charm and handshake politics. You kept your head down. Until someone bumped into you, holding a sloth in one hand and wearing an unnecessarily sharp suit.

“Whoa— careful, Miss…?”

You looked up, and there he was. Tony Stark. Billionaire. Stark Industries’ golden boy. Hair slightly windswept, grin tilted just enough to be dangerous, and clean shaven.

“Uh, you bumped into me,” you muttered.

He gave a mock-apologetic bow. “Then allow me to make it up to you. Free weapons tour, the Tony Stark himself as your guide. Limited time offer.”

You stared at him, wondering if he was serious. But you had heard the rumors. Then, awkward, you replied, “I’m good, thanks.”

That made him laugh. “Wow. The first woman in this building not drooling over a missile or me. I thin I’m in love.”

“I— I’m just here for work.”

“Ah. A mystery professional.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make you nervous. “Tell you what— I’ll let you guess which of these shiny death machines is my favorite if you tell me your name.”

“I don’t need to know your favorite, Mr. Stark.”

He blinked at you, trying to see if you were serious or just playing him. “Still, could help your boss, right? Knowing my favorite?”

You sighed, and against your better judgement said, “Y/N L/N.”

He smile like he’d just won something. “Well, Y/N, don’t wander too far. I might need you to explain how gravity works when I inevitably fall for you again.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you kept seeing him. At the coffee stand. In the back row of a seminar. He waved each time, too casually to be a coincidence. Then he cornered you during a tech showcase, smiling like you shared a secret.

“Are you going to let me buy you dinner?” He asked.

“No,” you answered simply.

The rest of the day, you continued to run into Tony. He kept asking you out to dinner and you simply told him no each time. At the end of the day, as you were walking out, Tony cornered you, yet again.

“You’re really not going to let me buy you dinner?” He questioned.

“You’re persistent,” you stated.

“I’m Tony Stark. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Fine.”

You only agreed to dinner with him to get him off your back, or so you told yourself. 

Dinner turned into a walk. The walk turned into drinks. Drinks turned into three hours of talking about everything but weapons. He made you laugh and he was a surprisingly good listener. When he dropped you off at your hotel, you were sure he was going to try to go to your room with you. But he didn’t try anything.

Tony just touched your hand, briefly, and said, “Don’t disappear on me, Y/N. I want to know how this story ends.”

~~

You didn’t disappear, only because Tony wouldn’t let you. He some how found your workplace— the direct line to your office.

The first time you answered and it was him, it freaked you out. Not because you didn’t recognize the voice— you did, instantly. That smooth, low drawl, soaked in confidence and charm. Tony Stark was hard to forget. What did freak you out was that it was your office landline. A number you hadn’t given to anyone outside your department, let alone a man you spoke to a few times at a weapons expo.

“Hey,” he said, like he called you every day. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything world changing.”

You stared at the phone in disbelief for a solid three seconds before answering. “How did you get this number?”

“I’m Tony Stark. Come on. Don’t make me say it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I made some calls. Okay, one call. To a guy at your work who owed me a favor. The rest was charm and pure determination..”

You stood from your desk, shutting your office door with a shaky hand. “That’s not okay. This is my work line.”

“And yet… you picked up.”

You didn’t know whether to hang up or yell at him. “Because I thought it was my boss.”

“Do I sound like your boss?”

“No. He has better boundaries.”

Tony chuckled, low and unapologetic. “Fair. Look, I know this is probably wildly inappropriate by HR standards that don’t exist yet, but I wanted to talk to you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

“I was planning to send a letter, but my handwriting’s terrible and I didn’t want to seem like a creep”

“You tracked down my number and called my office. I think we’re past ’seem’.”

“Then let me at least earn a less-creepy title. How about ‘persistent admirer with great taste in women’?”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. You tried to keep your voice cool. “Why are you really calling?”

There was a pause. No smooth quip. Then, quiet, “Because I meant what I said. I want to know how your story ends. And I don’t think one night was enough to find out.”

You should have hung up. You should have said something professional and firm. But your fingers didn’t move, and your voice came out quieter than expected. “You flew home two days ago.”

“Yep. And the first thing I did was try to figure out how to reach you. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You glanced at the notepad on your desk, the half-written report, the coffee you hadn’t finished. “It’s 1995… People don’t just… track down strangers.”

Tony snorted. “You think Howard Stark built the backbone of the defense industry by playing it safe?”

You rolled your eyes— but smiled, just a little.

He took the silence as his opening. “Let me take you to dinner. A real one. No suits, no missiles, no sales reps with too much hair gel. Just us. Talking.”

You resisted. 

“Please? One meal. Worst case, you find out I’m terrible company and never speak to me again. Best case… you find out I’m slightly less terrible company than you assumed.”

A long pause. “No. Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

Then you hung up.

~~~

The faxes started the next day.

The first one was a cartoon drawing of him being rejected, complete with a speech bubble that red, “She’s too smart for me. I’ve never wanted her more.”

Then came the coffee delivery. “Bribery attempt #2: caffeine.”

A week in, you received a cassette tape with his voice on it— singing a terrible version of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You with backup from what sounded like a few disgruntled Stark engineers. 

You rolled your eyes, but kept the tape anyway.

His assistant called next. “I apologize in advance,” she said flatly. “He won’t stop asking me to find out your lunch break schedule. I promise, I am on your side.”

You laughed. “I don’t even know what side that is.”

“The sane one.”

~~~

Two weeks passed. Tony called again— this time in the evening, on your landline at home. That number, you hadn’t even given to your firm. You stared at the ringing phone, suspicious, then finally picked up.

“I’m not stalking you,” he said immediately. “I’m creatively networking.”

“Tony.”

“I’ve decided to try something wild. I’m going to stop bribing you.”

“Finally.”

“And instead I’m going to ask: would you let me talk to you— just talk— for five minutes over coffee? In public. No limo. No tux. No expectations.”

You stayed silent.

“I’ll even let you pick the place.”

You sat there, weighing it. You weren’t sure why you were even still on the phone. Maybe it was the steadiness in his voice. The lack of showmanship for once. Maybe it was that part of you, deep down, that had never stopped thinking about him either.

“I’m not promising anything,” you said.

“I’ll take it.”

~~~

Tony Stark didn’t just flirt with you. He committed. And somewhere in the middle of the chaos he always carried, he carved out room for you.

You didn’t want to like him. You didn’t want to fall. But he didn’t just want your attention— he wanted your thoughts. Your opinions. Your time. He wanted to know what books you read. What made you nervous. He remembered things. He asked questions and showed up— even if at the most random of times.

Tony made room for you in his schedule, even when it meant arguing with Obadiah. He flew to your city for dinner even if he had to leave again in the morning. He sat through your work gala in a tux, smiling at you like you were the only person in the room.

You learned that he had nightmares sometimes. That he kept old newspaper clippings about his dad tucked away in a drawer he never opened. That he talked to his cars like they were people and called one of them ‘baby’ when he thought no one could hear. He let you into the quiet places— the vulnerable ones.

And one night, not long after this thirtieth birthday, you found yourselves in the kitchen of his brand new Malibu home. It was two in the morning. You were barefoot in one of his shirts, laughing as he tried to make pancakes with flour and no eggs. He burned the first batch. You were teasing him about it when he turned serious.

“Wait,” he said.

You stopped mid-laugh.

He pulled something out of the drawer— a rusted old washer bolt from one of his earliest prototypes. He held it between his fingers like it was precious. “I could give you a ten-million-dollar ring,” his voice was quiet. “But I think this one means more.”

You stared at him, eyes wide.

His grin wavered, just slightly. “You’re the first thing I’ve ever built a future around. Marry me?”

You didn’t even think. You said yes before he could take it back.

~~~

But being Tony Stark’s wife wasn’t always easy.

The world saw the headlines: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. You saw the man who worked until his hands shook. The man who forgot to eat and lost hours in his workshop.

And then there was Obadiah Stane. He smiled in your face and treated you like a footnote. You didn’t like him or trust him. He scheduled Tony for meeting he didn’t remember agreeing to. He pushed weapons deal through when Tony was too distracted to fight them. You tried to raise concerns, but Tony brushed them off.

“Obie’s just keeping things together,” he said more than once. “He wants the company to succeed. He wants me to succeed.”

But you saw the patterns. Every time you made plans, something came up. Every time you needed him, Obadiah needed him more: contracts, weapons demonstrations, government visits.

Your third wedding anniversary, you made dinner. Tony promised to be there. You even wore the dress he liked, the soft navy one that hugged your curves and made him stare. But he didn’t show. The food got cold and the candles burned down.

JARVIS played his message at 10:44 pm. 

“Obie says we had to meet with some NATO generals,” Tony’s voice planned through the speakers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t forget. I’ll make it up to you.”

You didn’t send a reply.

When he finally came home, he looked wrecked. His tie was half-undone and eyes bloodshot. You stood in the kitchen with your arms crossed. He dropped his keys and looked at you like he knew he had already lost.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I really am.”

You looked away.

“Baby…” He stepped closer.

“I know you’re trying,” you whispered. “But I’m scared that one day you’ll stop remembering what you’re trying for.”

He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. We can take off this weekend. I’ll tell Obie that this weekends all yours.”

But he didn’t tell Obadiah that. Tony let Obadiah continue to pull the strings. Because Obadiah knew that he didn’t need to drive you away, he just needed to keep Tony too busy.

next chapter >

[phantomamour]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 (𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞)

senator!coriolanus snow x personal assistant fem!reader - previous parts

cw// self-doubt/consciousness, panic attack, confessions - finally finished this and i'm so so happy about it. i have a few ideas for little spin-off fics (admittedly some smut in there too...) but no clue when they will happen so i'm very happy to have the main story completed. it's one of my babies <3

President Ravinstill was stepping down at the end of the year. The announcement took the Capital by storm; every politician worth anything was scrambling to put their foot in the door of the upcoming presidential election in the late spring. Coriolanus’ schedule was meticulously filled to the brim with meetings between himself and several potential campaign managers, thanks to you, and every day felt like a step closer to the end goal you knew he had envisioned for himself so long ago. You didn’t doubt that he could do it for a second, watching each potential manager walk out of his office with their head held high, assuming they’d be working with the future president by the end of the month. It wasn’t until one afternoon, as you overheard chatter from the small group awaiting the elevator, that you questioned your future role in Coriolanus’ presidency.

“His assistant would have to be replaced, certainly.”

“Of course, we’ll hire someone else immediately. Someone more competent, perhaps.” A seed of doubt had been planted under your skin with their harsh words. You never backed down from the challenges that being a senator’s assistant had provided you. You were sure you lost more sleep working for Coriolanus than during university, but you also thrived under his employment. Almost two years had passed since you started at your small desk outside his office, and you wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world. 

Days passed as you continued to spiral about the notion of your termination. You watched every potential manager closely, looking for any hint of their doubt in your abilities. But most of all, you wanted to watch Coriolanus. You certainly thought you had proved yourself, and now you feared he could share that same doubt with the others. 

Your desk started to feel like a place of shame with every person who walked by. Did they know something you did not? Were you failing without even realizing it? Surely you’d be gone by the end of the month. Perhaps even the end of the week. That train of thought brought you into Coriolanus’ office without an idea of what consequences might come from your following words. Coriolanus’ head snapped up to the sound of the door shutting, eyes widening at the sight of you standing before him. 

“I think it’s quite unfair that you’d fire me when I’ve worked unbelievably hard for you. Not once have I faltered in my position, even when you and everyone else have challenged me. I know how you like your calendar and coffee and what dry cleaner you prefer. All of these details that another assistant would completely overlook, but that I know by heart.” Coriolanus couldn’t move. He just watched as you ran a hand through your hair, clearly more and more frazzled by the moment. He had no idea what you were talking about. Firing you? He wouldn’t do it even with a gun to his head, truthfully. Yet once you opened the floodgates to the emotions that had grown deep roots in your chest over the last few days, you couldn’t stop what else poured out with it.

“But if that hard work hasn’t meant what I thought it did, then I think it’s only fair to get it off my chest before you fire me, that I think I love you.” He wasn’t breathing. Surely he misheard you, but you continued, “All your stupid mannerisms and likes and dislikes and habits that I have memorized, and they-they aren’t really stupid because they’re you! And I really like you… And your cat that you won’t tell me about! Because I think you like keeping me on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out more of these little personal details about your life that no one else knows. Which fine! Maybe I love it too because loving you is…” Your voice started to falter, realizing what you were confessing, “Loving you is like… a present that I keep getting to unwrap and… and love more and… more.” Your voice trailed off as the anxious feeling in your chest replaced itself with a deep dread.

If you weren’t fired before, you had to be now. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending completely fried as you watched him stare at you from his desk. He could see you starting to shake, the air in the room escaping you as it dawned on you the full severity of your confession. You wanted to defend yourself, defend your role, but you only gave him more reason to fire you. The group by the elevator called you incompetent, and now you swore you could hear them questioning your professionalism in your head as you opened your mouth to speak, and a broken whisper was all that came out.

“Oh god… I’m… I’m sorry.” You turned to leave, but Coriolanus was rushing up from behind his desk to stop you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the door. Your hand–no, your whole arm–was trembling in his hold. The fear in your eyes was something he’d never seen before; you thought your entire life was imploding right in front of your eyes, and to Coriolanus, he thought it might only be the beginning.

“Who made you think I’d ever fire you? Give me a name.” You could barely breathe, tears pooling in your eyes as you shook your head.

“That’s what you’re focusing on from that?” You sounded so breathless, voice breaking as you fought back the tears that were blurring your vision. Even through the fog of tears, you could see the soft smile Coriolanus offered you, moving a hand up to cup your jaw. The feeling of his skin against yours eased some of the tightness of your chest as you gasped for breath, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“Of course not. But I will need a name, and you need to take a deep breath, sweetheart.” He’d never seen you so worked up, so overwhelmed by your own emotions and the thoughts that had made it nearly impossible to sleep. You were having a panic attack; he could see it in the glassy look of your eyes, and he waited patiently for you to take a deeper breath to reassure you, “I love you, too.” 

The force of your next breath nearly made your knees buckle as he pulled you into his chest and smoothed out your hair. He whispered a soft count for you to follow. One, two, three, four… four, three, two, one. Again. It seemed muffled in his hold, but he brought his lips down to your ear to speak more clearly, “Breathe, darling,” while he guided you to the small leather couch in the corner of his office. 

“C-coryo-” you tried to speak as he sat you down with him, letting you press yourself flush to his side before he shushed you softly. 

“I’m here. It’s okay. Try to relax. That was a lot, darling. You’re okay. Just breathe with me,” he whispered, rubbing gently up and down your back to ground you. You were still trembling down to your bones as if caught in the pouring rain in the coldest parts of winter when he pressed his lips to your hair. He couldn’t help his smile when you started to melt into him more, your breaths evening out to match his own. The tension in the room began to dissipate, a new kind of unfamiliar comfort taking its place. Even though you had wanted it for much longer than you’d let yourself admit, it was strange to know he shared the same feelings as you in any capacity. You didn’t get to mull it over long, however, before he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t tell you about my cat because you asking me questions about her gives me an excuse to ask more about you in return for my vague answers.” Oh. All this time, you thought he was keeping you at an arm's length, and truthfully, he had been trying to bring you in closer.

“You don’t need an excuse to ask me things you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.” A small smile graced Coriolanus’ face again, the room brightening around you two as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. A comfortable silence ensued, the two of you looking at each other, taking in the details of his face. The sharp edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his cheekbone, his full lips. 

“Her name is Juliet… my cat. I’ve had her for three years. Perhaps you were right about the aloof detail but she’s more aloof than me,” he whispered softly. The corners of your mouth tugged up in response; he was letting you learn more about him and it brought a warmth to your chest you weren’t sure you’d ever quite experienced before. 

“That’s sweet. I knew you were a cat person.” He laughed in response.

“You know more about me than anyone.” You felt the room grow smaller around you two as his gaze travelled down to your lips, all the air in your lungs being sucked out under the weight of his stare. Would his lips be as soft as you thought they were? There were an alarming amount of nights, even daydreamed afternoons, that you had considered the thought. What would it be like to kiss Coriolanus Snow? It kept you up at night and distracted you on the weekends. You were hopelessly head over heels for the man and now could believe he might feel the same way in return. 

He caught your eyes on his lips and lost any hesitance he could have had before leaning down to kiss you finally. He smelled like the bottle of bourbon he kept in his office. He tasted like the coffee you had brought him that morning still. You couldn’t help melting into him, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel him against you. All he could think about was the way you leaned into him as he pulled you from his side into his lap. Your thighs caged his as you straddled him, your fingers carding through his hair and loosening his curls. His hands slipped under the fabric of your shirt around your back to press you flush to his chest as you sighed so sweetly against his lips. He could kiss you for the rest of the time. He was sure of that. Now that he’d had a taste, he’d never be able to let you go. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart.”

“I was really hoping you were going to kiss me after the Christmas gala,” you whispered in reply.

“I should have. I really should have. You looked so breathtaking that night.” He melted underneath you, remembering the sight of your red dress and the tipsy giggles you had let out around him that night. You smiled against his lips and he swore it was the most addicting feeling in the world. He could hoard you in his penthouse like the most beautiful jewel in the Capital. He’d dress you in the finest things and spoil you beyond belief. But he couldn’t imagine being Senator, let alone President, without you there to assist him either.  

He pulled your head back just so he could look at you again, taking in the sight of your swollen red lips and the blissful look in your eyes that matched his own. He could feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss on his lips and he didn’t think he could let you go. Not that night in his office and surely, never in the future. You were his and he was yours. 

The two of you left the office late that evening, having spent an alarming amount of time just lazily making out, relishing in the loving touch of the other. You woke up that morning in a blissed-out daze, getting dressed and smiling like a fool as you stopped into the cafe for Coriolanus’ coffee. To your surprise, he had beaten you to the office. 

“Good morning,” he smiled as you set down his cup. If you hadn’t already been smiling, you think the pure force of his own would have overwhelmed you. You had seen Coriolanus through many emotions, but this happiness, this joy, was new. You aimed to only increase it as you handed him the reports you had grabbed from your desk.

“Your meetings today are on the lighter side. Another potential manager and a call with the Minister of Defense,” you gave him a moment to look over the papers before adding, “You have a dinner to attend tonight as well.” You smiled as he looked back up to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He couldn’t remember there being a dinner on his schedule for the week. 

“Which diplomat wants to speak to me now? Or is a manager trying to woo me?” You felt giddy getting to tell him what you had done. 

“Well, I’m not a politician and I don’t think I need to woo you. But I would like you to take me to dinner tonight. It’s on your calendar. I got us a reservation already.” If he wasn’t charmed by you already, you had shot him like Cupid in that moment, his stomach fluttering against his will. He couldn’t help loving the way you took charge, how you ordered him around as if he wasn’t a Senator, soon to be President. Yet, even as you did, you were never once cruel. He didn’t think you could have a cruel bone in your body. 

“I see. I look forward to it. I still need that manager’s number you told me about yesterday.” 

“What for?” you tried not to sound as dreadful as the pit in your stomach felt at the mention of the people who doubted you so openly. 

“I need to tell them they aren’t getting the job,” he smirked, “You can listen if you'd like. I’m not entertaining anyone’s offers if they have anything negative to say about you.” The butterflies in Coriolanus’ stomach now matched the ones in your whole body. You had known he was protective. You had seen glimpses of the glares he shot the other senators at galas when their glances at you lingered too long. But to hear him voice it, to hear him defend you out loud, was something else entirely as you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Of course, sir. I’ll have it for you soon,” you spoke softly before turning to leave. Just like yesterday, he was standing and rushing around his desk to grab you, pulling you back to him after a quick glance at the closed door and pressing his lips to yours. You were quickly learning just how touch starved he must have been as he gripped your hips to press you closer while you melted into him. Kissing him was intoxicating. You swore you were lightheaded and tipsy as he pulled back to give you air. 

“Wear something red tonight,” he whispered.

“Don’t I always for you?” you smiled back. There was the confirmation he had needed for the last two years. The final piece of the puzzle that made up your partnership; you wore something red every single day since your first week. Today it happened to be your skirt, blood red as his jacket and the pride that shone through him as he toyed with the fabric on your hips was worth having to invest in far more red than you had ever owned before all those months ago. 

“Wear a tie tonight, Coryo,” you whispered back, playing with his collar, smoothing out the fabric against his neck. Hearing you call him the soft nickname nearly made him shiver. If it weren’t for the previous night, the confession you two shared, he was certain he’d be disgusted by the warmth in his chest looking at you. But now he nudges his nose against yours lovingly. 

“Why a tie?”

“You look very handsome with a tie,” you whispered. Coriolanus was all too endeared by the giddy undertone of your voice, matching the smile tugging at your lips as you added, “and I like the idea of tugging on it and dragging you around with me.” That got him to smile in a way he didn’t think he had in years. He could picture it now. Your intoxicating tipsy laugh as you tugged on his tie to kiss him. Your excited eyes as you would watch him give in to you. Him on his knees as you used his tie to drag his face closer-

“You don’t have to drag me. I’ll follow,” he interrupted his own thoughts before pulling you in for another kiss. It took everything in you not to mess up his gelled hair for your own enjoyment of his curls. You wanted to see him as he was and little by little, you were unwrapping him. You only hoped that spending more time with him alone would finish tearing off the precious composed wrapping paper he so proudly displayed to the Capital. You wanted to burrow into his skin and never let go. Perhaps you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. 

He reluctantly let you go, hands trailing after your hips once you stepped out of his hold. You were unraveling him and he was relishing in the feeling of it. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable in years and yet, there was a comfort in it with you. A knowledge that you had the right interests in your heart. Not the purest perhaps—you were set on him winning the presidency still—but the ones that mattered to him most of all. That was a trust he valued so deeply with you. 

“I like the frame by the way,” you smirked, pointing to his desk as you stepped toward the door, “ I always wondered what you did with all of my little notes when I didn’t see them in the trash.” His gaze followed your direction to the small frame made of dark wood and glass, with a single piece of paper inside. He had come in early to dig it out from deep in his drawer; he didn’t need to hide it anymore. His smile didn’t falter even once you had left the room and he sat back down behind his desk. 

The little yellow piece of framed paper stared at him; the start of something he didn’t know would be so valuable at the time. He was extremely grateful for whatever little voice nagged in his head to hold onto it all that time ago. He could have lost it to the trash forever. But instead, it sat proudly on his desk. A reminder of what shockingly seemed to matter the most to him.

Good morning, Senator Snow. I look forward to working with you. 

[the-ruby-enchanter]

You're no feminist. You're not only placing blame of Tamlin onto Feyre but you're saying that Feyre's revenge was stupid /petty as if he wasn't @busing her and his ugly lapdog was just watching it all fall apart . Just like that boy did with his mom .

Rhys's sister ain't alive that nasty man's actions caused her to die . Some of you need to know how to comprehend material . Her head was floating down a river , Tamlin is nasty and cruel person . His soulmate is Lucien and only Lucien

"When you only interact with people who share the exact same opinion as you... Same favorite characters, same takes, same echo chamber where you can throw even your most delulu theories around without risking anyone throw free hate... sounds cozy, right?

But even then — even in your carefully curated comfort zone — people still find the time to crawl into your inboxe just to send this kind of messages over fictional characters. 🙃 Wow. How great!"

Let me say it louder for the ones in the back (and I’ll keep saying it, again and again):

The way I perceive a story, its characters, its events: that interpretation belongs to me. Not you. Not your circle. Me.

That’s the entire point of fiction! It’s meant to spark different perspectives, emotions, even contradictions.

We’re human beings, not clones. We think differently. So if you need everyone to agree with your opinion 100% of the time… you’re not looking for conversation, you’re looking for a cult.

And oh, don’t come at my boys just because you lack the imagination or empathy to put yourself in their shoes — especially when we never got to hear their full stories.

You don’t know what Lucien went through in Beron’s house. You don’t know if he exchanged messages with his mother in secret, living under the constant threat of a powerful, abusive High Lord. What exactly do you expect him to do? Stand up and die for rebellion while no one even sees it?

And for my lovely blondie Tamlin — you’re so quick to condemn him while you forgave Rhysand in a heartbeat, even though he actually abused and sexually harassed Feyre Under the Mountain. But I guess it’s fine now because he “had a reason,” right? Because we heard his story.

But what about Tamlin’s story? What if, for just one second, you considered what he went through?

You really think Amarantha, who lusted after him since his childhood, wouldn’t do horrible things to him once she had him caged like a trophy in her court? You think he came out of that untouched?

Let me remind you: it was Rhys who willingly offered his “services” to Amarantha.

Tamlin rejected her for years. And still ended up her prisoner.

Now let’s get real for a sec:

Questioning my feminism because I see nuance in a male character? That’s not only childish, it’s embarrassing.

Real feminism is about advocating for all people — women, men, everyone in between — especially when they’re misunderstood or mistreated.

Sometimes men are victims. Sometimes they’re trapped by the way a story is told. And recognizing that doesn’t make me any less feminist.

If your feminism only supports women who dress a certain way, act certain way, think a certain way, or hate the “right” characters… then it’s not feminism. It’s just another form of control.

(It's just like the kind that supports “freedom” when women can wear what ever she want until she choose to wear a hijab and cover her self, that suddenly doesn’t count as freedom anymore, I'm not saying you do that but the way you persieve things hit the same way)

Also, can we talk about the joykiller you are for a moment?

I adore the theory that Tamlin and Rhys’s sister were old lovers and that she might come back as his mate. I love it. It makes so much sense to me.

You don’t have to agree. But messaging people just to tell them their theory is “wrong” or “won’t happen” , are you allergic to fun?

If you don’t like it, scroll. It’s free. No one’s forcing you to engage.

And lastly, It’s a real shame you messaged me under “anonymous.”

Because people like me? 😇 When we disagree with someone’s opinion, we either ignore, scroll past, or worst case hit block.

We don’t send sneaky little anonymous hate messages like cowards.

Have a beautiful day. Or don’t. That’s up to you. ✌️

[rasqberrypetalpostcards]

001.

monologue culture: why we overshare to no one in particular an essay on the quiet poetry of talking too much to no one at all

there’s a peculiar intimacy to monologuing into the ether. a sort of emotional exhale into digital spaces—voice notes no one asked for, captions that feel like confessionals, 3am tumblr posts typed like love letters and left unsigned. this isn’t attention-seeking, not really. it’s something more tender. more tired. more complex.

we’re not always speaking to be heard. sometimes, we speak because the silence is heavier than the vulnerability.

this is monologue culture.

it’s the way we sit with our feelings—out loud. it's the way we narrate heartbreak to an instagram caption or cry-write three paragraphs into a notes app. it’s when someone asks, “how are you?” and we respond with a novel, even if no one’s reading it. it’s the paradox of speaking into the void and hoping someone sees it, but not really minding if they don’t.

we do this not because we’re unwell (though sometimes, yes), but because it’s a way of survival. we monologue as a soft rebellion against isolation. a kind of makeshift companionship. an archive of our own emotional literacy. a way to know ourselves—out loud.

a little history: the diary, digitized

before there were late-night rants on twitter or poetic overshares on tumblr, there were diaries—pages upon pages of musings, monologues, maybes. people have always needed a place to speak privately but not silently. the digital age didn’t invent oversharing; it just made it observable.

now, we narrate our lives publicly, semi-publicly, or in “close friends” stories meant only for a curated few. but even when we share to no one, when we lock a post or leave it untagged, there’s still a performance to it. a soft kind. not to be admired, but to be witnessed. like cracking open a window and hoping someone hears the piano playing.

the emotional logic of oversharing

so why do we do it?

why pour our hearts into spaces not designed to hold them?

well—for one, there’s structure in monologuing. there’s clarity in forming thoughts into paragraphs. there’s relief in naming what we’re feeling, even if we’re doing it while crying into our pillow with one arm extended for typing.

oversharing, especially when it feels one-sided, is often less about the listener and more about the speaker. it’s the emotional equivalent of picking at a knot until it loosens. you talk it through not because you want advice, but because the weight feels lighter when spoken. and when written—oh, when written—it feels like a spell cast to trap the ache between lines.

fun fact: “oversharing” is often gendered

did you know that the very idea of oversharing is loaded with bias? in communication studies and digital discourse, the label is disproportionately applied to femmes and feminine-coded speech. women and girls are told they “talk too much,” “go too deep,” or “make things awkward” with emotional openness.

but in reality? sharing openly, and with nuance, is a form of emotional fluency. it’s not oversharing. it’s storytelling. and storytelling is power. it’s a legacy passed down through letters, journals, whispered poems in the dark.

so the next time you call yourself cringey for oversharing on your blog or sending a five-minute voice note to your best friend about the way a bird looked at you—maybe pause. maybe remember that talking too much about what hurts is a kind of care. maybe even a kind of art.

the performance of silence vs. the performance of speech

we romanticize the quiet types—the mysterious ones who “don’t post much” or “keep to themselves.” but we rarely ask why someone shares out loud. we rarely notice how brave it is to monologue without a promise of being understood.

silence can be powerful. but so can loud vulnerability. and those who monologue—those who overshare, whisper their spirals, dramatize their heartbreaks with all the flair of a tragic heroine—deserve grace.

there’s performance in all kinds of expression. but monologuing is a unique one. it’s a performance of being present in your own unraveling. it’s what happens when you refuse to disappear just because you're hurting.

monologues as placeholders for connection

when we talk to “no one in particular,” we’re often talking to the someone we wish existed. the best friend who’s still awake. the stranger who might get it. the future version of ourselves who’ll reread our rants and finally understand.

it’s not loneliness that drives monologue culture—it’s hope. a strange, soft hope that somewhere, someone might nod along, or smile a little, or whisper “same” into the dark.

we write long captions, post rambling blogs, tweet drafts meant for no audience because it feels like company. it feels like we’re building a trail of breadcrumbs back to ourselves.

being known vs. being heard

there’s a distinct ache in wanting to be known rather than just heard. and monologues? they bridge that gap. they reveal who we are in ways casual conversations rarely do.

a tumblr post about how your heart feels like a cracked teacup says more than “i’m sad.” a ramble about a stranger who reminded you of someone you lost says more than “i miss you.”

these moments, these monologues—they stitch together the poetry of living. they say: i’m trying. i’m feeling. i’m reaching.

and yes, maybe no one will reply. maybe no one will read the entire thing. but it lives. it exists. and that matters.

in defense of talking too much

maybe this is your sign to keep narrating. to keep voice-noting. to keep typing things out like they matter—because they do. maybe you are not too much. maybe you are just alive in a world that often asks us to mute our inner symphonies.

so write the three-paragraph instagram caption. post the crying selfie if it helps. rant to your drafts. record your thoughts in the middle of the night. speak, even if you’re not sure anyone’s listening.

because sometimes, the person who needs to hear you most—is you.

scribbled down by, R.

[bluejayadler]

Thoughts on this post?

https://www.tumblr.com/do-be-careful-charles/786662921427206144?source=share

I thought it was fascinating and and fun and would love to hear someone else's thoughts on it.

Parallels!

So I received this ask in my inbox from an anonymous human, and it has given me an excuse to talk about parallels!

Now, the OP mentions Edwin being paralleled with Wilfred, the WWI ghost, and Charles being paralleled with Hope Devlin. But someone in the tags also brings up Crystal with Esther and Niko with Mick. So we're gonna look at all the Core 4 and their parallels.

Parallels are used in narrative and storytelling for a few different reasons. Largely its to compare or contrast two points or things - two parallel scenes might show progression along an arc, two parallel characters might show diverging character arcs or converging character arcs - loss of self of one character, reclamation of identity, the fall, the rise! So many things. 

Edwin to WW1 ghost - this was a fate he could've had, but the sad thing is, that even though he escaped this fate, he really didn't. WWI and WWII battlefields, like most warzones, were described as Hell. Edwin died the year the draft was initiated. Sure, he wasn't old enough yet, but he may have still ended up drafted soon enough. Edwin actual death involved him being sacrificed to Hell - figurative or literal hell, no autonomy or agency in ending up there. Edwin's parallel is essentially a reflection. Also consider that there would've been a good chance he died MIA or ended up buried as an unknown soldier. Edwin may have been lost the No Man's Land and Hell just as easily. He didn't really "escape" this parallel fate but rather endured a more twisted version of it.

Charles to Hope - again, this is a fate Charles could've had but still basically did, in a twisted way. Hope tries to leave home and is murdered before she can. Charles does leave home, off to boarding school, but still ends up murdered. You'd have to wonder if Charles saw Hope and thought, just for a second, "even if she left, nothing would've changed" because, that was the truth for him. He escaped and then didn't. The fact is, either fate would've left him murdered by someone meant to care for him and protect him, someone he was meant to trust. And I don't think Charles would've found any more justice if he'd been killed by his own father. Child abuse is grossly under investigated, and even when it is, is very under-punished. Charles's father may not have received any real punishment, if he got caught at all. If anyone even cared.

I think the big thing for me with the boys and their parallels is that they both still essentially had their fated death! But also, them having their parallel in front of them fits so well with the themes of justice and "we didn't matter". Parallels in story telling serve a few different purposes - usually around comparing and contrasting. Often its holding a character up against an older or younger version of themselves (either literal version of themself or just representative/figurative version) and saying "this is what you could become" or "this is what you could've been". With Charles and Edwin, its oddly both or kinda neither. Sorry, I should be asleep. These are what they could've been and, at the same time, what they could become - Charles could become trapped in a loop of his own pain (and he kinda does) and Edwin could be cursed to forever live through that Hell again (which, again, kinda almost happens). Edwin and Charles both "escaped" that parallel outcome, but not really. 

But their parallel is less about comparison to me, and more about the theme of justice. Again, parallels can be used for different things. In the case of Edwin and Charles, I think it helps highlight a core theme of the show.

Going back to the "we didn't matter" scene (amazing scene) - Edwin says "we didn't matter, so these cases matter. They have to matter." And I think this is what their parallels more play towards. Edwin and Charles come face to face with their parallels, but they are able to give those parallel ghosts something they didn't get - some level of justice or closure. And its not perfect by any shot of the imagination. Charles and Edwin don't PREVENT tragedy, just like no one prevented theirs. Given how against taking a living client Edwin is in ep 1, it's easy to imagine they do it VERY rarely, so unless they are hired by a ghost to save someone, they are coming in AFTER the tragedy occurs. That is also the nature of a detective who usually investigates AFTER the tragedy. The boys aren't preventing their parallels but they are allowing the next part of the story to be different. They see the parallel in their cases, some as strong as Hope and Wilfred, and others as not. But they don't leave their parallel in the same place. They step in - something that wasn't done for them.

And its interesting how they interact with these parallels - or rather, with each others parallels. Charles is the one that steps in with Wilfred. He offers him closure in that moment. And this makes sense for his character - Charles is the more positive one, the more social one. It tracks he'd be the one focused on that while Edwin was focused on leaving before the blue light came. But, Charles is also the one that offers Edwin safety too, the way Edwin offered it to him. Charles, in that moment, becomes to Wilfred what Edwin was for him in the attic - paralleling the moment of his own death and the arrival of his own blue light. In the Devlin house, Charles can't act. He tries but gets stuck in the loop. The same way Edwin was stuck in his loop in Hell - unable to escape the Doll House. Edwin pulls Charles from that loop, by destroying the tape and actually, with the help of Crystal, physically pulling Charles up off the floor. This is paralleled when Charles pulls Edwin out of Hell. Because, the Devlin house, seeing his own parallel and being unable to stop it, would've been figurative Hell for Charles. So, their parallel ghosts aren't even JUST about them separate but them together and their entire afterlife purpose. Its not just "what could've been" but "what can we make it", which is not a common use for parallels, least, not that I can think of.

So yeah, the boys' parallels are AMAZING! But the post I was sent included Crystal paralleled with Esther and Niko with Tragic Mick. So, lets look at that.

Cause, DBDa has a LOT of parallels, which I love. They have scenes that parallel each other and characters that parallel each other, and its fascinating. But focus, focus on just the Core 4.

Crystal and Niko fall more into the traditional comparison type parallels - the younger character paralleled against an older version of themself and "what you could become" motif.

Crystal and Esther - I touched on them a little bit during a previous NGL where someone asked if I thought Crystal was getting through to Esther during the final fight. Crystal and Esther parallel amazingly. They both are women who were wronged - betrayed in some way by people they loved who were meant to love them. They both turned to some power to protect themselves, specifically taking the route of power to keep others from hurting them, even if it meant hurting others first. Esther is the most obvious, but Crystal does this - the mean girl mentality hurting her friends emotionally, giving people nightmares, and the whole making someone walk into traffic! Add to this that both Esther and Crystal get their power from a similar place. I mean, Crystal's is her own, but it is strengthened by her ancestors. A female ancestral source. Esther gets her from Lilith, the first woman and goddess of wronged women. They both turn to this source as some point. And this is where they branch and they do it in a way I enjoy. Because, Crystal doesn't go all the way down the same route as Esther, even though she starts down that path. She stops. Her memories are gone. She doesn't remember being hurt. She knows she has the power to get what she wants and do what she wants. And she does - she helps. She finds Becky. She finds connection! Crystal is lost and alone and could use her powers to take, but instead, she uses them to help. And when she fully reconnects with her ancestors, her first act, is to save others. I like how her's is handled, because she never has an explicit "this is who I could become" moment, which, I've seen a lot of. This idea that either the character or the audience needs to parallel to be explicitly written out for them. But the audience doesn't. We can see Crystal struggling with herself, her past actions and current decisions and how to use her power in a way that helps without hurting, including herself. When she calls on Esther's pain and shares her own, she's calling out that parallel. She had a moment like Esther, and she chose to do better. But she isn't explicitly comparing herself or saying "I don't want to become you." The sentiment and arc are there and the show manages to tell it without having to explicitly write it out. I like this, because this is more real to me. Which, yes, I'm saying "more real" while referring to a sow with ghosts and demons and witches. But, DBDa does an amazing job ay making the characters and the arcs very human. If you think about all the big scenes people talk about - they're all human scenes. Like, human connection. The big scenes are huge set pieces or explosion or huge moments of action. They're focused on the humanity of the characters. And, in our life, we will probably see parallels to ourselves, but we often don't get the chance or have the foresight to think "this is what I could become or what I could've been" - not in a moment where that change it possible. Often, its unseen things and small choices that we make that get us there. We may have the idea someone in our mind, like Crystal, but Crystal didn't change because she looked at Esther. She changed because the let herself care and she found support and connection and wanted to be better than who she was before. Crystal does parallel Esther, and we as the audience get to see what Crystal could've become, but she changed for herself and for the people she came to care about. This is why I love her parallel in the show. 

And now, we have Niko. And Niko gets another fun dual parallel, like the boys, but not exactly. Niko, I think, parallels Tragic Mick very well. Tragic Mick is cursed - living an isolated life, unable to return home. Niko, when we meet her, is just the same. And neither of them chose it. Tragic Mick was "sent away" by his mother, a punishment essentially for wonder. He was curious. He wanted to know about people. But his mother was hurt by them, so she cast him out. Niko was sent away by her mother, who was grieving, and for whatever reason, didn't want Niko there. She was sent away from home, just like Mick. And once gone, her wonder led her to a field of dandelions, where she was infested and "cursed" resulting in her own isolation. Both of them didn't deserve their fate. They didn't actively cause. They were essentially punished for their own curiosity/wonder and more so, for things outside their control (Huh, both got impacted by intergenerational trauma) and had to suffer through the results. Mick remains largely isolated - constantly seeking a way back to what was. Niko ahs her moments of doing the same. She obsesses, for one episode, about getting her father back. But, when the Night Nurse says "you don't want him back like that", Niko accepts it. Its where her parallel branches off. Niko is able to embrace the pain and what comes after. Not entirely. She still ahs to endure it and get through it. But she doesn't remain in isolation. She could! After the sprites were gone, she could've remained in her room, constantly focusing on what was and how to get back to a place that's no longer there. But she doesn't! She moves forward. She finds new connection and new joy. Like Crystal, part of Niko's shift from her parallel is her own action and part is the action of others - which again plays so well into the show's themes of humanity and connection. Niko would've ended up in a tragic fate were it not for Crystal and the boys intervening. But even after their intervention, she still had to make the choices to chance. Like Crystal - the agency gave her the opportunity and support so she could make the change.

And this brings me to the second parallel for Niko - the Principal. Who is Niko. So, maybe not a parallel, but I'm counting it. The Principal is great because she is what Niko becomes - keeping part of her parallel from Tragic Mick in the "you never know when the good you do will come back around" but also having her own path. The Principal is the parallel that happened because Niko found connection and now she continued the work of the agency from a different side - still helping, in some way, in her way. Because we have the Principal, which we know is Niko, while also having Tragic Mick who is Niko's parallel, we oddly enough get a complete parallel storyline! Yes, Crystal has turned off the path that Esther went down, but something could push her back. And the boys, well, they already ARE their parallel. But Niko, we get a glimpse at this more tragic potential future and instead we see what she does become - the Principal. We don't know how she got there, but we know she held pieces of her journey - quoting Mick, pausing at the sight of her name, using her "reading comprehension" to help, being brave and wanting to find closure for others. Niko becomes the Principal, in part, due to her parallel arc with Mick.

The parallels in this show do an amazing job of highlighting the individual characters while also bringing out the overarching themes of the show - humanity, connection, justice, "the good you do", etc.  Thank you so much for the ask! I hadn't considered the Core 4 parallels with other characters before!!! So this was a fun analysis to do when I should've been sleeping.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Raven! I hope you’re doing well today. I was curious, however, as to if you’d ever thought of a voice claim for Miss Raven, or a general idea of her tone of voice and the like?

ajsbkguatvivoeavf I'm useless when it comes to knowledge of VAs, so I haven't really thought about this 😭

I think I've had a few readers share their own ideas for Miss Raven voice claims (the previous one was Fischl from Genshin Impact, although the sender did not specify which language VA they meant; I suggested Furina myself). (I unfortunately was not able to track down the older related posts.) I've also had the honor of having a friend act out some voice lines I wrote for Miss Raven.

I think there's a general consensus that she sounds tiny and high-pitched, sort of like how you'd imagine a twittering bird to be. I see her sometimes taking on this dreamy, longing sort of tone when she's daydreaming or talking to herself. (It's sort of funny because if you've ever heard an actual raven making noises, it sounds sort of scary?? Like, loud and screechy... But they can also whimper and purr??? And they can talk and sing?????? Bird of many talents...) Being the storyteller that she is, and wanting to assert herself among the many strong personalities at NRC, Miss Raven has a sort of theatrical and smug or self-important tone. (Picture her talking as if she's dramatically narrating a story at all times!) It's not that she truly believes she is better than her peers, but she feels that she has to wear this facade if she is to survive in this dog-eat-dog world. This is how she adapts to her new human life!

Miss Raven “breaks character” when she’s thrown off her game. Then she takes on a squeakier, more vulnerable and girlish voice, sort of like a tsundere when she’s being more -dere than tsun-.

cbjsbskwkw Basically, she has the same voice but two variants of it: one is the haughty and arrogant “mask” she uses as a defense mechanism + to try and fit in at NRC, the other is her “true self”, which is much softer and more vulnerable. Miss Raven tries to hide the latter because she fears it will make her come across as weak and easily taken advantage of. It’s survival of the fittest out here!!

[crustyfloor]

(sorry to the anon I couldn't answer directly because cough tumblr being an idiot cough)

1) Since My Clematis encapsulates sincere love in Alnst, and Cure represents the tragic side of it, and Wiege represents humanity and its perseverance, I think the theme of Karma will be grief & death (and it will include remembrance, maybe, or in other terms flashbacks).

And with what we know about the general theme of Alnst, it will then center Mizi, Till, and Luka's grief, the essential "cause and effect" of their actions leading up to the deaths of those they held dear, and then how they faced the impact and consequences head-on from there. With that, I think Karma will also show how humans can persevere through it, even when it's grim (It makes sense to me for these aspects of the story to be amalgamated into the very last episode with this specific cast)

(I think that mostly cause of these flowers tbh.. flowers especially in funeral settings can symbolize death and rebirth, etc, and they remind me of Anakt gravesites, so that's grief, but Mizi Luka and Till also have a theme as the ones who had to live after Sua, HyunA, and Ivan's deaths) It's meant to be...

So if they go w/ this ^ then Mizi, Till, and Luka's perspectives and how they lived through the consequences of their actions and a fate that they didn't anticipate will be coordinated around to send this message and let us into their minds and how grief distorts and impacts them

(and yeah they'll all have shared survivor's guilt, trust me)

(This also means we get to see scenes of these three at their lowest. CURE FROM TILL'S PERSPECTIVE!!)

2)

(actually...I suspect this graphic not appearing with Luka and Mizi the same way it did with Mizi and HyunA hints that neither Mizi nor Luka will die... nobody will die the alive trio will survive 😇)

5) I suspect Mizi will end up finding some sense of peace by the end of the video, not like she’s fully getting over Sua or forgiving herself entirely, however in this current arc, where she's faced with consequences, and she's ultimately blaming herself for them is being set up to be resolved. She’s the kind of person to understand and get back up again, so it’ll happen somehow.

6) SOMEONE will finally get on the stage with the defibrillator so they can reccesuitate Till's lazy ass

7) A LITTLE BIT OF CURE FROM TILL'S PERSPECTIVE!

8) Karma will be a Mizi solo but I actually think it will sound a little more harsh or distorted, I can't get "Worst case scenario" -(nastyona) out of my head... now I think Karma itself will have a nastyona-esc sound, maybe for the little throwback to the trigger series (or that's my favoritism for that series talking) plus I think there will be dialogue sequences

9) More hyper-realistic and low-key eerie frames this time around that symbolize the self-sacrificial and theological themes of Mizi and Sua's dynamic & a reflection of the way Sua "haunts" Mizi's narrative.. yesss 🤤

10) I don't think Mizi will take her mental breakdown out on Luka and do anything to him directly, so no sneakily shooting Luka in the ass

11) Till breathing

12) At least a hopeful ending . Please, "The happy ending is where they all die." propaganda is like the cheese touch to me 🙎‍♂️

After we've been shown humans living with hope in a world like this in Wiege, even despite the odds and the rebellion's existence itself, I think it'd be a nice touch to see the rebels' plan to reconnect humanity through this rocket and HyunA's efforts and passion be seen through in the story. I'm not sure how that would play out, but why would Vivinos put those efforts and all that build-up in vain if not to set up a hopeless ending contrary to what messages and goals have been conveyed thus far in this series? I also think it will open up a chance for the remaining cast to get off the dubiously explodable stage this time. I want the characters to live to see this message through, if all goes well

13) i want till to live (gets blown up)

[the-golden-comet]

“Writing is ART. NOT Content” 👏👏👏

I promise you I enjoy every kind comment that users leave on my works, regardless on how old my stories are. Hell, even the constructive ones I enjoy because it means that my work has moved people enough to interact with it. 💫

One of my stories is approaching one year now, and I still beam whenever I get a comment. I promise you it isn’t “creepy” to express genuine joy and interest on older stories. Like prev mentioned, it may make an author’s entire day, or week. Or MONTH. 💛✨

We are a community of artists. Encourage the art of storysharing and worldbuilding. ✨

I got a comment today that said smth along the lines of "I didn't wanna be weird commenting on a four month old fic"

Baby, bless your heart but four months isn't old by any means and ao3 isn't fucking instagram. Comment on fics you like, regardless of how old they are! The worst that could happen is you make an author's day. Writing is art, not content.

[sketchy-tour]

Its funny that I could feel my WH hyperfixation slowly morph into just my genuine special interest. I worried at first, cause I thought my love for it had died. Because it was duller. But no no. Now it sits comfortably and idly in my mind. Unshaken. Comfortable. At home.

[ritzyheartz]

A Star-Crossed Encounter (OC short story)

These are Tirby and Kreeby, two of my oldest OCs (circa 2013)! Tirby's design is a product of the times. as you can see.

I've been thinking a lot about writing recently, so I wanted to share a short story I wrote about these two a year ago!

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

For as long as he had wandered, he had never forgotten about her. The way her pearl-white robes shone silky. The way her eyes gave away the smile beneath her garb. The way she carried herself as she paced to the altar every night to pray or give offerings - or as she fled from those who stole him away.

The way she left him to die.

The scene was burnished deep in his mind. Some days, it weighed heavier on Tirby's soul than the clunky steel augments welded to his body. The fury he felt was enough to make him want to rip out his wings. It had been a day like any other. Weeks prior, the priests had received prophecy and warning of impending danger, but life carried on. The problem was that no one knew when or what to expect to begin with. Not even those with religious power could have predicted the enemy that besieged them early that afternoon. Tirby and Kreeby had always been close. Ever since childhood, the two had considered each other good friends, though their duties often pulled them apart as they grew older. One, a knight, made in the honor of their gods and sworn to dutifully protect their small world with his life. The other, a reverend hand-chosen to worship, commune with the divine, and receive blessings on behalf of them all. Despite it all, they found time for each other, day after day.

It was that one fateful day when they had precious free time on their hands and had chosen to spend it together. Clouds of metal blotted the sun from view. Icy steel spears - like the legs of some bony animal, larger than life itself - descended into the ground, spreading mechanics outward, infecting the land with their computerization. Invaders swarmed from the gigantic hive like insects. Lifeforms unlike anything Tirby, Kreeby, or any of their fellows had ever seen before; hi-tech visors, handheld weapons that shot concentrated blasts of plasma, and most importantly, those who piloted large, round, metal bodies, decorated with spikes and sharp edges, the shoulders of their armor emblazoned with a foreboding "H". The hulking robots were nigh untouchable. To fight or attempt to fight them was a death wish, as Tirby so unfortunately discovered. He had brandished his blade against the otherworldly foes in an attempt to protect Kreeby, his dearest friend.

But alas, Tirby was no match for the invaders, who both outsized and outnumbered him. When he had given his all, and had no more left within him, he was seized. Crying out, he stretched one hand in Kreeby's direction, agony welling up inside him and spilling out through his voice. But all he saw was a glimpse of her dark countenance as she turned and fled. She did not come for him. She was gone. And he never saw her again. Tirby thought about that day, and about her, far too often for his liking. He truly wished he could move on, but the scars left both on his body and in his mind were deep and unhealing, and they would not let him forget. After his escape from the clutches of those vile engineers and their equally treacherous machines, he hadn’t much else to do but brood. Many times before had he wanted to track them down, to return and blow their entire operation to smithereens… but he thought the lot of them unworth the effort. Kreeby, however? Well, if ever he did cross paths with her again, he decided, he would not let her go unscathed. To encounter her again in the first place, though, felt unlikely. ‘Tragic for me… lucky for her.’

With no home left to return to, and no knowledge of where exactly he had escaped to, Tirby felt stranded in the vast, chilly oceans of outer space. It was rare he stumbled upon the sight of a distant planet. Even then, most planets appeared… rather unfit for life. A hunk of rock dribbling with lava like some wannabe star here, or an oversized cyclone there.

When the cyborg found anything he could consider hospitable, he supposed he would have to check it out. For now, resting on the occasional asteroid would do. Unless… From where he was poised on one such floating rock, he thought he could see something in the distance. He stretched his body up, as if that would help. No - one augment that he could grudgingly accept was the ability to zoom into and enhance distant objects in his vision. It had helped him scope out potential planets without having to get terribly close to them. And now, it could do the same. Tirby narrowed his eye slightly. In his vision, the picture of the distant planet grew larger, more detailed. So, too, did the pitiful white text in the corners of what he saw. It was supposed to help identify any crucial information located in the databases of those who had modified him. Useless, now that he was so far from their grasp. When it had the fortune of connecting to said databases, no information was present; Tirby thought it likely that even they had never extended their claws out this far in the universe.

This planet seemed habitable. Almost suspiciously normal, in fact. A pair of bright rings in orbit, with a moon hovering nearby. If he looked closely, he could make out a small, more vertical ring encircling the satellite. Although, he did not yet know if this planet was gaseous. And he always found himself wishing he could tell what color some of these planets were. He never saw the world in deep vibrance, but after the ordeal with the invaders, all things, to him, were tinted red. Regardless, ignoring this planet might turn out to be a missed opportunity. Tirby, in a mixture of reluctance and anticipation, ruffled his wings - perhaps not so much a ruffle as a tinny clink-clatter - and propelled himself away from the asteroid using the boosters in his wingtips.

-•-•-•-•-

Tirby had decided that it might be safer to light down upon the moon first, to scope out the planet itself. It had a thickly colored atmosphere, but if he enhanced his vision he could make out the shape of continents. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself of.

Where he had landed, exactly, on the little satellite, seemed to be just outside a forest of thin trees. Their bark appeared a dark gray. The leaves at the ends of their branches were a mixture of star shapes and butterfly wings; he could tell they were glowing, and though the moon’s gravity field was sturdy enough, some of the fallen leaves hovered just so in the air, almost like a tangible fog. He had to admit that it intrigued him. It was, at the very least, a forest; that much was a familiar kind of environment. It had been a long time since he had gotten to explore any woodsy areas, of course. Taking care to ensure that his wings were still at the ready, in case there happened to be any… alien creatures here who wanted to get the jump on him, Tirby traipsed further into the forest, brushing petals and leaves out of his way here and there.

It was strangely soothing, he thought after a short while. Which was when he realized he had never really gotten to just take a walk in the wilderness like this - not in a long time, anyway. The last time he’d gotten to… His brow furrowed. The last time he’d gotten to, he hadn’t been so alone. ‘Of course,’ he grumbled to himself. ‘Why is it that the one time I’m feeling kind of peaceful for once, I have to start thinking about her again?’ As if in response, the wind suddenly chilled around him. Not that a chill phased Tirby much anymore, but it still gave him pause.

Was it getting darker? The little moon was still in the path of its sun’s light… Tirby glowered around, peering through the trees. He couldn’t see or sense anything nearby. Tapping into his internal radar sent a web-like outline into the corner of his field of vision. No lifeforms could be registered - no little white dots surrounding him anywhere.

Now that he looked, he realized he couldn’t tell where the edge of the trees began. Where the forest thinned out into barren rock. His heart skipped a beat. As he turned, he stepped further forward, shoulders tensing. What was going on here? Around him, the wind began to pick up. The delicate petals floating about were no longer aimless. Tirby observed as they swam through the air, looping here and there, up and down, and closing in on him.

Closing in on him?

Quickly, Tirby reacted. He stood his ground, clenching his fists; the claws of his wings spread outward. But the petals only danced about. Unwittingly, the wary puffball followed along. He turned in a circle just once or twice, trying to keep an eye on the petals. Then, as soon as they had picked up, they waltzed toward the trees in their gentle, hypnotic line. Tirby stood rather dumbfounded. ‘Why…’ 

He tried to make sense of it in his head. Did they maybe… want to show him something? But that was ridiculous. They were just leaves. At that moment, one of the final petals brushed against him, sending a shiver up his back. Tirby rubbed his cheek off, ignoring the glitter that he had wiped off on his glove. That couldn’t just be coincidence, could it?

Against all better judgment, he felt drawn toward the petals… drawn toward following their lead. ‘Why am I doing this?’ he thought, exasperated. Despite fighting himself over the idea, he was trotting after them soon enough. He threaded between trees and slipped under the odd mossy root; hovering through a tight squeeze, or circling around a trunk. Strangely, it was as if the only light on the moon was coming from the train of petals now. It felt almost like being in a tunnel of some kind. Tirby knew in the back of his mind that these petals were leading him deeper into the forest. Then he kicked himself internally for falling for something so obvious. But… there was nothing he could do now, or at least it felt that way.

When he thought about whether or not this was all worth it, something up ahead caught his eye. A dull white flicker, that waved like a thin cloth disturbed by a gentle breeze. Tirby was well and truly befuddled now. Maybe the leaves really did want to show him something in here? The light bouncing off the flicker began to fade, and quickly. Suddenly determined, Tirby picked up speed. Above him, the petals sauntered several paces in front.

At last, a change of scenery - though small - prompted him to come to a halt. The trees, which had come to be rather claustrophobic, were now spaced well apart, forming an uneven boundary outside a small glade. As Tirby glanced up at the sky to see if the darkness had begun to lift around him, he noticed that what he could see was blanketed by a canopy of soft glowing spots. The trees, peculiarly, seemed to stretch and tower over him here.

Then, as he glanced back down, he noticed another cluster of petals, this time coming from the opposite direction. And from the opposite edge of the glade, a white figure veered out of the trees, following, just as entranced by the petals as he must have been. It took a moment of thought… or recognition? … for his stomach to start turning. Tirby froze. A lump began to rise in his throat. He gawked, wide-eyed, at the figure before him. It couldn’t possibly be… When the figure saw the leaves that had been leading them scatter, she outstretched a hand to reach for them. Then, her eyes met Tirby’s. She stood as still as he, blinking a few times as if to confirm what she was really seeing. At last, after what felt like eons, the figure finally broke the silence.

“Th-... There’s no way… Tirby?”

Tirby almost choked on the sound of her voice.

“K… K-Kreeby?”

He swallowed hard, clenching his fists again to disguise their shivering. Kreeby did not look the same as she had the last time they saw each other. Her ceremonial robes were dull and tattered, draping limply off her like a ghost. A ghost. Was that why she hadn’t shown up on his radar? Provided he wasn’t just hallucinating or something. But then, if that was true… What had happened to her? “That… Are you… Is it really you? Am I just seeing things?”

“Am I really seeing you?” Kreeby answered. “Tirby! You look… You look…”

Tirby bit his lip to keep himself from pouting miserably. “Like a tin can? Yeah. No thanks to you.” Kreeby tilted her head to one side, seeming fixated on his new augments. She delicately floated toward him; her gaze flitted around his face as if she wasn’t sure what to stare at first. Tirby frowned at her. “What happened to you? You look like you’re supposed to be dead.”

She smiled back at him. With a sort of self-satisfied look about her, Tirby noted. Almost smug. “I follow the Lightless in all things,” she replied. “If they instruct me, I listen. I thought maybe they sent me a sign with those petals, so I followed them. And look who they brought me to!” “So did they tell you to feed me to the crows, too?” Tirby retorted bitterly. Kreeby, infuriatingly, almost seemed confused at first. “You know, when you abandoned me?! It’s your fault I look like a hunk of junk now!” “The robots?” Kreeby asked, as if in confirmation. “A priestess has to be kept safe at all costs. Aren’t you the one who failed your mission? The Lightless have a special connection with me. They needed me… I’m sure they would have wanted me to save myself.”

Tirby had never felt this hot with rage before. “So your job was more important than me, was it?! And look where that got you! You look like you’re barely hanging on by a thread!” The ghost flashed him a toothy grin. “I’d call it proof of my favor with the Dark Ones.” “If the Dark Ones were real, you wouldn’t look like you just crawled out of a grave!” With little warning, the circular port that had replaced Tirby’s right eye lit up in red. All of a sudden, a thick laser shot out of the port, aimed directly for his old companion. Kreeby drew in a sharp breath and swerved in the nick of time. The sudden attack didn’t seem to shock her as much as the admission of Tirby’s faith - or lack thereof.

“T-Tirby… you can’t actually mean that,” Kreeby stammered. “I mean it with all the heart I have left.” Tirby’s voice was laced with a snarl. Seeing her frozen in surprise, he added snidely, “Oh... and the part about the Dark Ones.”

Kreeby lifted her head, looking offended. “Ouch!” she cried, a glimmer of hurt in her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? Weren’t we, like… friends?”

“Maybe once,” Tirby growled. “Leaving me to die wasn’t exactly what I’d call a friendly gesture.” Kreeby scoffed. “You’re so caught up in the past. How long has it been since that happened, anyway? That’s gotta be water under the bridge by now…”

She narrowly dodged another furious red blast from Tirby. Quickly, the ghost stole a glance first left, then right, as if looking for an escape route. “Water under the bridge?! Don’t you care about what happened?! To our families, or our home?! Or ME?! Look what they did to me, Kreeby! Look what happened to YOU!”

“Calm down!” Kreeby shrieked. “Just calm down! Look: life keeps on going no matter what we do,” she tried to reason. “I had my time to mourn or whatever. It already happened and there’s nothing we can do to change it. All we can do is move forward!”

“Like nothing ever happened? Is that it?!” Tirby challenged. “Our lives will never be the same! And you just want to keep going like we’re still friends?!” “Did I say that?” Kreeby mumbled. Tirby swore he could catch a hint of mischief in her tone. Enraged, he stepped forward a few paces, causing her to back up. “So you don’t care about me anymore, is that it? Did you EVER care about me?! Was I just a tool to you?!” His clawed wings extended further outward.

A hint of worry crossed Kreeby’s face. “Tirby–”

“Y’know what? I don’t think I wanna hear it,” Tirby snapped. “I’m through with you!” Barely giving Kreeby enough time to react, the puffball fired another lazer in her direction. Kreeby yelped. Again, she swirled just in time - but the blast nicked the tatters of her cloak. She twisted to put out the small flame with her hands, but found herself ducking away from a set of claws. “Chill out already!” Kreeby yowled, to no avail. Tirby was in no mood to chat, but he certainly was fired up enough to chase her to kingdom come if he had to. He turned on his heels, speeding after her as she flitted backward again. 

Quickly, Tirby noticed that she was rising higher into the air as she attempted to escape. ‘She won’t get far.’ The thrusters on his wingtips ignited, and he rocketed away from the ground, leaving scorch marks behind. But neither did he get far. Unexpectedly, Kreeby wheeled on him, and shot directly toward him with a dark look in her eyes. The edges of her body were suddenly aflicker, frayed with a ghostly light.

She slammed into him so hard he was sent barreling back into the ground. Several small chunks of rock cracked away from the ground upon impact with the metal encasing his right half. Tirby lay there, stunned, for several moments. When he opened his eye again, and his senses returned to him, he noticed one of his claws propped against the ground, bent at an odd angle. Several thin plumes of some odd white mist rose from the rock beneath him, as well as, he noticed, a few parts of his body - including the twisted claw. And then, he realized he had gone numb. He suppressed a shiver.

It took him a few seconds of scouring to locate Kreeby. She, too, was spread on the ground, a few feet away; another plume sprouted next to her. Tirby watched her closely. He felt as though he couldn’t move just yet.

After a few moments, the ghostly creature let out a groan. She laboriously pushed herself upright, shaking her head and blinking several times. Then, her gaze lifted slowly, from the ground all the way up to Tirby. She swallowed thickly. “It didn’t work,” he heard her whisper. “What didn’t work?” Tirby queried suspiciously. He attempted to lift his hand, hoping to get back to his feet sooner or later, but found he was still too shaky to do so. Kreeby gazed innocently at him. “We’re not even friends anymore, and you want me to tell you all my secrets? You’re so nosy…” “Don’t even start with that,” Tirby hissed. “You’re kind of not in any position to boss me around, now, are you?” The ghost propped her head against one hand, keeping her eyes trained on him. 

Now that he paid attention, he felt that he was not only numb, but rather cold inside as well. And not the same kind of cold that came with the unfeeling augments on his body. A cold that almost made him feel dead. “What did you do?!” he needled. Weakly, he rolled, finally managing to right himself at least halfway with his frail arms.

Kreeby seemed to pay his question no mind. “This is kind of cute, right?” she sighed idly. “Here we are, lying around in the middle of some forest with each other. I remember we used to do this together - don’t you?”

A fog of confusion was starting to gather in the front of Tirby’s brain. What was she doing? “Don’t try to change the subject…”

"We never had forests like this back home, though. These trees are kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

Tirby faltered, almost slipping and faceplanting into the dirt. “W-What’s wrong with you? Can’t you take anything seriously?”

“I’m trying to lighten you up a little,” Kreeby said, taking mock offense. “Can you imagine? Meeting your best friend for the first time in years, just for him to try and kill you?” “So now we’re friends again, huh?” the puffball grumbled, propping his head up and tapping the ground impatiently with his other hand. “I hope you know I’m sick of you.”

Kreeby stifled a giggle. “Tirby… You’ve always been so serious. You know?”

“What are you getting at?” Tirby groused. “Stop doing this. You’re not funny.”

“Isn’t it nice to just sit and talk together again?” Her eyes gleamed.

Tirby had had enough. He growled, raising his wings. Still trembling, he managed to get back to his feet, glaring daggers at the ghost. She managed to keep a steady expression, but Tirby thought he could hear a hint of worry in her voice as she continued, “Why can’t we just talk it out? Tirbs?” He finally felt the heat start coming back to his face. “Don’t call me that. Not anymore.” Kreeby only gave a lopsided smile at this. “Why not, Tirbs? Is that embarrassing?”

“Shut up!” Tirby barked. The light in his cybernetic eye threatened to sputter back to life, albeit slowly. He saw Kreeby tense. But inside, he could feel that his systems remained frail after her strange attack. The numbers running through his brain calculated that he might need time to recover. Reluctantly, Tirby realized he may not be able to afford to finish this fight the way he hoped to. ‘If she wants to play mind games… maybe I can play along.’

Tirby stared at her momentarily, before taking a step to the left. “You know what?” he started. “Maybe you do actually have a point. Sort of.” After everything that had already taken place, it was difficult to force the words out of his mouth. But Kreeby appeared to be interested… if annoyingly satisfied. “Oh, yeah? I do?” She, too, got up to her feet, though not without a little grunt of effort. “It’s been a while. Why don’t we… walk and talk, for a bit.” He had begun to pace around her, but before he could fully encircle her, she got up; and, seeming to already know what he was doing, followed his motions. “Sure - as long as you promise not to shoot me again,” she cooed mockingly. “Don’t make me.” He barely gave her the time to keep up as he turned and headed deeper into the trees once more. She followed suit regardless, doing a good job of keeping pace with him both physically and mentally, he observed. She always did have a sharp wit as well as a sharp tongue.

-•-•-•-•-

They certainly walked. Talked? Not so much. Tirby, at least, could not bring himself to dignify Kreeby with the initiation. Unfortunately… “You do know you said ‘walk and talk,’ right? Where’s the talk?” Kreeby floated idly at his side, daring to give his shoulder a mischievous tap. He barely stopped himself from flinching away. He had tried to come up with a plan to escape by now, but somehow, putting things into action was more difficult than he expected they’d be. “It’s just… where to even begin, at this point.” “Maybe you could start by apologizing to me?” Kreeby wheedled. Tirby snorted. “Not likely.” “You’re so rude.”

Tirby took a deep breath in. “Look, it’s been a long time. Why don’t we just catch up… or whatever?” Kreeby turned herself upside down, placing her hands behind her head as if she were relaxing. “Sure! So what have you been up to all this time?” “Surviving better than you have, by the looks of it,” the puffball retorted. “What exactly happened to you? You never answered me.” His old friend shrugged in response. “I did answer you. I told you that I follow the will of the Lightless, whatever they have planned for me.”

“So they killed you?” Tirby responded flatly.

“Call it whatever you want,” Kreeby said airily. “This was their way of elevating me closer to them, I think. To bestow some of their power on me.”

Tirby sniffed. He had just about met his limit. “Hmph. I’m sick of all this bootlicking,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully, it appeared that his comment hadn’t been heard. “So how did you escape? Where have you been all this time?” Kreeby flipped right-side-up again, looking genuinely eager for once. “Fought my way out,” Tirby said matter-of-factly. “I’ve just… been wandering around, I guess.” “You never were good at making friends,” Kreeby chuckled. Tirby shot her a cold look. “I haven’t even been able to find anyplace to go that won’t kill me instantly,” he explained. “This is the first hospitable-looking place I’ve seen in I don’t know how long. Figures that I just had to find you here.”

“You don’t sound very excited about that,” Kreeby pouted.

“I’m not.” The puffball tensed his shoulders again. Then, the ghost flitted in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He leaned backward, scrunching up his face. “Maybe we can change that,” she replied, an angelic smile lighting up her face.

Tirby found a gray hand extended toward him, all of a sudden. He blinked. A handshake? Was this her idea of a peace offering? Kreeby gave his cheek a nudge. “Come on… Friends?” she insisted. “I forgive you for trying to set me on fire and everything earlier.”

So she was the one who had to forgive him, huh? He was beginning to wonder how he ever could have stood to be near her in the past. But, he realized, this could be his way out. Especially if she had some kind of trick up her own tattered sleeve. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to flip her deck of cards on its head?

Cautiously, Tirby ruffled his wings. He slowly began to raise one fist. “Yeah… friends.” A sparkle glimmered through Kreeby’s eyes. With palm open and digits outstretched, he motioned to grab her hand at last. Then, before she could react, Tirby clenched tightly. From the antennae atop his head, a jolt of reddish lightning was sent speeding down his arm and exploded through his glove. Ensnaring Kreeby’s hand, and soon her entire body, the lightning screamed through her; caught entirely off guard, she let out a screech, straightening up as she glowed from the inside like a faulty lightbulb. “EEEEEYIAAAHH!!” As soon as Tirby decided she’d had enough, he let go of her to fire up the propulsors in his wings. “Maybe when I’m even deader than you!” Between the smokescreen that was beginning to gather around them, he could see her lying in a heap on the ground, tangled up in singed white fabric. “I didn’t realize how much I missed peace and quiet until you came along. I’ll be happy for once if I never see you again in my life!”

Just before he was ready to take off, he noticed her blinking aimlessly with dazed shock in her eyes. “So long, Kreeby. I hope your corpse rots out here!” And with those sour parting words, Tirby blasted into the thin atmosphere, enveloping her in one last cloud of dark smoke to choke on.

Sparing no time, the puffball flew as fast as his systems would allow. Up, up, and away from the moon he soared. He knew that his little stun gun wasn’t powerful enough to take her down for real - he just had to hope he could escape before she was able to track him down. It made him grimace to know that he was running away from a fight, but he tried to tell himself it was the smart thing to do. No shame in being smart. As for what to do next, Tirby guessed he would still need time to recover before he could attempt any further deep space travel. With a pinprick of reluctance, he eyed the huge, ringed planet before him. He had no other choice.

Steeling himself, he angled his wings. Here goes nothing.

-•-•-•-•-

Kreeby’s eyes rolled in spirals. She could almost hear birds chirping above her.

When she came to, enough to rub her sore head and glance at her surroundings, all she could see were clouds of dust and smoke winding through thin tree stalks - Tirby was nowhere to be seen. She coughed a few times. As she pushed herself to her feet, wiping the dirt off of her robes, she suddenly remembered just what had happened. Kreeby stood still, looking bewildered for a moment.

Then, she narrowed her eyes. “How uncouth,” she murmured, peering slowly around. “Attacking a lady and leaving her to die…? Shame on you, Tirby.”

She did not expect a response. “And after I forgave you, too…” The little ghost then turned her attention to the treetops. She stared hard. If she focused long enough… Either she was still seeing things, or perhaps, just maybe, she could make out the faintest trace of smoke weaving through the air.

The malice seemed to disappear from her face. Instead, she smiled. A lopsided grin that complemented her lidded eyes… dangerously.

“I revoke my forgiveness. I think I’ll just have to teach you a lesson. The hard way.”

[g3othermal3scapism]

something about childhood best friends youll never see again make me sick to my stomach dude?? like. you were the one person i was allowed to have sleepovers with. your parents knew my favorite foods. i sat at lunch with you every day, and you would put your feet in my lap and we would laugh. i still think of you whenever i see your birthday on the calendar or in my history class but it doesn’t matter because i’ll never wish you happy birthday again

[agentlove]

scp is extremely not my thing anymore but i have been reminiscing reading tales and the like i used to enjoy and it’s kind of hard for me to put into words my present opinion on 4231. i admire it greatly from a technical standpoint, it influenced my writing a lot hence why i return to it as often as i do, its author’s way with words is utterly stunning to me as is their use of the format and it still blows me away in this regard and im sure it always will, but in terms of content i find it like… presently more than a little uncomfortable that the vision of it is essentially, out of universe, “this character is a misogynist because he was abused by an Evil Woman” however emotionally the article goes about writing that abuse.

i don’t think it’s, like, sacred and untouchable and free of criticism for a delicate subject matter and as i get older i find its portrayal of that subject matter more and more questionable. it feels, in content, like you canonized someone on ao3’s beautifully-written-but-holy-shit ventfic, and i don't say that to criticize fanfiction. it feels at times like it’s got its hands on its hips and is going, “see? men can be abuse victims too!”, which is… obviously a true statement but at times it delivers more nuance to the situation it’s writing than i know it intends. questions it does not intend on answering because the built-in answer is “lilly is evil and horrible and any question otherwise is francis being in denial”.

like, i think it would be more interesting if lilly was more of a character with a personality and not just Evil Abuser Woman. i think it would be more interesting if francis/clef was a victim with flaws beyond being reasonably cagey and intentionally annoying. because a lot of the intrigue the article sets up is the in-universe question of what happened with 4231-a and 4231-b, but none of that intrigue really goes anywhere beyond pointing and going “aren’t these assholes wrong about francis?” because the question is flattened to “all of this is happening because there was one abuser and one victim, and lilly did every horrible thing you can imagine and is evil and horrible and people are misinterpreting francis” - when, to be honest, with how grand and dense the article is you’d think there’d be more meat to it than that.

and, like, that’s not to say in-universe i think clef is evil and lilly did nothing wrong because holy shit no, but from a writing perspective, and this feels like sacrilege to say on scp tumblr, i think it’s good to knock it off its pedestal of “writes about a Sensitive And Important Theme”. i used to adore 4231 for that reason when the concept of something portraying romantic/sexual abuse in a meaningful way at all was enough to win me over. and i think i've just grown out of it as my standards got higher i suppose. which is a me problem to be fair.

funny because i fucking love the rest of the article. the foundation altar. the cornwall incident itself is utterly HAUNTING. the alternating povs. the worldbuilding. i just wish the heart of it lived up to that grandiosity ig.

[alltheoutsinfreeeee]

is there any magical girl anime still out there that doesn't have any fanservice? Shows like Precure, Cardcaptor Sakura or Madoka?

And if there isn't, are there at least any shows where the fanservice isn't with elementary school girls?

[wizards4for20]

I will never turn down the opportunity to hear about someone’s OC or WIP. I love hearing people talk about stuff they made and are passionate about. It makes me so genuinely happy.

It doesn’t matter if we’re strangers or best friends. It doesn’t matter if you’re on the verge of publishing or it will never see the light of day. It doesn’t matter if the lore is deep and developed or if you literally just came up with some dude two minutes ago. Tell me the things! I love the things!