#ive never been known for consistency

[napolean-but-cringe]

Something like this has probably been done before, seeing the huge overlap between these fandoms but I just wanted to put Moon in a Situation™

[tigerjpg]

this has been fermenting in my wips folder for weeks

[thecedarchronicle]

.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

ive been a risru fan since 2017 & not once in that time that ive gone to any of his "30 minute only" twitcasts has it ever been 30 minutes. we respect the predictably

[skippitydippity]

Men.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: fwb!mingyu, pussydrunk!mingyu, horny!mingyu (he's just horny as shit guys), smut, f reader, penetrative sex, based off the picture above ofc, etc.

wc: 985

masterlist

you had known mingyu for a few months now. you'd originally met at some frat party that your friend vernon had invited you to. you attended with no specific purpose in mind. you thought maybe you'd mingle a bit, have some drinks with some friends, and then dip. however, your plans were promptly ruined by the six-foot tall boy with the pretty smile who kept eyeing you all night as he leaned against the wall, nursing a drink while making eyes at you.

that was the first night you ended up in mingyu's bed. at a first glance you imagined he'd be good at sex. you'd been right. somewhat. he was insane. not only did he have an insane libido, but he was insatiable for you. he managed to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. what surprised you most, however, was how he never ran out of orgasms to give you in return. you'd heard of guys with short refractory periods, but mingyu was an anomaly. that night, he had kept you up for hours, causing you to arrive late to next morning's lecture (not that you were complaining).

the second time you met mingyu was quickly after, as you'd bumped into him at a football game two days after. it was almost comical. the way in which you met eyes and knew exactly what the other was thinking. without needing to exchange any words, you ended up back at mingyu's dorm, with your legs thrown over his shoulders as he viciously fucked you into the bed, muttering words such as "you're all mine. pussy's all for me, isn't it baby?", or "pretty fuckin' thing with an even prettier pussy, fuck. n so fuckin' soft too," or your favorite, "shit. best pussy ive ever had. gunna keep it for myself. that okay, baby? gunna give it to me, arent you, pretty?"

the man not only knew how to fuck, but he knew how to make you swoon. you needed no convincing to keep ending up in mingyu's bed day after day. unfortunately for the both of you, you were nothing more than a measly college student; a slave to the deadlines your professors imposed on you. even if you wanted to spend every minute of every living moment in mingyu's bed, you had common sense. which meant you had to prioritize your education.

you and mingyu had fucked consistently for about a month. that is, until midterm season arrived. like any reasonable person, this was time for you to hibernate in your room and cram, all while ignoring any outside distractions. your family, friends, any medical emergencies, and even mingyu's dick would have to wait for this stressful time in your life to end.

you assumed that this wouldve been the case for mingyu too, knowing he was in some of the same courses as you. which is why his most recent message threw you off guard, making you laugh at the absurdity.

from: mingu 🤤:

i'm legit gonna kill myself if we dont fuck again

you'd only been depraving mingyu of sex for a little over a week. was he that insatiable? okay, you had to admit, that was a huge ego boost (and a bit of a turn on). you were now faced with two choices. be a responsible adult and put your education first, or get your hole fucked and stuffed by the big hunk who was threatening lethal action against himself if he didnt feel your warmth around him as soon as humanly possible.

you didnt have to be asked twice.

giggling to yourself, you picked up your phone and angled it upwards, pulling down your shirt enough to display your bare tits and captured a quick picture, typing him a quick message to rile him up a little more.

from you:

want this ? ;)

*picture attachment*

after hitting send, you sat back down for a bit, uselessly putting your phone down as you heard a chime in response almost immediately.

from mingu 🤤:

fuck you

i'll be there in ten

giddy, you readied yourself a bit for his arrival, knowing his dorm rooms were not too far away from yours.

only eight minutes later and you were answering the door to a very frustrated mingyu, barging into your room and immediately pushing you up against the door, taking advantage of your gasp to shove his tongue in your mouth.

"you think you're funny, dont you, baby?", he rasped, "gonna fuck the funny out of you."

he quickly undressed you and carried you over to your couch, taking his own clothes off in the process. he bent you over and put you on your hands and knees, slapping your ass once before entering you without warning.

"fuck," he breathed out in relief, "how could you keep this pretty pussy away from me for so long, baby? wanted me to chase after you? i'll fucking do it," he fucked you harder with every word he uttered.

"g-gyu."

"i'll fuckin' move in to your dorm if that means i can have this pretty fuckin' pussy wrapped around me every night, shit," his words were getting to you, causing you to wrap tighter around him.

"g-gunna give it to you every day, pretty. will you let me do that? huh? stuff this pretty pussy every day. so pretty n warm for me ..."

you both reached your completion soon after, spending yourselves out after one round for the first time since knowing each other.

"baby ... never fucking pull that shit again, i swear to god. next time you ghost me like that, i'm breaking down the door, do you understand?", his words were lighthearted in nature, but the concept of mingyu being so pussydrunk he needed to have you day after day excited you beyond belief.

"yes, sir," you purred, preparing yourself for an afternoon of zero studying.

n/a: not proofread <//3

[chknbzkt]

FINALLYYY FIRST CELESTIAL IVE BEEN CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO SHOW THIS-

And a mix of various sketches and drafts!!!

Psst down here v

Since the horrific murder of a nobleman has put many people in the kingdom’s walls off the idea of letting dragons in their midst for the time being, Sundrop’s continued employ under the king as a personal jester and informant has many under the impression that the dragon himself may have had something to do with it, and that his influence is corrupting the monarch in question.

Sundrop, however, thinks the people can believe whatever they want.

While his position gives him plenty of wiggle room to lavish himself with as much luxury as he desires, truthfully he’d much rather be outside the kingdom walls than in them. No, his heart lies with the wilds of Hyde’s Crossing’s ancient forests. His hoard isn’t even as extensive as it should be, consisting of a few plushies, puzzles, and children’s toys here and there, it’s oddly… empty?

So as much as he… appreciates the fluidity, he spends most of his time trying to keep his distance from Farqur Kingdom as often as possible. Before he has to return.

When he isn’t on his perch at the king’s beck and call, he’s running into random adventurers and the odd monster hunter left and right as he continues to peruse the wilds and stir up mischief as per usual. Most of them have been called to action as of late due to the influx of shades razing settlements to the ground when they’ve been left unchecked for far too long, rising to the challenge in the hopes of scoring money to keep themselves afloat.

There have been a few stinkers regarding interactions here and there, but making new friends is still endlessly fulfilling and entertaining on the occasion that they’ll let him get close enough to actually mingle with them proper. He’s content to share stories of his findings and across the land, landmarks, places of interest, the best places to sun oneself and the loveliest fishing spots!!! This boy loves to know people and be known!!!

He never sticks around long enough to say goodbye however. Always leaves in Farqur’s general direction in a big hurry at odd beats in the conversation. Odd fellow. And he never actually clocked where his companion was from, so the chances of them meeting again are slim…

He seems very flighty for someone so pleasant…

[heartpascal]

i was born waiting

▹— joel miller x daughter!reader

▹— summary: you’ve been looking for your dad for as long as you can remember, is this really him?

▹— a/n: hi! i started writing this september ‘23, so it has. it’s been a WHILE. so if this seems jumpy / not consistent then that is why! sorry!!! i have done my best!!!

▹— warnings: canon-typical violence and themes, weapons, parental death, witnessing parental death, aka insane amounts of trauma, death in general, she/her pronouns, reader is biologically related to joel but no mentions of appearance, no mention of her bio mother’s appearance either, fantasising about being dead (sorry), all hurt zero comfort, attempted murder, unrealistic expectations of someone you never met — please let me know if ive missed anything!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything), @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There are certain things from your childhood that you can remember vividly. Though, really, childhood is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? It’s hard to find the right word to encompass the way you had grown up, because you didn’t have much of a chance to actually grow.

From the moment you had been born, your life was a battle of staying alive to see another day.

That’s not to say that your mother didn’t do her best for you, obviously. But it was hard to raise a child as a child in the midst of a global apocalypse. You were bound to end up the way you did — moulded and hardened by the world around you, by having to pick up a gun at seven years old and use it to protect your mother. By never putting that gun back down.

For the past few years, you had known your mother was suffering. The world had been anything but kind to her, and age was hitting her harder than she had expected. More than the physical aspect, you knew it had been destroying her, the fact that you were now the one protecting her and not the other way around.

But what choice did you have? Her aging body had left her fragile, prone to falling and breaking even more frail bones. You could see the strain on her muscles, as they slowly decayed and shrunk, until they were barely there at all. You couldn’t let her carry the burden for you anymore, because you knew her body couldn’t handle it.

You had been preparing yourself for that moment, though. Making sure that you were ready, that you were strong enough for the both of you, strong enough to shoulder the burden she had been carrying for years.

When you were growing up, your mother had told you tales of your father.

She had told you all about how strong he had been, how he had been the best man she had ever known. She told you how he had cared for his daughter before you, how he had been the best father to that girl. When you were old enough to comprehend these things, you’d asked what had happened to him. “Is dad dead?” You had asked her, watching the way her face fell.

“I don’t know, honey. I hope not.” She had responded, smiling sadly at you, and patting her hand against your cheek.

It was hard for you to let go of that.

The uncertainty had haunted you for the rest of your life since that very moment, leaving you wondering for hours at a time where he could possibly be, why he would ever leave your mother to carry this responsibility alone. And in your more selfish moments, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t here to care for you as he had his daughter before you.

For a long time, you had convinced yourself that he was dead, despite what your mother hoped. And sure, you felt that loss, something like mourning weighing you down, but it was the only way you felt you could accept his absence. He had to be dead, because otherwise, why wasn’t he here?

But as you grew up, getting taller, stronger, you felt like you could rationalise his absence even if he wasn’t dead. After all, the apocalypse wasn’t exactly family friendly. You figured that if your mother didn’t know whether or not your dad was alive, that the same could go for him. He might just think that you and your mom died, years ago. After all, how many pregnant women survived the end of the world?

You have a feeling that the answer would have to be not many.

So, really, you and your mother being alive by now was nothing short of a miracle. It was a testament to your mother’s strength, her ability. She had succeeded where so many others had failed, and she had managed to keep both herself and you alive.

It’s a bitter kind of irony that you can’t do the same.

The last dredges of autumn fall away, leading into the coldest and harshest part of the year. Winter is hard — it’s full to the brim with fresh Infected, the ones not yet frozen solid, and resources are more scarce than ever. And this winter feels like something tangible, something which sends unending waves of dread through you.

Your mother gets weaker by the day, spending more time resting than moving, and you spend as much time as you can keeping her warm, finding food and water and pain relief for her broken arm that didn’t heal right. She’s exhausted, you can see it in her face, in her every movement. And you’re pretty sure it’s not just from the lack of rest. She watches you with dulled eyes, something like heartbreak reflecting in them.

For a long time, you pretend not to notice.

You pretend that you don’t see the way she lags behind, just watching you move away from her with speed she can’t quite manage any longer. You pretend that you don’t see the way she hesitates before taking her painkillers, or her food, or the last sip of water.

This year, the winter brings something worse than the cold. A bug, spreading across the state in a way that was familiar to so many. Not quite the Infection, but still able to take out people with ease.

When your mother catches it, you physically felt your heart clench in your chest. You felt it squeezing all of the blood around your body so quickly that you became dizzy with it. There’s a panic so deep that you can’t climb your way out of it. For days, weeks, you’re certain that you’ve lost her. That after everything, everything you’ve done, everything the two of you have been through, a cold would be the end of it all.

But then, she gets better.

The little strength she had before the sickness returns to her, bringing some colour back to her skin, some ease back to her breathing.

Religion wasn’t a thing in the apocalypse. Not really. But if you had believed in God, you would’ve thanked every one that might’ve existed for giving you this. This miracle. This small mercy.

The two of you are in an abandoned barn when it happens.

You’re dozing away, not quite asleep, but not awake either, when you hear the sound of old hay crunching underneath boots. If you weren’t so familiar with the lightness of your mother’s footsteps, you might’ve passed it off as her wandering. But these boots are heavy. They’re purposeful.

The gun in your hand means nothing when you jerk upwards, eyes snapping open and squinting through the light let into the barn by the rising winter sun. It’s an image that has since been ingrained into the back of your skull, replaying each time you close your eyes.

There, right in front of you, is your mother.

Behind her, a man, a gun pressed to the back of her skull.

Your stomach lurched suddenly in that moment, the small rationed dinner you had before dozing off trying to rise to the back of your throat, trying to race the rapid beating of your heart to see which would kill you first.

“Put down the gun.” He said, voice cold, throat dry from the winter air. The sound of his voice is printed in the base of your brain, echoing every time things around you still, go quiet.

He could be bluffing, you thought in the moment. His gun could be unloaded. It didn’t take you long to notice that the safety was off, but in those few moments, he had pressed the end of it harder into your mother’s head. You dropped the gun to the floor without another moment of thought.

You were nauseous, waiting to wake up, to realise this was all some twisted nightmare.

But you could see a look in your mother’s eyes. Acceptance. Defeat. It was almost familiar to you, so closely related to the look she had been giving you for months.

All this time, she had just been waiting to die. Waiting for something to come along and kill her off, to free you from having to take care of her. She knew that if it was up to you, that you would look after her for the rest of your goddamn life. If she lived any longer, she might just live long enough to see you die.

“Slide it over.”

You barely registered the cold pinch of metal against your palm as you pushed the gun away from you, sending it skittering over the rough ground and into the side of an old hay bale.

“Now your pack.”

There was a numbness to you as you gripped the backpack you had been leaning against, and chucked it towards where he stood behind your mother. It hit the front of his boot, but his eyes didn’t stray from where he stared at you.

“Turn around.”

You stared at him, teeth gritted together.

“No.”

There was a beat where both him and your mother just watched you. And then the surprise flickered across his face, apparently not expecting any resistance from you.

“Turn. Around.” He told you, firmer this time.

“No.”

“Okay then,” He relented, after a moment of consideration. His eyes drifted down towards your mother, who stared forwards at you. “This your daughter?” He asked, jerking his head towards you despite knowing your mother couldn’t see the movement.

“Yes, she is,” Your mother said, voice shaking, her breath clouding in front of her face as it reached the cold air. “Please, just let her be.”

He hummed, dropping his free hand down to rest heavily on your mother’s shoulder, his fingers clamping around it and not helping the way she trembled.

“So, your momma, huh?” He asked you, a smirk drawing up his face, showing smile lines around his murky blue eyes. His hair rustled in the wind, a piece falling down across his forehead. He stared at you, and you stared at him, not daring to say a word, still hoping that this whole thing was a dream. Muscles in his cheek twitched, pulling his skin taut and showing a scar across his left cheekbone. “Good.”

There was a moment where the sound didn’t register. A moment where you didn’t even realise it was your mother when the body slumped forwards. A mere moment where you didn’t think about it being her blood that splattered across your face.

The moments after that though, become blurry, hazed over, and you’re not sure it actually ever hit you that the body before you was your mother.

You’ve always had a hard time remembering that bodies were once people, that they once had lives and loved ones and thoughts and feelings. That they weren’t just bodies. So seeing her like that, as a body, not her, was wrong on so many levels. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You heard the second gunshot, just a moment later, followed by a snickering laugh that you would never forget, before the pain bloomed in you.

It was buried by the shock, the complete disbelief, and you only felt the pain for mere seconds.

His gun — the one that killed your mother — was whacked across the side of your head a moment after, and that was the end of that.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Three months passed by, judging by the way the seasons turned, and you were on your own.

It was a strange feeling, really. Throughout the entirety of your life, you had never actually been alone. At least, not really. Your mother was always a small ways away, a mere shout from running to you. There had never been any true distance between the two of you until that day.

A sort of ache claws your throat each day, when you realise that it’s easier like this.

The only back you have to watch is your own, the only life you have to worry about belongs to you, and you have nothing to lose in this world. There was no terrible outcome if you were caught. Nobody else would be hurt, or suffer because of it. And you’re less likely to be caught now, when you don’t have your mother slowing you down. You don’t have to stop for the frequent rest breaks she needed, you can try to outrun Infected without worrying about someone lagging behind, and you only have yourself to feed.

If your mother had known how much easier survival was when alone, you hope that she would’ve abandoned you at birth. Because perhaps, without the burden of you upon her shoulders, she wouldn’t have fallen apart so quickly.

Sometimes, you like to think of a world where she was spared all of this. Never pregnant with you, for a start. So when the infection broke out, she would’ve only had herself to worry about. You think that maybe, one day, she would’ve been able to reunite with your father. If she hadn’t been carrying a child, she would’ve been able to manage the journey to where she believed him to be. You look at the picture that had been in the pocket of her coat for your whole life, the papers folded and clipped to the back of it, one word underlined: Boston.

You had reached a store in the weeks after that day, and when you found a map, it wasn’t difficult to notice that the direction the two of you had been heading in was to that very city.

It’s a long shot. More than a long shot, really, but you find yourself continuing in that direction regardless. You don’t know what you hope to find in Boston, whether it was your dad, or the man who had killed your mother, or perhaps just somewhere to take shelter for a while. You try not to hope for anything. You try not to focus on the fact that you might not even make it that far.

It keeps you up for days.

The uncertainty of it. The unknown. The fact that you’re walking your way to a city you know nothing about, almost certain that your mother’s killer was already there, and more than that, consumed by a fever that might kill you regardless of the where the journey took you.

The only sleep you get results in fever dreams, rippling, warping images that make your perception falter, feeling all too real until you notice that it’s not. And when you do wake up from them, it’s as if you haven’t slept at all. An exhaustion weighs heavily upon you, and your shoulders hunch over with it. There’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to get rid of that endless feeling.

You hope—or wish, maybe— that if you reach Boston, the journey there will have tired you out so much that your body will have no choice but to rest. It’s a distant thought in your mind, though. You’re almost certain you won’t make it that far, because if the fever doesn’t get you, surely the Infected will.

It’s not as though you’re trying to get killed. But there is a kind of peace that comes with the thought. There’s an idea of rest behind it, hiding within the shadowy depths that make you scared. Would not having to fight in order to survive really be so terrible? You have this image in mind, of a never ending blackness, a void, somewhere that your thoughts and worries can just fizzle away. The small part of your fever-fried brain that has retained its rationality reminds you of the unknown. It reminds you that death could be worse than this.

You don’t like the thought. Not after that day. It’s a shuddering feeling, wondering if your mother is in some kind of unreachable hell.

By the time you’re even close to Boston, a few hours out at most, you’re out of ammo in the gun you’d found along the way. Out of food rations. No knife, no resources. You’re barely standing on two legs, kept up by the adrenaline, the knowledge alone that you’re this close.

When the tall walls of the QZ finally come into view, you start to feel some amount of hope. Which is a dangerous thing, but especially in a situation as dire as your own. You couldn’t afford any adrenaline fading, couldn’t afford to lose your cautious nature. You couldn’t make a mistake. One wrong move, one slight misstep, and you’d be as dead as your mother. Or worse, infected. Though this close to a QZ, you had some amount of relief at the knowledge that they should’ve cleared out any nearby infected. Runners, and clickers alike.

Your steps don’t falter for a moment. Partly because of your worry about the fever taking you out, but mostly because you’re certain that the FEDRA guards on watch on top of the wall will have spotted you, and you don’t want them to think you’re Infected, just because of your sickly appearance, and shoot on sight. Though, with FEDRA’s track record, it wouldn’t surprise you if they just shot you down regardless.

For a while, you’re not sure if you’re even awake, or if perhaps you were stuck in yet another fever dream. Everything felt so real and so not real simultaneously, it felt impossible to believe that you had actually made it.

Soldiers met you on your approach, calling out for you to get on the ground with your hands up. You called back some sort of response as you did so, practically collapsing to your knees and squeezing your eyes shut at the pain that followed. But despite all of it, despite the pain and the rough hands that grabbed you and pulled you forwards, through the gates and straight into a building, you had made it to Boston.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was maybe three weeks into being a resident of the Boston QZ that you caught wind of him for the first time. Or, at the very least, somebody who might be him. You didn’t know how common the surname Miller was, being a child of the apocalypse, but you kind of hoped the answer was uncommon.

“Goddamn Miller, again.” A man had muttered as you walked through the trading market. You paused almost instantly, pretending to peruse the feeble amount of clothes a woman had to trade. “Said we gotta go through him and Tess if we want anything, as if we gotta listen to them.” He practically spat out, glaring around as he spoke to the woman beside him.

“They’re the most well established smugglers in the whole goddamn QZ. Don’t have to tell you how, do I?” She asked, sounding more annoyed with her companion than she was with whoever Miller and Tess were. “Joel is as nasty as they come, Darren. Don’t get on the wrong side of him.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. Could it possibly be a coincidence? Could there be another Joel Miller? One who wasn’t your father? Sure, it was possible. Plausible, even, considering the fact that you had absolutely no idea if he was here. Not any concrete idea, anyway. Your mother had believed as much, but who was to say she was right?

Besides, whoever this Joel Miller was didn’t sound like the man your mother had told you about. As nasty as they come didn’t have any relation to the heroic and kind and amazing father and man your mother always spoke about. Though, you knew as well as anyone what the apocalypse could do to people.

Darren didn’t say anything else to his companion. So, after a few more moments, you continued on your way, making the journey to the tiny box apartment that FEDRA had elected to you.

But even as you got there, sitting down on the poor excuse of a mattress, you couldn’t shake the conversation out of your mind. After everything you had been through to get here, what was it all for? Could you really make this journey and just never try to find Joel Miller? Your father? You could still remember the anxiety that had come when you first arrived, when you were strapped into a chair and scanned for the fungus that had taken over so many. You didn’t know what you were more scared of: the idea that it would flash red, and you’d be killed, or the idea that it would be clear, and you’d be sent out into the QZ, where you may just find the other half of your DNA.

You don’t even know if you want to find out anything about him. Don’t know if you could face that, especially after losing your mother. That’s been the hardest thing since being here, since having your own place, the fact that you’ve gotten it all without her. It feels… empty. For your whole life, she had been there at your side, making every short stay at whatever accommodation you could find feel like home.

Plus, even if you did consider trying to find him, and if it was him those people were talking about, then who the hell was Tess? What if she got upset at your appearance, your claim as Joel Miller’s surviving child? You’re not sure you can lose another parent.

Sure — Joel Miller wasn’t exactly your dad, he couldn’t be classed as a parent in the way that your mother was, but if you never met him, that could’ve been for any number of reasons. He could be dead. He could’ve thought you and your mother were dead, all these years. You didn’t want to face a reality where you met him, and he wasn’t present for you and your mother because he didn’t want to be. You’d rather live your whole life thinking him six feet under, than know he was out there, and just didn’t care about you.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that Boston was a mistake.

It would all be different if your mother was alive. If she had brought you here, if she had been the one to hear the chatter about Joel Miller, if she had been the one to seek him out. But she was dead, and the only living connection you had to Joel was, too. Hypothetically, if you did seek him out, you didn’t know enough about him to prove your claim as his child, and without your mother, how could you make him believe you?

They had been a family, once. They being Joel, your mother, and your deceased half sister. You’d heard the tale of how Joel and your mother had met, of how it took months for him to finally feel comfortable introducing her to his little girl. Hell, you had heard almost as much about Sarah as you had about Joel. Your mother had certainly adored his daughter, and you’re somewhat sure that they had planned to have you, despite Sarah already being a teenager.

You don’t want to have to mourn a family you had never actually had. Perhaps, Joel and Sarah were out there, living their lives certain that you and your mother were dead, just as you and your mother had done.

Not that any of this even mattered — you didn’t even know for sure if it was the same Joel Miller! And even if it was, it’s not like Boston QZ was small. There’s absolutely no chance you run into the man who might just be your dad. No way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You find someone else, before you hear anything more about Joel Miller, and it immediately sends the thought of your biological dad to the very back of your mind.

After all, it’s not every day you see the man who murdered your mother.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. You had guessed that this was the place he was heading, all those moons ago. But to actually see him, here, in the flesh, alive and well despite all of the pain and heartache and devastation he had caused you? It was surreal. You had to practically pinch your skin from your body to make yourself believe he was real.

And it only really hits you now, that this man killed your mother. You had been so focused on surviving, on living to see another day, on healing and moving and getting away from her body, buried in shallow dirt outside of some abandoned barn. You can vividly remember the strength it had taken to pry the frozen dirt from the ground.

Sure, you had felt the guilt over it, the guilt over the ease that came with surviving without her, guilt over your very existence, but you’re not sure you had ever actually grieved over her. Not sure if you had ever let yourself be sad, be angry, be anything about what had happened.

But now, seeing him, you feel… almost too much.

All of the rage and grief you had squashed in favour of surviving another day, all of the sadness and fear, all of it. It all comes rushing towards you at once, hitting you in the chest, winding you. You gasp for breath on the street, ducking away for a moment, gripping your chest like you could physically hold your heart steady.

When you look back out at the street, you see him as he nears the corner. Panic grips you at the thought of losing him, of never seeing him again, of failing to avenge your mother. You follow after him before you can think better of it.

It’s strangely easy. You fall back into the life of a hunter like it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever known — and maybe it is. You’re healed up, by now, or about as healed as anybody gets in this world, and your shoulder only bothers you when you move it too much. Even with that, you’re pretty sure that you could take the man on. Now that you’re not hazy with sleep, caught off guard, held back by any sort of earthly tether.

You’re strong. And despite FEDRA’s harsh reign, their dire consequences for rule-breaking, you have a switchblade stuffed into your shoe. You could do it. You could kill him.

There’s no question about it in your mind, especially as you follow him from a distance, and he remains none the wiser. He takes a left, and a moment later, so do you. He’s clueless. It’s almost painful that he was the one who managed to get the jump on you. How could you have let this man kill your mother?

He skids to a stop outside of a doorway, so you slide down the wall of the building opposite and listen. He pays you no mind as he knocks twice on the door.

“What d’you want, Colin?” The man who opened the door asked gruffly, seemingly inconvenienced by the man. He sounded tired, or out of it, maybe.

“I need the supply.” Colin answered, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver down the back of your neck. It echoed in your ears, the words he said that day. Good. Everything in you itched, like thousands of critters had dug into you and made a home scuttling around your insides. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to end his life, and you wanted to make it slow. Brutal. Painful. Even if it meant you were hung by FEDRA tomorrow morning. It’d be worth it.

The man at the door sighed, as if deeply bothered by getting Colin what he needed, and disappeared inside. He emerged a moment later, empty handed. “I’m all out. You’ll have to go across town tomorrow.” The man said flatly, saying nothing as Colin swore, before stepping away.

You ducked your head down as Colin passed, all too aware of the man in the doorway watching you suspiciously. After a moment, he sighed again, and retreated inside, slamming the door after himself. It took almost no time at all for you to push yourself back to your feet, and take off after the man who had left.

Despite your pounding footsteps against cracked concrete, he didn’t pay you any mind as you caught up to him. He seemed focused on getting to wherever it was that he was unknowingly leading you to, glancing up at the darkening sky every other step. FEDRA’s curfew would be coming into play soon enough.

To your disappointment, he walked into an apartment building, about three blocks away from your own. It seemed that, unless you were willing to risk being caught and stopped, today wasn’t the day you would be avenging your mother. You vowed that tomorrow you would do it. You would kill Colin. No matter what got in your way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

By the time curfew was lifted, you had been waiting by the exit of your building for an hour.

The switchblade in your shoe felt heavy with every step you took towards the home of your mother’s killer. It weighed almost as much as the picture in your pocket. All of it was heavy. But you acted as normally as you could manage, passing by patrolling FEDRA guards without them so much as glancing towards you.

You were waiting by his building when the door opened, when he stepped out, and headed determinedly in the opposite direction from which you had come. You followed without a moment of hesitation.

He made his way around town, trading with a few people on the side of the streets, handing them small wads of ration cards in favour of various items. Nothing dangerous, though. Not to you. He clearly was oblivious to your loitering figure, standing a few metres away, like some omen of death. Despite your shadow reaching for his shoes as the sun rose, he didn’t flinch.

It was irritating you, just how easy this was. You had been following the man for two days now, and he hadn’t even noticed. How had he gotten the drop on you? How had he managed to kill your mother? How had you allowed him the opportunity to do so?

There was nothing remotely special about him — no reason that he should have survived over your mother, no reason that he should have been granted mercy over the last twenty years. He didn’t deserve it. Not like your mother had. She had done the best she could, for years, for the only daughter in her care. And she had done it all alone. This man, Colin, he was alone, and he had no reason to hurt her. You were going to make sure he regretted it.

You loomed at the entrance of an alleyway as he walked down it, finally stopping at a dead end, leaning against the brick wall as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. You knew it wasn’t you he was waiting for, so you bided your time, cautious of someone happening upon the two of you. If they had business with him, they would care. If they didn’t, then nobody but FEDRA would care.

By the time you finally decided to move, almost an hour had passed, and Colin was facing away from you at the entrance of the alley, head pressed to the bricks.

It was strange, what the innate desire to hunt and kill could bring out in you, that it could make you move silently without thinking about it. It could make you reach for the blade in your shoe, without so much as a rustle of your clothes.

With a final glance back at the entrance of the alleyway, you grew impatient, and you attacked.

From an outside perspective, you probably looked like some kind of wild animal. You jumped at him, tackling him, pushing him sideways and landing on his back as his shoulder smacked the asphalt, and he howled in pain. It was like seeing a cheetah hunt an antelope, the way you bored down on him. If you could have widened your jaws, and ripped out his insides, you think you would have.

But without that ability, you could only press the cold metal blade to his throat, and feel him go still.

“Do you remember me?” You asked, voice flat and still, despite the way your heart felt as though it would beat out of your chest, and splatter down in front of his face. You were quieter than you had expected, too. You thought that the words would burst out of you, vicious and unending, but they were quiet. Calm.

Colin shook his head, as much as he could with the side of his face pressed to the ground, and a blade to the soft skin of his neck.

“Think about it.”

His eyes strained to try and get a look at you, and they widened as you leant sideways slightly, allowing him to gaze at your blank face. “Oh, shit,” He said, mouth fumbling around the words.

“Yeah, shit.” You repeated, waiting for satisfaction to seep into your chest cavity, waiting for the grief to fade away.

It didn’t.

Nothing changed, even as you pressed the blade closer to his throat, even as you watched his eyes dart back and forth, as you watched him try and formulate a plan to survive. “Listen, kid—” He started, throat bobbing against the knife, drawing the tiniest line of blood. You watched him bleed, and expected to feel more than numb.

He threw your weight backwards, sacrificing more skin on his throat to your knife. You went flying off of him, but you flung yourself forward faster than he could stagger up, and dug the knife into his calf as he tried to stand. His yell pierced the air, louder than any of the commotion yet, and likely drawing attention of people out on the street. You just hoped, distantly, that FEDRA wasn’t around.

His flesh and muscle moved as you pulled the blade free, and you didn’t flinch at the squelch of blood that left him alongside it.

Colin fell back to the floor, resulting in crawling along the asphalt without care for how the small stones cut into his palms, leaving streaks of blood. “You don’t gotta do this, man, chill out!” His voice had more emotion in it than it had back when he killed your mother, which was infuriating. “It wasn’t personal!” He insisted, crawling further as you got to your feet, prowling after him similarly to the wild animal you felt like.

You’d disagree with his statement, though.

He already had your pack, you had already relinquished your gun — the only thing you refused to do was turn so you could be executed. If you were going to be killed, you were going to look your murderer in the eye. Instead of that, though, Colin had decided to make it personal. He had decided to kill your mother, to spread her brains out on the ground in front of you, to cover you in her blood, rather than spare her. And then, worse, he had let you live.

That seemed pretty personal.

“You killed my mom.” You stated, getting closer as he turned so he was facing you, watching you get closer. “D’you remember what you said to me?”

He shook his head.

“You said good. You were glad that it was my mother. Admit it, Colin. Tell the world all about how not-personal it was.”

More than anything, you wanted to feel satisfaction for how badly he was trembling beneath you, for how scared you were making him. But you just didn’t. Fear wasn’t enough. Not for what this man had done to you.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” He said, shaking, still shying away from you,

“No, you’re not. You’re sorry that I’m here, that you’re going to die. And that isn’t something to be sorry for.”

“Pl—Please, I have a daughter—a son, you don’t need to do this.” He begged, tearing up as he watched your grip on the switchblade tighten, watched you continue to approach. He was pathetic. Everything about him was pathetic.

“She had a daughter, too.”

His eyes widened as you leaped at him once again, digging your knife as deep as you could get it into his shoulder, feeling it graze bone as you pushed the hilt firmly against his skin, until you could practically hear the blood vessels breaking. He howled, a wounded animal, prey. And he did nothing as your fist descended against his face, once, twice, a third time.

It was just as you were losing count that somebody grabbed you, hauling you up and away from the body sprawled out on the floor, the puddle of blood slowly expanding beneath him. His chest was stuttering, but he had stopped groaning minutes ago.

“Well, shit.” A woman’s voice said, not sounding particularly authoritarian, so you figured she wasn’t FEDRA.

The hands grasping onto your arms released them shortly after, and you dropped to the asphalt, watching Colin’s chest closely, waiting for his breathing to stop. It didn’t seem to be slowing much, and you could feel that unending wave of rage coming back to you, overruling the numbness, and enhancing your need to have him dead.

You moved the slightest bit, about to launch yourself at him, but as soon as your foot was pushing you from your spot on the ground, the hands wrapped around your arms again.

“Fuck! Get off of me!”

“We can’t let you kill the guy, for fuck’s sake. We got business with him!” The woman spoke again, sounding increasingly irate as she moved to get between you and your mother’s murderer.

“He deserves to die. He deserves to be killed. Get off!” You practically roared, resorting to a state not unlike a feral cat, spitting and hissing, spine curling, trying to claw at the hands holding onto you. They stayed steady, even when you managed to scratch one of them deep enough to break skin.

The woman swore again, “Everybody deserves to die, get a hold of yourself!”

“Tess, ‘s probably best if we get him out of here.” The man gripping you said, voice straining slightly as he focused on keeping you restrained. He couldn’t do anything but hold on to you and watch as Tess dragged the guy, by his ankle, down the alley slightly, banging on a side door that you hadn’t even noticed. It opened, and the man inside swore before helping Tess grab the guy and haul him inside.

As soon as the door was safely shut, the man released you.

You walked to the end of the alley, gripping at the back of your head, swearing the whole way. You were probably screaming, given the way your throat was grating on every word, but the sound didn’t register.

“Joel, you’d better get in here.” Tess called, poking her head out of the door. You could hear the irritation in her voice, but it was immediately sent to the back of your mind as you realised what she had actually just said. You whirled around.

He wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

But he was… familiar.

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, almost hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” You said, voice strained with laughter, “You are Joel? Miller?” You asked, wanting him to say no and be done with it all so badly, but you knew that he wouldn’t say that. It was ingrained in your blood, in your very DNA.

He stared uncomprehendingly at you, as if expecting a spark of recognition to go through him, but it didn’t happen. You saw Tess step cautiously out of the building, apparently prepared to have Joel’s back, no matter what your next move was.

“Who are you?” Joel asked, instead of answering your question, or even making a move towards where you had begun to cry. If only he fucking knew — he had just saved the man who had murdered your mother, who had murdered the woman who was, once upon a time, his wife.

You reached into your pocket, uncaring of the way they both reached for what you assumed were weapons, and pulled out the photo. The moment you unfolded it, revealing him stood next to your mother, it was certain. This man was your father. You held the photo out towards him.

“Joel—” Tess warned, as he stepped forward, but he dismissed her with a look, clearly communicating that he could handle himself. He wasn’t worried, despite the state Colin had been in when they had arrived.

He stared at the photo, brows creasing, face drawing blank, before he reached out and took it. His finger ran across the image of your mother, her bright smile, not a slither of grey to be seen in her hair. “How did you get this?” He asked, clearly in disbelief, denial, maybe.

You pointed to the woman in the picture. “That’s—was my mom.”

It could’ve been funny, months, maybe years ago, the way his eyes flickered between you and the image of her, as if trying to put together how much of the statement was true. You vaguely noticed Tess shift uneasily behind him, before approaching.

“Was?” Joel decided to ask, eventually, instead of whatever else was going through his head. He said nothing to Tess as she took in the photograph he was still holding onto.

“That man, he—he killed her. A few months ago.” You said, smiling, because you couldn’t do anything else. This was all too much. First, your mother is killed. And then when you finally find somewhere potentially safe, you hear about your father. And then before you could do anything about that, you see her killer! And then, before you could finish the job, your biological dad, Joel Miller, saved his life. It wasn’t funny, but you didn’t know how else to react.

You stepped back, sliding down the brick wall behind you until you were sat on the asphalt, and could hang your head between your knees.

“Oh fuck,” Tess said, connecting the dots as she looked between you and Joel rapidly, brows furrowed as she became increasingly concerned. “Don’t tell me that she’s—” She shook her head, turning away from the photo and Joel and you, running a hand through her greasy hair.

Joel was still processing, or at least that’s what it looked like to you. He was staring at the photo, strangely still, seeming blank of any and all emotions.

Tess paced for a moment more, before releasing a heavy breath. She walked past Joel, over to you. “Okay, c’mon.” She said, holding out a hand for you. When you hesitated, she waved her hand and barely refrained from putting it in your face. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get you out of here before Colin goes to FEDRA.” You take her hand, surprised by her strength as she hauls you to your feet in an instant, releasing you immediately. She shook her head again. “Joel, time to go.”

He looked at her, and then towards you, nodding once. You said nothing when he put the picture in his own pocket, instead of handing it back. You hesitantly followed after Tess, wondering what your next move should be, and Joel followed after the two of you, looking stricken.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

None of you had said anything, the entire time Tess had hurried you through borders and to what you assumed was their apartment. It felt like it was miles away from your own.

The wallpaper was yellowed with age, slowly drooping down the walls, peeling away at corners, but it wasn’t the worst state it could’ve been in. The floral pattern didn’t really lend itself to the vibes of the apocalypse, though. Nor did it match either Tess or Joel’s stoic and tough demeanours.

You had no idea what to expect from this.

For as long as you could remember, your mother had told you tales of your father, of the great man he was, the great father he was. But here, on the other side of a worldwide outbreak of infection, you couldn’t quite match the image in front of you to the man in those stories. You had spent so long thinking of him as being dead, unable to do anything to find you or your mother from a grave, that to learn he was alive, and with Tess, it was a shock to your system.

Where was Sarah? Where was the half-sister you had heard so much about from your mother?

Despite Joel matching the name, and the photo that your mother had kept, it just didn’t feel like he was the man you had been imagining as your father. He didn’t seem kind or caring, he didn’t look like he had any love left in him. And maybe, you could have accepted that, if he had other aspects to him, if he hadn’t let your mother’s killer live.

“What happened the day of the outbreak?” You asked, finally, despite the way you ached to run away and cry, for your mother, for yourself, for the father you would never have. Joel just looked at you, rarely blinking as if you were a figment of his imagination, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“No, we are asking you questions.” Tess responded, clearly taking the lead on the situation, despite having no connection to you. It really shouldn’t have been her business. You scoffed. “Where did you come from?” She asked you, unblinking in the face of your disbelief.

You shook your head, “How is that even relevant?”

“Because I said it is.”

“I don’t care what you say. He’s my dad. You’re not my mom.” You replied, roughly, angrily, and you’re only more irritated when Tess doesn’t even react. You become furious when Joel says nothing. “Are you going to say anything?”

Tess went to speak, but you spoke again before she could utter a word.

“Not even about how you let my mother’s killer go? You don’t have anything to say about that?” You questioned, stepping towards him where he had taken a seat on the couch in front of that god-forsaken wallpaper.

There was an awkward lull in the room, each of you waiting for Joel to speak. He seemed unsure if he was going to speak at all, his brows furrowing further, and he pulled the photo out of his pocket to look at once again.

“She died, years ago. My—my kids…” Joel swallowed, and shook his head. He placed the photo down beside him. The photo meant nothing. You could’ve been to his house, and brought it here with you, never having met the woman he hadn’t seen since the day the world fell apart.

“Did you even look for us?” You asked him, head tilting, eyes stinging, wanting desperately for him to say yes, to say he scoured the world but missed you somehow. But looking at him, covered with scars, you could see he was nothing like the man your mother remembered. He didn’t care, not like she thought he had. The man in front of you wasn’t your father — he was a disappointment. He was your father’s shell.

Joel didn’t speak, swallowing harshly, seemingly unable to form any words.

“You’re nothing like she said you were.” You told him quietly, shaking your head, reaching by his side and taking the picture. You wanted to rip his half off, throw it at him, denounce him, tell him he wasn’t your father, that he was never worthy of your mother, but you couldn’t. It was the only thing that you would ever have of the father you should’ve had. The man your mother had loved. She’d already had so much taken from her, you couldn’t, even after her death, take Joel away too. He could live on in the memory. In pictures.

They didn’t say anything when you turned your back on them, shoving the picture in your pocket, and walking out of their door. You slammed it behind you, felt the walls of their apartment tremble with the force, and kept walking.

Part of you, a big part, wished that Joel Miller would have stayed dead. At least that way, you could have kept pretending.

[fandomxo00]

can you do a headcannon about Hugh getting reader pregnant and he’s like “omg how am I gonna have a kid at 55!?” But reader tells him he’s gonna be great and Hugh is like all dad mode now

hope this makes sense 😭😭

note: i'm so deulu is not funny, when i was younger i would come up with these same time of plots where like i'm related to a celebrity so i meet famous ppl and whatever or literally anything, ive come up hundrds of scenarios while i was playing outside, completely enveloped in the world. if i did that now....well lets just say im not going to and can go into so much detail when writing that its so much better.

Hugh never thought he was gonna be a father again, he never that he would have a biological child. It wasn't a loss for him, he loved his children so much. But he's nervous about how he was going to fit to your standards. He had many mistakes the first time around, and this was different for him. The love he has for you is something he hadn't ever felt before, he did need more children but Hugh wanted to give you everything. You didn't come from a loving family, you didn't feel safe for such a long time, in the beginning of the relationship you couldn't believe that he actually liked you.

You didn't think you were his type and you were in your early thirties. You'd met through the grapevine, your little sister, Gracie was getting really close with Taylor. The two of you being huge fans, you couldn't believe the two actually connected. You were closer to Taylor's age than Gracie was and the two of you became fast friends. She even invited you to help with The Era's Tour, being one of the backstage managers. That's when you met Hugh, he'd been heading towards divorce with his wife for a long time, and they were in the middle of it. You were hesitant when he was confident and respectful, the two of you getting to know each other better through different dinners and hangouts before you officially started going out with him when the divorce was finalized.

But after that things moved pretty quickly and within two years you were married to him, and deeply in love. Hugh couldn't believe that he had met you know. He'd wish that you had been a little older and he could've met you sooner. When he met you, there was this innate attraction and comfortably around each other. You were never comfortable around people you didn't know well, but Hugh made it seem like he'd known you forever. He knew about what you wanted, and he didn't even hesitate when it came to you. There wasn't anything that Hugh wouldn't do for you and vise versa.

Even though he wanted to give you children one day, he didn't realize it would be so soon. Though it wasn't and you'd been trying for awhile when you finally got a positive pregnancy test. You were so excited, even in your mood swings, weird pregnancy craves, and constant pain literally everywhere. Hugh did everything to soothe you asking you what you needed and doing that exactly for you. Listening to you carefully especially when you were so upset you were crying over something as simple as a snack or spilling a glass of water. Taking care of you reminded him of what his past looked like and what his future would consist of. He felt a warmness come over him as he did some refreshers on different parenting books. Going through a list of questions with you, things that were important for your parenting journey. It was important to compromise and listen to each other.

But one night he let out that he was indeed nervous, "I mean I'm 55, what if I'm not good at this, anymore? What if I can't be a good husband and a good dad? I mean look what happened-." He rambled, as your hand came up to his cheek. Hugh's hand coming to round pregnant belly, as you looked into his eyes.

"You are a great dad, and a great husband. And the difference between when you did this with your ex and me, is that our love is different. Right? You always told me that."

"Yeah baby, our love is different." Hugh hummed, leaning in to lightly kiss your lips.

The two of you balanced each other, it wasn't that you couldn't handle yourself without him. But rather it was just easier to be when you were with him. When you feeling like you were lacking he never forgot to remind you how valued and how much you meant to him. You tried to do the same, trying to give him hope at the end of the tunnel.

@ me for forgetting to tag ppl : @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland

[youremyheaven]

vedic astrology observations

every revati i personally know has a dysfunctional relationship with either/both parent. there are celebrity examples as well

Angelina Jolie, Ellen DeGeneres, Rihanna, Cardi B (all Revati Moon)

2. two tier naks like uttaraphalguni & purvaphalguni, uttarashada & purvashada, uttarabhadrapada & purvabhadrapada often appear together

Jin is UBP moon & Yoongi is PBP sun

Jisoo is Purvashada Sun & Jennie is Uttarashada Sun

Bella is Purvaphalguni Moon & rising, Anwar is Uttaraphalguni rising

3.i have noticed that many punarvasu natives veer between either extreme in their early life, i.e, either they grow up extremely wealthy & comfortable or they grow up struggling/have difficult childhoods.

many royals have Punarvasu nakshatra (ex: Charlotte Casiraghi) and its generally seen as a wealth giving nakshatra but many famous Punarvasus have had rough childhoods, like drew barrymore, keanu reeves, eartha kitt (all punarvasu moon) and meghan markle (punarvasu rising) ive often noticed that the father being absent/being abandoned by the father is also a common theme in the lives of these natives (literally all the people i just mentioned grew up either without their father or saw him very less).

4. "The Nice Guys"

certain celebrities have a reputation for being "a nice guy"; they're humble, cordial, very grounded and polite. Ardra, Punarvasu & Pushya were the most common nakshatras among them. its not surprising to me that these celebs who have a reputation for being "nice", have naks in the Gemini-Cancer spectrum. im not saying other naks aren't capable of being nice, just that these naks have a tendency to make you known for being nice.

Tom Hanks, Punarvasu Sun, Pushya Moon

Keanu Reeves, Punarvasu Moon & stellium

Adam Sandler, Ardra Moon

Emilia Clarke, Ardra moon

Paul Rudd, Ardra rising

Mark Hamill, Pushya moon

Chris Evans, has Mercury & Venus in Ardra. His luminaries also consist entirely of Deva gana naks (Mrig sun, Swati moon & Anuradha rising)

Chris Hemsworth has Mars in Pushya

ive often been asked why i include placements other than the "big 3" when making observations and i want to say, please dont be misguided by pop-astrology narrative that your sun, moon & rising are "the most important" placements. they represent your ego, mind and appearance but its a very western mindset to say that "importance" is confined only to these aspects of an individual. a person is more than just the sum of their parts. every placement affects you. your mercury is how you communicate and express yourself, does that not sound important to you? mars is how we assert ourselves and conduct ourselves, venus is how we channel beauty, love and abundance. all of these are "important"!!!

6. Serpent Yoni (Rohini & Mrigashira) natives are probably some of the most private people ever. They're extremely protective of their personal space & it's not uncommon for them to stay off of social media entirely. If you consider the fact that snakes live in hidden spaces, away from the reach of most animals/people, it makes sense as to why these natives exhibit similar behaviour

Adele (Venus in Mrigashira)

Enya (Mrigashira Moon), she lives alone in a castle in the middle of nowhere in Ireland 😭😭thats sooo Mrig coded

Sandra Bullock (Mrigashira stellium) she's also been subject to stalking & harassment (a common Mrig theme) her home was invaded in 2014 etc but she's in semi retirement now and says she will never join social media

Jennifer Lawrence (Mrigashira Moon)

her privacy has been invaded brutally but she has always been adamant on protecting it.

Brigitte Bardot (Rohini Moon) she retired in the 70s and has since lived in the French countryside

Cillian Murphy (Rohini Sun) we lit rally know nothing about him

7. ive noticed with bharani men is that they tend to have difficult relationships with their fathers/the father is absent somehow, they're however very fond of their moms and sooo many of them have an older sister??? who they are also very close to???

Robert Downey Jr had a very complicated relationship with his father who encouraged his son to do drugs with him as a child etc

I had already mentioned that Revati natives often come from dysfunctional families, Rob has a Revati sun & stellium and he is Bharani moon. His rising is Ashlesha which is also often seen in natives who come from abusive or controlling homes.

[rqbossman]

Heyo! Folks be sending all sorts of questions so I'll give it a shot. So you're a Star Trek fan right? Have you been watching and/or enjoying the newer series? Or are you partial to the older ones? (I'm the latter, ive preferred TNG, DS9 and Voyager best.) But if you're also enjoying the newer stuff I'd be curious about your thoughts on 'em?

So I admit I have fallen off on Star Trek recently and my opinions on star trek in general are often considered... controversial. TOS: It's fine I guess. Next Gen: Good although a good chunk of season 1 and anything to do with Tasha Yar is less good. (Not because of Tasha's Character or performance just the writing for her feels a bit tone deaf at times to a modern ear.) DS9: I have bounced off this again and again. Never made it past about 10 episodes. I dunno why, I've watched worse without complaint. I wonder if it is to do with the religious portrayals, as these are the things I most struggle with in Sci Fi due to my own bias getting in the way. Voyager: Wonderful once it finds its feet. I married the woman who was the closest to Janeway I could find in the real world. Coffee addiction, war scowl and all. Discovery: Watched season 1 and enjoyed, subsequent seasons nI haver not had chance to view consistently due to UK licensing and not being able to afford every streaming platform. Lower Decks: Frigging brilliant, no notes, but again I am behind as I haven't the budget for additional media purchases right now. Brave New Worlds: I couldn't say. I hear good things but again, fragmented streaming is an expense I can't justify right now. Picard: Mixed. I was okay with the premise and S1 had it's moments although it was harder to get through than I thought which is weird since it had so many components I liked. I dropped off with the introduction of seven of nine as I feel the character was done a bit dirty and with Protocol entering preproduction I had to prioritise my time and Picard didn't spark enough joy to continue. I may return to it. Star Trek films: Far too much to cover here. TLDR much like bond movies it swings between good and bad but I'll always have a soft spot for any iteration of Kahn and I have seen First Contact most. TLDR: Seen a bunch, not all, Voyager is my fave despite the well known flaws.

[silverschaos]

bite my tongue / tate langdon.

Pairing: Tate Langdon x Reader Description: You turn into a flirt and Tate apparently has an issue with that. Warnings: mentions of murder (more specifically tate wanting to murder someone 💀), mentions of death. Word Count: 1290 A/N: listen ive never wrote tate before and i wasn't gonna but im in my ahs rewatch era and... this happened. i also ramble a lot. sry. apparently i need a backstory for everything and dont know how to end things 😩

The thing was you'd been stuck in this house for years. Years upon years and you were starting to get bored. So bored that you'd decided to seek out some 'fun' as you called it. Did that fun consist of trying to find someone in the house that you could spend some time with? It sure did but what else was there to do? You couldn't leave, you couldn't go out and live the normal life that'd you'd planned before you'd met your untimely demise so the house and its inhabitants were all you had to occupy your time with. It wasn't like you were seeking to sleep with anyone. Just a little flirt here and there but it was enough to make your best friend - Tate Langdon - furious.

This wasn't you. You didn't do things like this. That was why Tate liked you. You were everything he wasn't. You were good, you were kind, you liked to see the best in people. As long as he'd known you, he'd never seen you this way.

Tate was at his wits end when he saw you flirting with his mom's old boyfriend. What was his name again? Travis. That was it. Tate had never been a fan. Not that he cared who his mother dated. He didn't in the slightest but he cared about who you were messing around with. It seemed like you'd taken a shine to Travis. The mere thought of that stirred up the rage swirling within him. Was there a way to kill someone that was already dead?

"Why do you care who she spends her time with anyway?" Hayden asked him one day when he stood watching you laughing at something Travis said.

"Because she's my best friend."

"Best friend? Okay, sure."

Tate rounded on Hayden, an accusatory brow raised. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Hayden laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

Weeks passed and it was getting harder and harder for Tate to not say anything. It was driving him crazy. Well crazier than he already was. His jaw clenched as he watched you flirty place your hand on Travis' chest. That rage flared within him again -- imagining a thousand different ways he'd kill Travis if he was actually still alive.

Meanwhile, you were oblivious to Tate's inner turmoil. Travis was fun, he made you laugh and maybe, besides Tate, he was the only decent looking one in the house. Minus Ben but he was about thirty years older than you and the thought alone made you want to barf. That was a no-go. And, Tate, well, he was your best friend. He had been before you died and he was still now when you were both stuck in this purgatory hell of a house. Maybe once or twice you'd thought about what it'd be like to kiss him but that was it. Definitely not daily. Definitely not something you'd had dreams about. Nope.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Tate watching you talk to Travis. He leaned against the doorframe of the spare bedroom adorned in one of his infamous striped sweaters, his hair a mess of blonde curls. The look on his face was anything but friendly, though. It was a look you'd recognise anywhere. A look that would make a lot of people quiver in their boots but not you.

Tate had been your first friend in high school when you'd first started there. Technically, he didn't really have a say in it. For some reason the school had thought it was a good idea for him to be the one to show you around thinking it would be nice for him to talk to other students since he was often a recluse. At first, he didn't utter a word to you as he walked you around the school then he started opening up a little bit more. Soon, you found yourself seeking out his company, spending time together outside of school. He confided his secrets in you and vice versa. So, when you had the accident on his front lawn and he found you, that had been the start of his spiral. Losing his best friend like that - along with everything else he'd gone through - had been the tip of the iceberg.

He had his demons, you had yours but still even now he was the one person you knew would always be by your side. He was a terrible person - there was no doubt about that but there was also a side to him that only you knew and that was the side you hopelessly clung onto. It was why you'd defend him whenever anyone in the house started to say anything against him. The rational side of you knew they had every right to call him the names they did but your heart wouldn't have it.

Another glance in Tate's direction and you saw that he'd disappeared. Saying your goodbye to Travis, you headed out into the hallway. "Tate?"

It took a millimetre of a second before he came out of the next room, arms folded over his chest looking at you. "What?"

"Okay, wow, did someone piss in your cereal?"

"Ha ha, hilarious," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" Your eyes narrowed, folding your own arms across your chest.

Flabbergasted, Tate shook his head in disbelief that you were even asking such a question. "I can't keep biting my tongue anymore. I have to say something."

"About?"

"You! And how you're acting! Seriously, do you think I haven't noticed you throwing yourself over Travis especially? Are you just trying to make me mad? This isn't you! You don't do this. You're... you're the good one. You're the one that makes good decisions." Tate ran a hand over his face, his eyes almost pleading as he looked at you.

"Why is it any of your business who I flirt with anyway? Maybe this is me now. Maybe being stuck in this place for the rest of eternity changed me. Maybe I'm just like everyone else here." You shot back at him. Hopefully the faux confidence in your voice threw him off the fact that your dead heart was beating hard against your chest.

"Because I love you! I love you and you don't even look at me!"

That threw you off centre. Literally. You almost fell backwards, having to place a hand on the wall beside you to right yourself. All the air was knocked out of you. Surely he hadn't really just said that.

"I know you better than anyone here," Tate continued, taking a step forward. A cautious one. "You're not like anyone here. You never will be. I won't let you be. You are the only thing I care about in this forsaken place and I won't let this house ruin you like it did me. So, stop. Please, stop. I can't stand by and watch you throw yourself at everyone else when I've been right here the whole time."

Tears brimmed in your eyes when you noticed his eyes were watering, too. Tate had always been a sensitive boy. Constance always said it and you always witnessed it first hand. Seeing him cry always broke you. Taking a step forward, you place a hand gently on his cheek, wiping his eyes with the pad of your thumb.

"Okay," you said, softly. "I'll stop. For you. I'm sorry. I-I didn't know."

"S'fine."

"No, it's not. And, for the record, I think I love you, too."

And, there it was, that infamous Tate Langdon smile that you would never, ever tire of seeing. Eternity wouldn't be so bad if you saw that everyday.

[ludinusdaleth]

this is something ive had brewing in my mind for a while, but now that this aeor arc seems concluded, im really thinking on ludinus & other calamity survivors, and the idea of no perfect victim & moving forward.

ludinus & leylas are about the same age, have lived the same years. when we meet leylas, she is sending her soldiers to war in large part because she has seen the cycles of exandria unfold so consistently she cannot imagine peace until she defeats her enemy (quana still prays for it, and unity among everyone. but she holds her tongue). ludinus, on the opposite side of the mountains, knows the cycles too. and he thinks he must wage them to break them. leylas worships the luxon to free herself from the gods. ludinus despises the luxon for being seen as a god at all, that leylas as a survivor would dare worship it. both see the exact same thing but in opposite ways. but leylas gives a small smile of surprise when the m9 stop the war of ash & light. she is surprised, but happy to be wrong, in this one moment; her faith in these non dynasty folk paid off. all ludinus, one who hates cycles seeing a cycle caught short, sees, is a loss at taking more beacons, at destroying the "religious drivel" of the luxons religion. at least he can get to work on the big picture, the cycle he actually cares about, over any he enforces.

devexian & alyxian awaken the same year, devexian by the m9, in the ruins of his (and ludinus's) home. he can only laugh dryly at its fate, say it is a cruel joke of history. he picks up the pieces, tries to bring his people back to life. he wants them to start anew. he wants them to let go. if ludinus cant escape the day the city fell then it seems devexian wants nothing more than to leave it for tomorrow. alyxian has been caught in the hell of being a demigod of divinity & ruidis left to rot in half death. (depending on your netherdeep ending) he awakens to a new dawn, suddenly ancient & old in body, but.... free. freed by your party. he was torn asunder by avandra/correlon/sehanine & predathos within him, their powers festering in him as gruumsh destroyed him - and still he tries to be kind, and have faith, even if he is not the warrior he was, even if everything he ever knew was destroyed. he can see society flourish again, even after his & gruumsh's battle destroyed half of marquet. ludinus has seen society rebuild its entire course of time - and all he sees is a world never as brilliant as what it was before.

all of these calamity survivors are completely fucked. leylas is paranoid, losing her mind from living too long, and still haunted by lolth. quana is resigned to stay at her lovers side even as madness takes her when all she wants is unity with others. devexian is clearly so unwilling to face history repeating he wont tell other aeormatons their heritage. alyxian is broken & battered after an eon of nonstop torture.

but they had help from others, from kind souls, who reached a hand out. and they took that kindness and internalized it. and they have vowed to help their people any way they can. to spread that glimmer of hope. to rebuild.

ludinus hasnt. and i think there is deep tragedy in that. i dont know if he has much hope, ironically, beyond raging cleansing fire. in that broad big picture it is both incredibly real & also heartbreaking when recovery falls through the cracks so badly. to have so little of a support group of survivors around you that you smack the hand of those who came out of it differently, and not have known others who could show you it was okay to move on. you hurt other survivors in your refusal to breathe, and live too large to see the others choosing a small destiny. it is unfair to him to had to have suffered and unfair to inflict that on calamity survivors again for your own agenda.

i fixate on him not disagreeing with the bells finding a third option. deep down, he wants to have that hope the others share so fucking bad. we'll see if he ever finds it.

[nicksbestie]

hii um ive never made a request before but i looove your johnnie fics >.< if itz okay could i request some fluff of johnnie x a male reader like maybe johnnie realizing he wants to be more than friends with reader?? thank yoouu !!! ^^ <3

awww! thank you so so so much!! and yes you can absolutely req this :)

i just wanna put out there that i do not have the male experience, so if any of this is wrong or inaccurate please let me know!! i would love to improve the writing <3

Feelings

warnings : none!

word count : 1382

pairing : johnnie guilbert/male reader (romantic)

enjoy!! <3

There were a lot of things in Johnnie’s life that he hadn't figured out yet. There was always a level of anxiety when you were in a career field such as his, as there was a possibility that something could happen and it could go downhill. He was also still young, only in his mid twenties, so he wasn’t expected to have his entire life figured out. However, there was one thing he thought he had figured out for certain, and that was who he had romantic feelings for. He liked girls, and only girls. He had figured that out years ago, or at least he thought he had. But that was before he met you, and it had been weighing on his mind for weeks. 

You were his newly obtained best friend, the person that he had been spending a lot of time with lately. You had met fairly recently, but you had just clicked in a way that made both of you know it would blossom into a really strong friendship, and both of you were very excited about that. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any friends, but you were always open to making more, especially creating close bonds with them. You had been filming a lot with him, getting used to being around each other, and you loved the fact that there had been almost no awkwardness, even from the beginning. You were comfortable around each other, and that was the best part of the relationship. 

But Johnnie was dealing with more behind the scenes, a lot of confusion, a lot of self reflection. He didn’t understand why you were consistently on his mind, why he couldn’t think about much else. He knew part of it were classic signs of having a crush, but that couldn’t be what was happening, because he was straight. He knew that, it was one of the very few things that he knew for a fact. He hadn’t thought about it in years, hadn’t even considered opening his mind to other possibilities, because he didn’t believe he needed to. But now, with you consuming his mind over ninety percent of the time, it seemed like he was going to have to think about it. 

The thought of that was terrifying. To realize that something that was so concrete in your life may be crumbling, that could have the potential to completely reshape how you view yourself, is scary to anyone. Johnnie had pushed it to the back of his mind for weeks now, having known that there was absolutely something there, but he really didn’t want to spend the time thinking about it because he didn’t know what he would do about it should he realize what he was dreading. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was afraid of people’s perspective of him changing, possibly losing people in his life, and because of that, if he didn’t think about it, then it wouldn’t become a problem, right? 

It wasn’t until multiple videos later, a couple more weeks of denial, before he finally spent time actually thinking about what he was feeling for you. He knew it was more than platonic feelings by this point, but he didn’t know what that meant for him exactly. He also didn’t know if he would be able to continue a friendship hiding it from you. He’d never felt anything for anyone of the same sex before, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Sure, he’d kissed Jake a couple times, but that was just for fun, there was no actual passion behind it, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you. He hated the way that he really, desperately, wanted to know what that would be like. 

He’d finally given into the fact that he was attracted to you when he woke up in the middle of the night from a dream, swearing that he could still feel your lips on his, or at least, what his subconscious decided that felt like. He was unable to shake that dream out of his head for the rest of the day, which made it especially awkward because you were hanging out that day and filming again. He very pointedly ignored the comments that drew attention to the way his eyes had lingered on your face for a bit too long to be friendly. Unfortunately, you didn’t ignore them, and he cursed himself out in his head when you were sitting next to him, and tilted your phone towards him to show a stream of comments about it, complete with a timestamp. 

Of course, you had to click on the timestamp to see the clip. Of course you did.

You looked at him, absolutely noticing the way his eyes immediately darted away from your face. 

“They kinda have a point, don’t they?” 

He laughed, scrolling on his phone, breaking eye contact. 

“I guess, people love to make things up.” 

You decided to push it a little bit. 

‘You have been staring at me a lot lately. I’ve noticed it while I’ve been editing videos. If you weren’t straight, I’d say you had a crush or something.” 

You took note of the way he swallowed hard, half shrugging without looking at you again. 

“Or something, yeah.” 

You sat up, intrigued. 

“Or something? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That I’m straight, or something like that.” 

You could feel the fact that he was hiding something, and wanted to know what it was, despite having a feeling that you already knew. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I know we haven’t known each other all our life, but I’m not gonna judge you for anything.” 

He sighed, pretending to be distracted on his phone, but you were sitting close enough that you could see he was watching the same video over and over again. 

“I’m not sure, maybe I’m not straight. I haven’t totally figured it out yet.” 

“Oh? What prompted this?” 

You thought he was ignoring you for an agonizingly long couple of seconds before he spoke again. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking about it.” 

“Yeah, I call bullshit. Something prompted this. Have you got a crush?” 

His silence told you everything you needed to know. 

“Oh my god, you do! Who is it? Spill.” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

You scoffed, knowing you’d already heard worse in your friendship than a small crush. 

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

It was at this point that he turned back to look at you, another sigh escaping his lips. 

“I just… can’t.” 

His eyes made it look like he was begging you to understand, and he could see the realization hit you as yours widened a bit, mouth falling slightly open. 

“Oh. You’re crushing on me?” 

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your mouth, immediately regretted it when he blushed a lot harder, and immediately went to get up off of the couch. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving the room. 

“Wait, no, I wasn’t laughing at you, I was just surprised, that’s all. Sit back down, yeah?” 

He rolled his eyes, but he could feel the fact that you weren’t going to let go of his arm, so he did, once again refusing to look at you. 

“I just didn’t realize it would be me that made you rethink your sexuality.” 

“Yeah, me either.” 

You smiled, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it.

“Well, I can help you confirm it.” 

He turned his head at this, possibly doubting what he just heard. 

“What?” 

You took this moment of vulnerability to press your lips to his. Fear rushed through you for the split second that he wasn’t kissing back, but the second you went to pull off, his hand came up, threading through the back of your hair and keeping you pressed against him, desperation pouring from his body. Eventually splitting apart to breathe, you had a small smile on your face, and staring at him, you realized it matched his. He ran his hands through his own hair, leaning back against the couch, smiling wider. 

“Well, I’m definitely not straight. And that was just as good as I dreamed it would be.”

[yeahyeahchloe]

It Wasn't in my Head (1)

(a/n: hellooo! im super excited to be putting my ideas into writing ((finally)) and sharing it with u! this will be a multi part fic, im not sure how long yet, but i am a fan of long slowburn stories so get ready. also, this story will contain inappropriate themes so minors and ageless blogs dni! this is only my third or fourth fic ive ever done so plz be nice to me hehe. ok on with it then)

Summary: Abby is the starting linebacker at UW and when her team starts to falter her coach decides to get the team into ballet, in order to teach them that grace and stability is important in football too. Abby is just as upset about her teammates about this, until she sees her pretty new ballet teacher...

dancer!reader x football!abby

!!ABBY IS STRAIGHT IN THE BEGINNING. READER IS HER GAY AWAKENING!!

The locker slammed in the empty room as the blonde walked out alone, ready for practice. There were a few "hey man"s thrown her way as she walked out the doors.

Abby had always had a thing for sports since she was a kid. She tried a lot of them too, none of them quite working out.

That was before she found football.

Football was one of the only things that ever made Abby truly happy. She knew it was kind of corny to say, but she seriously felt lost without it.

So when she worked her ass off and was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to play on the men's football team at the college in her hometown, it just kind of felt like fate was aligned.

Abby jogged over to where she saw everyone else running and started doing so. Abby got along fine with all the boys on her team, I mean it was her team after all, but she never really felt the need to truly befriend any of them. She had her close circle and that was all she needed.

Her said close circle consisted of her friends Miguel, Ellie, and Vi.

Her and Miguel met when they were teenagers at a boxing class. She ended up hating boxing but loving what came out of it. Miguel was the type of guy to make anyone feel good about anything. He could turn anything into the funniest joke, or a life lesson.

And Ellie, well she met Ellie not long ago, when their dads met in a poker club and Ellie's dad kina killed Abby's in the game. They had been friends ever since they started talking about their lack of mothers and love of corny dad jokes. Abby had also always known Ellie was gay, but the deal was kind of sealed when she would gush about her crush on a girl named Riley.

And Vi, well Vi was Abby's best friend since childhood. Abby was embarrassed to say, but she was the scared, shy kid sitting on the ABC rug in the classroom. Thankfully, Vi was the complete opposite and marched right up to Abby on her short little legs and struck up conversation. And the rest of the story just kind of wrote itself.

"Hey! Hey Anderson! Slow down!"

Abby looked over her shoulder to analyze the face calling out to her. She turned back ahead and cringed before turning back around and smiling at the man.

Owen wasn't a bad guy per-say, it was really just the way he couldn't learn when to stop. He had practically been eating out of Abby's hands the past three years they've been playing together.

It always confused Abby why she wasn't attracted to Owen, but she sort of just wasn't, and she thought she had made that pretty clear. She also just liked to think that sports were important to her, and she had too much going on for crushes or relationships.

"Hey Owen what's goin on?" Abby slowed so the man could catch up and tried to approach the conversation politely.

"Oh yaknow...practice," He said in between huffs, trying to catch up with the fit girl next to him, "What about you?"

"Yeah just, practice," She commented, coated with awkwardness.

Owen went to open his mouth to speak again, but thankfully her coach whistled loudly and told everyone to hustle in.

They flocked over to their coach and took a knee in front of him while the moustached man opened his mouth and started speaking.

"I called y'all over here to talk before ya started doing drills," he gruffed in his strange accent, "I hope y'all have noticied, that all your scrimages have been straight crap recently. I've seen blindfolded toddlers play ball better than you sissies!"

Abby cringed at his harsh words, but she couldn't help but agree. She assumed everyone was slacking recently due to the fact it was August, and the season hadn't even started yet.

"So, since I wont be caught coaching a ton of pansies, I've decided to get some outside help," everyone seemed confused by his words, and Abby couldn't help but be confused herself.

What the hell kind of outside help did they need?

"Huskies, y'all are gonna be taking ballet classes," the coach said, smirk prominent on his mustache covered lips.

Everyone immediately groaned and commented with wild distaste for the man's decision.

"Shut your nabbin!" he erupted with anger in his voice, "I don't want to hear another damn word! Y'all are takin ballet to learn that just because you think you're big tough men, don't mean you are! You will learn how to move properly on your feet, improving your agility, balance, and strength coordination. You start tomorrow and are fortunate enough to be taught by the greatest ballet dancer in the state and a student at this school. Dismissed,"

Fuck

(a/n: ok wow first chapter! hoped you guys liked it, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I will try and have it out soon! ♡︎♡︎)

[metfell]

Whats your favourite design quirk for each of cbench? I always love hearing how these things came to be !!

allow me to pull up some of my art for you and i will ramble- oh my god it has been literally so long since ive done colored artwork i am so sorry everyone wow the depression is visible i see. ANYWAYS.

so its funny trying to talk about designs when so much of how i draw them is just "this is ctommy but in a different outfit" so ill go into stuff that is always visible on them

i think my favorite consistency is ctubbos mismatched horns, its something that i think signifies it as My Tubbo Design. i saw a picture of a highland cow back in 2021 and i thought it fit him perfectly and ive never gone back ever since then. i started drawing tubbo as more butchy recently mainly because of boss and his source stuff to be perfectly honest, he has a lot going on in there. but its fun to take a character who is very often like... twink-ified? and make him into a stone dyke butch. well, idk if hes twink-ified these days, but back in 2021-2022 he sure was. i think giving tubbo a wider build- something these two images dont rlly do but whatever we'll work with it- is really great as a visual signifier for being guarded. hes a square hes got his massive snowchester coat on with its big furry coat and his hair covers his eyes and hes got a laurel wreath to signify coming home from war/being victorious in battle/etc. and he wasnt always a moobloom much like my little fic talked about, he used to be a human but the firework explosion fucked him up so bad the server had to stitch him back together with code from mobs. so the server grows a laurel on him and the server hardens him and tries to make him more resilient for the next fight.

i got insane abt tubbo let me move on to ranboo. i have so much fun drawing ranboo i really enjoy playing around with hair length and horn shape and leg anatomy etc. i used to be a fan of the straight split down the middle of their halves but i just love the mottled look so much i have to do that, mainly because i think it makes an artwork look a bit more polished for my own standards for myself. a lot of my ranboo design is an exercise in balance. his halves are black on the left white on the right, so his hair is flipped to make it more interesting, i give them the classic metfell hair flip because a)ranboolives hair moves like that already, and b)it lets me play around with giving them a little crown on the opposite sides horn. also i give them a bolo tie because i dont think cranboo can actually tie a regular tie if im being so forreal. and they have puffy sleeves because i think it adds to the fact that theyre not really a fighter like the others. though cranboo can hold their own and are a literal blacksmith constantly mining and smelting ores and making people armor sets, theyre not KNOWN for fighting, and so giving them an outfit that is not suited for fighting can reflect that.

when it comes to tommy i am always changing up how i draw him. im really attached to the long braid though, and im a classic butterfly clip ctommy enjoyer i think its fun and ppl who hated it were annoying as fuck. i think my favorite thing about drawing ctommy is that i give him gauges- very small ones but gauges nonetheless because cwilbur got them and he wanted to match early on. he never actually went through the process of stretching but he does have them in. and when i draw older ctommy i like to draw him like hes early on estrogen i think its really fun. same with tubbo i like to draw him like hes early on T. theyre transing together :]