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backtocarousel · 7 months ago

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ok so my reoccurring headcanons r that chan

1. is an ass lover and def eats ass with no shame. he would do anal with u but hes got bcs (big cock syndrome) n is too afraid he'll hurt u so settles for his tongue and fingers, but mostly his tongue <3

2. would probably suck ur toes in missionary with ur legs up if he's really feeling it. likes pretty dainty anklets n got u one that has a little 'c' charm on it.

3. he is not the stereotypical hardcore dom & rather gentle (ideally a dom!switch) but he still pounds ur shi and likes to be called daddy when the time's right. it's an ego boost, but on normal days when he says "moan my fucking name, baby," he means chris!

4. full blown studio sex never happens but if he's really feeling it he'll hold u on his lap and finger u until ur practically dislodging his fingers from how hard u came, then he's making u do it again when u finally relax

5. he loves making sex tapes hehehe there's so many filmed on one very specific camera he owns

last one (i can go on and on i'm crazy)

6. taught u how to touch urself with ur back pressed to his chest 100% for his own enjoyment and edge u relentlessly under the guise of u "not doing it how daddy taught you."

this made me saur insane i cant even explain how much..... i love u whoever u are ☹️☹️ someone should write a fanfic using these hehe

1. yes pls yes yes anal is a controversial thing for most people but sorry everyone who follows me... i love it ☹️ his boombayah would NOT fit . definitely not. give me that skilled tongue boy

2. i think he'd just suck ur body ALL over. the c charm... can you imagine him giving you a necklace, bracelet and anklet with them all having the 'c' charm? oughhh. my stomach

3. PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE. U GET ME. i dont mind the hardcore dom chan but softie dom chris is my life and i will defend it forever. he gets the stress of taking care of everything out of u and loves getting pampered by u (is that the right word? excuse my bad english ueueue) calling him daddy while domming him is my dream so sorry

4. with his sexy fingers 🤤 he's probably a bit of a neat freak when it comes to his studio dont u agree or nah

5. STOP BC THATS WHAT I ALWAYS THINK. i thought of it more like him having a really deep folder named recipes or smt bullshit like that which contains him pounding the life out of u fucking u silly

6. oughhhhhh doing this on a chill night room illuminated only bu scented candles the movie infront of u both long forgotten while you press against his chest feeling his huge cock watching you finger yourself ☹️ i love u bangchan

#bang chan #bangchan #stray kids bangchan #bang chan stray kids #bang chan hard hours #christopher bang #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #dear anon #ask

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fallen-and-holy · 22 days ago

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thinking about the host by stephanie meyer again because.... oughhhhhh. It could have been so good. It could have been so fucking good!@!!! Especially as a plural alterhuman!!! But she had to make it weird!!!!!! Fuuuuck

Okay more rational thoughts, spoilers for the book to come.

The Host is about a species of parasitic aliens who have to take host bodies to survive. They travel from planet to planet, carefully taking over the entire native populations- removing the original consciousness and replacing them. They install a kind of utopia- no more pain, hunger, money, violence, etc- but at the cost of the host species. They see themselves as doing a good thing- bringing civilization and taking away the struggles of those worlds. They call themselves souls. This in itself is one of the coolest premises I've ever read. The worldbuilding around this species is so cool and felt real to me in a way that's been hard to find again. The sensory imagery of their true bodies has permanently cemented itself in my brain, and they're beautiful. I would love to see this explored more upon, but... probably as fic and not by stephanie meyer for reasons I'm going to explain :/

The plot of the book is centered around a Soul, referred to as Wanderer or Wanda, who has taken a human host. This host, Melanie, was one of the last humans left that wasn't taken and made a host before she got caught. Usually, the consciousness of the host fades when a Soul takes the body, but Melanie sticks around and manages to get Wanda to one of the human bases. As the plot progresses, Wanda learns to love humanity, becomes friends with Melanie and other humans in the base, and gets involved in a strange love square with two guys. At the end, she decides to sacrifice herself to let Melanie live her life, but gets rescued at the last second and put in a new (with the original consciousness already removed by another Soul) body. Pretty standard 'nature of humanity' sci-fi plot, happy endings all around, right?

I read this for the first time when I was pretty young, and didn't really get the problematic elements. The Soul species resonated with me really strongly for reasons I didn't understand at the time (spoiler: I'm alterhuman and plural), and the final sacrifice scene never failed to make me cry. This book also introduced me to the body-sharing trope, something that is an Archetrope for us. But now that I'm looking back on it, there's a lot in it that was just. Strange. Weird bioessentalism, for one- the Soul concept of gender was completely separate from human, and yet there was a Weird enforcement of 'Girl aliens go in the Girl body and Boy aliens go in the Boy body'. There were also. Two (or more if you're counting weird body-sharing fuckery) completely unnecessary age gap relationships. Melanie, the host, started dating her romantic interest, Jared, when she was 17 and he was 26. This is portrayed as Completely Normal and Unproblematic. She's 21 when the main plot happens but. Hm. And when Wanda gets her own body, the one they pick out for her happens to be 17, while her love interest Ian is in his late twenties. There's a whole weird scene about Wanda lying to him about her bodies age so they can have sex and it's presented as normal, funny even. On one claw, write/read whatever you want because fiction is fiction and you're not hurting anyone with your weird kink staying in your writing. On the other claw, I don't think infamous writer Stephanie Meyer is approaching this with good faith 'fiction is fiction'. Same with her portrayal of relationships as a whole- if you're into that shit as a fantasy go nuts, but i don't think that she sees that those relationships would be Not Okay irl. It makes me uncomfortable now, so I probably won't be rereading. I also think there's way too much focus on the romance in this book- you have a fascinating and complex sci-fi premise and world, and you spend the majority of the book focusing on an age-gap love triangle.

I'm not really sure how to end this. This is the first book review I've ever done, and I didn't even mean to do it lmao. I have fond memories of this book, but I also think it could have been so much more. If you don't mind the bits I dislike, or simply want to skip past them, I would recommend this book to alterhumans and plurals who relate to the body-sharing/Symbiosis trope. The Souls are so cool, and I'm honestly questioning them as a conceptkintype like the Trill from Star Trek. They definitely tie into my Symbiosis Archetrope.

Any (kind) comments or corrections are appreciated, I wrote this in one go while stoned and did not Beta read it so there's probably mistakes.

#Mine #long post #book review #< sort of #Alterhuman book review #< again sort of I guess #alterhuman #archetrope #plural #The Host #The Host Stephanie meyer #The Host spoilers #< I mean it's been out for like 15 years but just in case #Alterhuman writing

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joanofexys · 7 months ago

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(Betsy would not forget Neil’s face for quite some time; stoic, unbothered, with blood on his clothes and no emotions other than Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.) - OH IM GONNA BE SICK

This didn’t even look like him - it looked more like Aaron, the brother who did not speak, who did not sport the same medicated smile that Andrew had for over a year. - HEY NIN THIS COMPARISON WAS SO OUT OF POCKET AND IVE NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE WHAT THE FUCK

This felt like square one again. This felt like trying to read a completely new patient. - oughhhhhh they really did have to start all over in a way. there’s just so much that’s changed and ughhhhhh ouch

"I don't know." - BABY. BABY BOY. OH MY GOD. I NEED TO WRAP HIM IN A BLANKET AND PROTECT HIM FROM THE WORLD

the son of the mother that could've been - hey nin this was fucked up. this has got me fucked up. this is evil of you to say

And Andrew laughed. - THE WHOLE PARAGRAPH BEFORE AND FOLLOWING THIS??? SO GOOD AND ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING

For him. - SOBBING. I LOVE BEE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

NIN IM OBSESSED THIS IS SO GOOD AND UGH YOURE GONNA MAKE ME CRY. I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO MUCH. the way this was written was just excellent and i love seeing the way Bee had to adjust and how Andrew did too. God it just hurts so good. I love them sm

I would absolutely love to see something about Betsy and Andrew post Easthaven!

a lil snippet of bee and andrews first session after easthaven that i dont want to get long as hell but will probably end up that way anyway??? (tw drake/thanksgiving/easthaven you know the drill)

It was a Wednesday, as it had been a thousand times before, and at ten to the hour Betsy thought about her first session with Andrew.

She thought about his humourless laugh, and how he'd dramatically left the room less than twenty minutes into the session. She remembered how he smelled like stale tobacco and smoke, how he smiled at her, and pushed her limits.

Betsy thought about the second time she met Andrew, the third time, the fourth time. How he'd slowly started to crack himself open and let her in, how he'd allowed himself to trust again.

Betsy thought about their last session before the holidays.

Talking about his family had always been a sore spot for Andrew, uncharted territory most of the time, with far too many boundaries and ‘do-not-talk-about’s to be worth exploring further. They had dipped their toes in on a handful of occasions, tense discussions more often than not shut down as soon as Andrew felt the conversation becoming too close.

They’d made progress, that being said - they’d spent that last session before the holidays speaking about one of the last times Andrew had seen his cousin’s family in person. How interested he was in seeing how their dinner would pan out, about how he couldn’t wait to see the look on Neil’s face when he realised what he’d gotten them into.

(Betsy would not forget Neil’s face for quite some time; stoic, unbothered, with blood on his clothes and no emotions other than Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.)

At five minutes to the hour, Andrew swung open the door with a room-shaking bang. Betsy waited for him to sit down, but he stood there for a moment too long, watching her, and only when Betsy fixed her glasses did she see why.

Betsy had never met this Andrew before.

His eyes did not have much behind them, and it startled her to read his emotionless expression. This didn’t even look like him - it looked more like Aaron, the brother who did not speak, who did not sport the same medicated smile that Andrew had for over a year. It didn't take long for her to realise it was the absence of that medicated smile that made him look so wrong; it was as natural on Andrew's face as the clouds were in the sky. Him stepping into her office without it was as if he'd stepped through the door with a new hair colour, or piercing, or a bizarrely colourful outfit he'd never worn before.

“Andrew,” Betsy smiled. At her voice, he shut the door to her office behind him, and made his way over to the couch at the back end of the room. “We’re overdue a few formalities - happy New Year, for a start.”

He didn’t respond while she made their usual cocoas, and so she filled the silence with meaningless chatter, things that she knew he didn’t care about, but were words nonetheless. She got a better look at him as she placed his mug down, and caught his eyes, glued to her, waiting, watching. Perhaps the light was playing tricks on her, but he had subtle yellow marks on the skin of his face where bruises had faded to almost nothing.

“I don’t think it’s what you want to hear but I’ll ask it anyway,” Betsy checked her seat was clear before sitting down. “How are you feeling? It’s really great to see you.”

It was impossible to tell if the pause that followed was Andrew’s hesitation or reluctance. Was he not speaking because he had nothing to say, or because he didn’t know what to say at all? It was not Betsy’s place to fill that silence, either. If any session were important to hand him the reigns, this was it. He had to do this himself.

It was ten minutes, or an hour later before he spoke. “They shouldn’t have called you.”

“When?” Betsy asked after a pause. When he didn’t answer, she continued cautiously, “In Columbia?”

His lack of a response was response enough. His dead stare, his tired eyes emphasised by un-creased cheeks, his smile nothing more than a hard line across his lips.

“They had no choice,” she said, calm and measured. “You know they had to. You know why they had to."

"They shouldn't have."

Betsy had spent over a year trying to understand Andrew, to figure out whether his smile was genuine or chemically manufactured, trying to figure out what he meant when he spoke in riddles. They'd reached a point of understanding, a point in their therapeutic relationship where she could read him well enough to know what he needed her to say. This felt like square one again. This felt like trying to read a completely new patient.

"Why?" Betsy asked, and she tilted her head ever so gently when he looked her way. "What would you have preferred them to do?"

Andrew paused, and was slow to look away before he spoke.

"I don't know."

It was quiet, and there was something else in the room, something in his voice. Something that told Betsy he meant it. He didn't know. He didn't know what had really happened to him, he didn't know who he was anymore, he didn't know why he didn't want them to call the only person who truly understood, because all of it was far too real. Betsy being there only made it official.

"Talk to me," She said, careful not to change her tone, careful to avoid falling back into the typical therapist mode that Andrew had always despised. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Andrew stared at the wall for a moment before finally moving himself into a more comfortable position, taking off his shoes slower than he usually would, tucking them up beneath him on the couch. He shut his eyes for just a second, and then turned his gaze on Betsy.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, and Betsy felt her stomach bottom out. "Why Easthaven?"

"We agreed on it." She said slowly, trying to hide the defensiveness in her voice, trying to hide the fear that an unmedicated Andrew had started to regret his decision to come off them. "I told you why-"

"That's not what I'm asking." He interrupted with a gentle shake of his head.

When they'd spoken about it, it'd been a messy scrapbook page of pasted reasonings and a scribbled out pros and cons list. There were several different truths as to why Betsy pushed for it, a truth that had been hard for others to understand, but a truth that Neil seemed to understand the best.

"Tell me why." She offered. "Why is that something you want me to answer, when you already know?"

"Because I need to hear it without all the noise."

Easthaven had always been the plan - it was difficult to concisely explain the choice as to pull forward Andrew's timeline of events, but it was something Betsy had had to explain over and over again. To her superiors, to the boards in Easthaven, the courts and parole officers that didn't understand it at all. It had been almost hardest to explain it to Andrew himself, bruised and bloody after a night of retraumatisation and a concussion that left him barely able to focus, who's only coping mechanism was to make jokes to cover the fear that he hadn't even been allowed to feel.

Betsy took a deep breath and took off her glasses before saying, "Do you remember laughing?"

Andrew looked away as quickly as the words had left her mouth. She couldn't read his face well enough to tell if he was remembering, or if he couldn't remember at all. It was a silly question though, she thought, knowing how crystal clear Andrew's memory had always been, but perhaps she wondered whether between the haze of withdrawals and events of that night had led his reaction to become somehow buried amongst it all.

Andrew had kept his past a secret for so long, even to her, that he'd nearly given it his own statute of limitations in a way - nothing can be done about it now. Betsy had promised not to pursue any legal action, perhaps against the protocols she was required to follow, for the sake of his honesty way back in the beginning. For the sake of his openness, Betsy was willing to do anything. Andrew had allowed enough time and distance to pass before he handed over even the tiniest of details about the abuse he'd faced as a child. Enough time had passed that he felt as though they were nothing more than stories. Drake would never be in his life again, whether it be for justice or for some sort of closure, so, to him it felt safe to talk about. Any time he'd found his way into a conversation, the son of the mother that could've been, it was obvious how much it bothered Andrew to talk about it; the way his eyes glazed over recounting the details, the way even the mention of his name stilled him as if he were a mannequin on display. But Drake alone was far enough away from the Andrew that sat in her office months beforehand, and he felt like it was okay to divulge the truth.

But against all odds, Drake had come back.

He'd found Andrew, he'd put his hands on him, an adult now, more capable of fighting back, but still in Andrew's eyes he'd won again. It had been funny to him, the night of, that after so many years he'd finally, naively, stupidly allowed himself to feel safe. He had stopped looking over his shoulder each and every night before he got into bed. He had spoken Drake's name freely in a therapeutic setting without fear of repercussion. Yet he had looked him in the eyes again. Yet he'd felt like that child all over again, and years and years of progress were destroyed in an instant.

And Andrew laughed.

A terrible sound, a joke in the face of shock and trauma, a flick of his wrist as if the bruises that circled it were not enough to tell him that this was not to be brushed away. Betsy remembered sitting across from him that night as if it had been only the night before. She remembered the awful sound of his hoarse laugh as well as she remembered the painfully long drive from her sisters home to Columbia. She remembered it almost as well as the foggy conversation she'd had with Abby over the phone.

She looked across that room at him now, his demeanor that of a stranger, and sighed.

Why had she done it?

For him. Anything else was irrelevant - the season, the courts and their mandated recovery timeline, the opinions of anyone who thought they understood. All of it had been for him.

To keep him alive.

To keep him safe.

"I'll tell you," Betsy lifted up the cocoa she'd sat on the table between them, to rest her lips on the warm ceramic. Andrew watched her as she spoke, and she watched his chest rise and fall after a purposeful deep breath. "But Andrew, I need you to let me finish."

#aftg #fics

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