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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

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Tiny Vox part 2?

Idk if you'll use this but I just want to give it to you.

I kind of headcannon tiny vox the be dumber, because the unprepared small body can't load all his data very well. So I imagine Vox, being stupidly in love, trying the help them when they are doing the dishes or working on their hobby bit he is just making more of a mess and smiling dumbly in love. Like when reader likes to draw heb grabs a random coloured pencil and bring it to them. You know just adorable but unhelpful.

Pocket-sized Partner: VoxPet™️ Care Guide

Tiny!Vox x Reader

A/N: So uhhh- here's a teeny little Headcanon thing while I write the continuation for the VoxPet series because I love smol TV guy. That and I'm starting to slightly feel the burnout, well- I can't tell if that's the right term since I'm starting to look at my ideas and realize that they're starting to lack the coherence and polish they used to. ANYWAY! Here's a Headcanon list for the small guy before I post the continuation for it- so I hope you guys enjoy! Happy reading!

So given Vox's mostly bionic/mechanical biology, it makes sense that he doesn't necessarily regenerate the same as other more organic(flesh-based) sinners.

Instead, he has spare bodies to upload his consciousness and switch into if the one he's using gets damaged and needs repairs or is just not worth saving.

Hence he has a couple spares lying around.

It's just in this instance, the only spare he had left was in a less than desirable condition-

And the others were still broken or just beyond repair.

Having a his brain be it's own practical digital entity also plays into this, I'd think in his paranoia he'd have copies of his own data stored in cloud servers all over the pride ring too.

So it won't be easy should someone try to get rid of him.

Anyway, back to the body switching.

So this new body Vox took is a very underpowered and overutilized little thing.

Imagine running a Skyrim with over a thousand mods on the highest graphics using a 7 year old dell laptop.

Yeah. That's what Vox is currently doing.

The small body is already running at full capacity with his overload of data and it's not even all of it.

Just the basic necessities like his personality and habits.

Like, what make Vox- vox.

Everything else like his schedules, alarms, work, etc.

They're just uploaded to a cloud server with the rest of his complete data.

Oh I forgot to mention, in his haste to make this tiny cute form-

He totally forgot to give it the ability to form even basic speech patterns.

Hence the squeaking and beeping.

He actually can't talk, not that the small body would even have any more processing room if he did do that.

Vox merely figured that you'd probably find some enjoyment anyway in his predicament until the new spare parts arrived and he didn't want to keep moving around dripping coolant and blood accompanied by some sparking wires.

Let's not even mention the cracked screen.

His face being messed up was probably the least of his issues there too.

So you kind of had to take care of him as that small little guy in that hastily put together body.

Also, because it's so underpowered and practically at it's peak use-

Vox can't actually really use his powers much.

Which he didn't realize only until after he flipped out when Velvette and Valentino found him when the staff were panicking from him suddenly going AWOL.

In this tiny body, he only has his generally human memorization skills to recall important things.

Not his flawless computer memory, which was lumped in with the data this body couldn't hold.

He did thank his lucky stars that you weren't so upset about the state he was in though.

You'd often flip the hell out when he got hurt or just had blatant disregard for his own wellbeing.

I mean, when you can switch bodies like the socks on your feet would you be careful too?

I wouldn't, I'd try every single way to die just out of sheer curiosity and boredom-

Anyway, after you got over the initial shock of seeing your boyfriend all plushie sized and everything-

You better bet he got fucking spoiled.

Literally like a chihuahua in a purse moment.

Y'all know those build a bear clothes and accessories?

Yeah no you'd dress Vox up and down in those tiny things and he just couldn't stop you.

He could figure out how to delete all the photos you'd taken when he got back to normal.

But if being treated like a doll was all it took for you to just drown him in kisses and hugs-

You better bet this man would go ahead and pull something like this again.

Plus the compulsion to just aggressively cuddle the life out of him-

Well he's already dead but the point stands.

He can't help but soak up your affection like a thirsty sponge though.

You do eventually realize that he actually has to be plugged in to recharge though.

Plugged in by a port on the back of his teeny head.

What, where did you think he'd put it?

You're glad that Vox tends to leave all sorts of cords of different lengths around your apartment.

Something to do with his work?

You had half a brain to tie him up with those said cords sometimes-

It was irritating at first but after you organized them to keep, at least you didn't dispose of them since you needed them now-

For once the hardware spaghetti was actually useful.

And thank goodness for the long wire, because he'd become extremely clingy after all the attention and affection you'd given him.

Tiny dude was sitting on your lap being pet and coddled while charging.

All while you were reading a book.

Yep. He was a spoiled little shit.

You also realized that he didn't need to eat because of the charging thing-

But he could if he wanted to.

As proven when Vox just took a small part of your meal and slowly ate it.

It wasn't even a full bite for you but it looked comically big in his tiny hands.

He installed a proper digestive system but not a text to speech thing.

Sometimes you wondered if your boyfriend's priorities were a little more wayside that you originally took them for.

He was so cute trying to help you with the dishes though.

Couldn't really do much because of how small he was-

Not to mention the fact you didn't even want to risk any more damage to him since electronics and water are generally not a good mix-

But he tried, and you'd count him being adorable as helpful emotional support anyway.

Even if he really didn't do anything aside from play with the bubbles and smile cutely at you.

If he didn't have an empire and corporation to run you might actually just keep him like this-

Even when you were looking over at some documents his secretary sent over to sign-

You guessed it was because Vel mentioned that Vox was in your care for the time being.

He was wobbling around holding a pen that was probably half his size.

Again cute as hell, but an unhelpful distraction-

Now when you went to sleep?

You plugged Vox in again and just cuddled him against your chest.

The same thing happens when he "sleeps" whether big or in this form anyway.

Screen dims and then his company logo screensaver pops up.

Anyway, I say sleep in quotations because Vox doesn't actually sleep in the conventional sense.

It's just one of the many ways he can physically recharge.

So if he does sleep it's often by choice or because he just passes out.

If he wanted to keep going physically, Vox could just directly connect himself into a power outlet and not ever run out of juice.

Mentally though- it's why he actually needs our version of sleep.

Or periods of system shutdown where he can actually mentally recuperate.

Otherwise he'd be a cracked out delirious mf hyped up on caffeine.

Which he is sometimes regardless.

Either way, you'd pet and cuddle him until he fell asleep before you would also succumb to slumber.

When you woke up though, he somehow ended up cuddling your face.

You had no idea when that even happened.

He greeted you with a happy beep and a heart on his tiny face when you woke up though.

It was probably selfish as hell but now you really wanted to keep him like this just a little longer-

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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ifyoucandaniel · 3 months

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i know we all love our jason “reads classical literature and makes obscure literature references” todd, and usually damian is the other reader in the family and they either bond over their love for classical literature or try to kill each other. however i would like to take this a step further and say that EVERYone in the batfam are big readers. i come from a big family and all of us read in some way or another so here are my headcanons for the bats:

jason, as we know and love, is a massive classic literature buff. pride and prejudice, the brontë sisters, the iliad (he swears achilles and Patroclus are the greatest love story of all time), etc. he IS pretentious and everyone groans when classic literature is brought up in any debatable capacity. however his all time favorite book is the princess bride and he would die for buttercup. when the whole family starts watching jujutsu kaisen, jason reads the manga just so he can spoil things for damian that never actually happen. the day a new episode comes out jason tells damian panda was actually a spy and kills megumi. damian tries to kill him with his cereal spoon

while damian was with the league talia made sure he was sufficiently educated in classic literature in all their original languages, and he doesn’t mind a good classic. however i think he actually reads a lot of manga and children's classics. he read where the red fern grows and old yeller and cried, but he won’t ever admit it. he loves shonen and shojo manga, he really likes naruto and attack on titan (i can’t really decide what i think he’d like actually)

Dick is a smut slut girly!! he is in a bookclub with babs and steph where they read the sluttiest books to ever make it through publishing. He read ACOTAR and was constantly facetiming babs to rant. they're currently reading haunting adaline. Bruce once asked what the big deal was when the girls were talking to dick about fouth wing in the kitchen and they all looked at him with such offended expressions he never asked again

tim is also a pretentious fucker, but he reads dark academia. he will ride or die for Donna Tarte, his copy of the secret history is always on the desk by the batcomputer and he takes if we were villians on patrol with him. jason fucking hates his books and they're always fighting on who's taste in books is better. jason actually really loved a little life a cried seven times while reading it, but he would rather die than concede

steph is an AO3 girly!! she's part of the slut bookclub with dick and babs, but at heart she's an ao3 girly. she's also written her fair share of bruce wayne x batman fanfics. she once read a superbat fanfiction out loud to the boys and dick was absolutely enthralled, duke was morbidly facinated, damian had never been more disgusted in his life, and jason laughed so hard he almost threw up

duke reads a lot of comics (spiderman is his favorite because i say so and the MCU is their comic world), and he likes X-men and wolverine. he also really likes high fantasy and has read every book brandon sanderson has ever written

Cass like romance novels and ya books. damian acknowledges her taste in books after she defends his stance on harry potter and percy jackson being classics when jason tries to argue that they don't belong in the same category as his books. she read the cruel prince and convinced bruce to get her a snake she named percy. she reads books damian recommends and he would never actually say it out loud, but he secretly loves sharing his books with her and feels a lot closer to her because of her willingness to read what he recommends

bruce isn't typically a reader (he's too busy serving justice and kicking ass) but he will read books that his kids ask him to. he read the entire wheel of time series with duke and would go on patrols with him after just to talk about it. he read the golden compass to dick when he first took him in, and he read all of jane austen's books after jason told him he must be illiterate if he'd never picked up a classic

now what about alfred...

i dont have time to do everyone else and this is super rushed, but I just couldn't stop thinking about dick and babs having a little book club and reading the sluttiest books ever

#batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #barbra gordon #bruce wayne #duke thomas #batman #batfam headcanons #alfred pennyworth #i feel like i definately could have done more with this but this is just off the top of my head #i feel like i messed up a few of them but you get my point #theyr readers and theyre all besties

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livwritesstuff · 4 months

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Steve is up past his bedtime.

(Because he's in his mid-fifties and needs one of those now).

It's 2:30 in the morning and he's awake, sitting in bed with a book and doing his best to ignore the dull ache of exhaustion because his oldest daughter, Moe, hasn't come home yet.

He keeps glancing at his phone, waiting for the screen to light up with a notification from the Ring doorbell they've had up and running for a few years.

Steve had been on the fence about getting it installed, but Eddie wanted it (and it was that or the touch screen toaster, and Steve didn't think he'd be able to take his kitchen seriously with a touch screen toaster).

The late-2000s had turned Eddie into a tech guy. Steve isn't sure if it should have come as a surprise to him or not, but it's true either way. Their kids are 1000x more proficient with it, for sure, but they also grew up with it. The last time the girls were really impressed was when their local Pizza Hut got one of those big touch screen soda machines, but Eddie is pretty much guaranteed to be into anything with a touch screen, anything he can control on his phone.

Steve, on the other hand, reached his capacity for technology with the 2nd gen iPad, which is still up and running even in the 2020s and he still uses it to play Hay Day with Hazel despite being practically the last people on Earth doing it. He’s not interested in any of the new stuff.

The one thing Steve was totally game for was getting a Ring doorbell, because with the girls old enough to come and go mostly as they please, it’s nice to have a better sense of those comings and goings.

It wasn't easy for Steve – relinquishing some control to give their daughters the independence that they'd be chasing whether they had permission or not, but the girls have called their dads to get them out of sticky situations enough times for Steve to know they're making the right decision, even if he doesn't like it.

Ridiculous as it feels, that silly smart doorbell does actually provide him with a small sense of relief.

As is proven yet again when his phone lights up with the long-awaited Ring notification.

"Jesus Christ, finally," Steve mutters, and Eddie, who'd been dozing off by his side, lifts his head.

"She's back?" he asks.

Steve nods.

The notification opens in time for them to see Moe stumbling up the porch steps. There's a boy her age – unfamiliar to Steve even up close – watching her warily from a few paces back. She's wrapped in a big sweatshirt and cradling a greasy Domino's bag like she'd used to hold her stuffed animals.

Moe grapples for the door before pausing and leaning towards the camera.

"Sorry Papa," she mumbles, shaking her wrecked bangs out of her eyes.

"Oh, look at her, hitting you with the Papa because she knows it makes you go soft," Eddie says with a smirk, "No apology for me though, that's kind of bullshit."

Steve shakes his head with a snort.

Moe finally gets the door open and makes her way inside. They hear the sound of the door closing downstairs a split second before it comes through the phone. The boy waits until she's inside before waving weakly at the camera.

"Uh...I'm Nate," Nate says, looking completely exhausted and sounding as if he regrets addressing the camera to begin with, "I'm sober. I drove her home. There’s, uh…I gotta get other people home."

Steve snorts as he watches the boy turn and walk back down the porch steps.

"Poor kid. Long night – closest Dominos is, like, thirty minutes from here."

"Jesus," Eddie shakes his head, "Think Moe would be totally mortified if we tracked him down to say thank you?"

"Yes."

"Sweet, sounds like a plan.”

#they know they can't stop their daughters from going out but they can definitely make sure they never want to again #i’ll let you guys decide how old moe is here lol #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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iravaid · 3 months

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Replaying VtMB again for the zillionth time and I really can't help but gush about the opening cinematic and how Much there is in it. It does a lot to subtly establish the setting and dynamics going on in Kindred LA.

The meeting to announce the fledgling and the sire's fate takes place in a theatre, the orchestral pit a physical barrier between LaCroix and the rest of LA. He is giving a speech with all the pomp and show a Camarilla Prince is probably expected to, and barely anyone can give half a shit about what That pathetic man has to say. Just about every important Kindred you encounter throughout game is there, which I love. Velvet is blowing a kiss at Strauss; Isaac is boredly checking his watch; Therese is shifting uncomfortably in the front row; Jack is in the shadows glowering out at the stage; Damsel, Nines, and Skelter are grumbling amongst themselves; Gary and Ash can even be seen when everyone is leaving. Their disdain is palpable. He never earned their respect; he's never gotten his hands dirty, because there's always some desperate underling looking to pay off debts or claw their way up the tower and do the work for him. He's just another figurehead that they're waiting to finally get ashed either by his own people, or some lucky Sabbat bastard.

And it really sets the scene of a recently muscled in Camarilla pressing their weight down on an LA that just about survived the siege of the Kueii-jin. The third major conflict in the city in about 60 years (initial revoult, sabbat siege being the others)(Nines was there for all of those, something important to note imo). The Anarchs have thinned ranks, no Revolutionary Council, and a 'leader' who believes the Anarchs having a leader is completely antithetical to their cause and so refuses to use that title in any meaningful capacity; they were in no place to effectively fight back against the Camarilla swooping in to try and stamp out the Free State for good. And yet, when the sire is executed, the people look at Nines for what to do next, and he is spurred to speak out amidst a crowd of apathy.

Maybe some of this is coincidence. Maybe it's just recycling assets. I still like it, and think it holds weight in the story.

#big feelings about vtmb once again #vtmb #vampire the masquerade bloodlines #nines rodriguez #sebastian lacroix #vtmbposting

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yaksha-lover · 10 months

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how about any set of characters you want in the vampire au with an mc who simply won't believe they're vampires? whether they're deliberately in denial to cope or are just incredibly dense is up to you, but i just want to see how this turns out lol

“See? I literally have fangs.”

“Yeah, sure, your cosplay is great, Idia.” You roll your eyes. They really thought you were that gullible.

“Normally, I would hate to be lumped in with him in any capacity, but Idia is telling the truth. We are vampires,” Vil says, “And we’ve been telling you this for months. Are you really this stupid?”

“Fine, let me have a look.” You turn to the person closest to you, in this case Rook, and stare pointedly at his mouth until he opens his jaw. Hand on his chin, your curiosity gets the better of you and you reach in to stroke a thumb over his sharp teeth. “Ouch, Rook!” You glare at him. The force of the bite wasn’t that hard, but the sharpness made up for it. “Bad boy.” You flick his head.

“Désolé.” Rook apologizes, not looking very sorry. “The vampire instinct to bite is quite hard to control. Especially when being prodded by curious fingers.”

“You’ve experienced a vampire bite now,” Vil says, exasperated. “What more proof do you need?”

“One, it’s Rook so it doesn’t count. Can you really say he wouldn’t have bitten me even if he wasn’t a vampire? Two, I still think you guys are just really into roleplaying. I, too, could sharpen my teeth and become a ‘vampire’ if I wanted to. Talk to me when you can actually do something cool like shimmer in the sun.” Vil looks especially peeved at your air quotes.

“Whatever, we’re done trying to convince you. Don’t believe us if you don’t want to.” Vil leaves the room, presumably to meditate after all the stress you’ve put him through has started to affect his skin.

“I would be happy to, how did you put it, ‘roleplay’ again with you sometime, ma chérie.” You glare extra hard at Rook’s cheeky remark. He only smiles in return, following Vil out of the room.

With only you and Idia left, you finally turn back to him. “So which anime got you into larping as a vampire? Please don’t tell me it was vampire knight. Hey, there’s no shame. I was once really into werewolf roleplay, if it makes you feel better.”

Idia refuses to dignify your question with a response, turning on the music of his favourite idol group to drown out the sound of your voice.

#lol i’m sorry this is so unserious #twisted wonderland vampire au #twst vampire au #idia shroud #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #twst #twisted wonderland #idia shroud x reader #rook hunt x reader #vil schoenheit x reader

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autogyne-redacted · 5 months

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Ok, so let's talk about "misandry."

(Heads up that I use terrible US foreign policy as an example of underlying gender ideology, Death to America of course)

1) if we're working within a social justice, privilege-oppression type framework, there is no systemic oppression of men as men, or trans men as trans men (beyond transphobia). Within these privilege oppression frameworks treating misandry or transandrophobia as a real thing is gonna have disastrous consequences.

2) But we need to be abandoning the identity politics social justice orthodoxy as fast as we can. Occupying a position of privilege within the discourse is dehumanizing and hellish, it has a terrible track record with transmisogyny (not a coincidence), and trying to map gendered power just by looking at identity groups means you miss a ton of what's happening within the groups, and in less straight forward ways.

3) a huge part of the gender binary is between camab ppl as (instrumental) subjects and cafab ppl as (responsive, feeling) objects. And this is fucked all around.

To pick one of the more egregious examples, US military directives make heavy use of the category of "military aged males." People outside this category are (theoretically) assumed to be non combatants while "military aged males" in ~warzones~ are basically valid targets by default. https://tinyurl.com/4skt53tx

This category also faces extra exclusion from refugee and asylum status: https://tinyurl.com/4txsmepy

We could explain this as a symptom of misogyny. That women should also be recognized as being capable of enacting violence and treated equally. This is the most straight forward application of orthodox gender theory and likely the worst.

Or we could say that there's something about the intersection of being Arab/Muslim/young/read as male that leads to a unique oppression.

But it's not like it's just this intersection. If we look at prison populations, or who gets hit by police violence, or weaponized accusations of Sexual Assault the logic is actually fairly consistent here, if a little messy to talk about.

Ppl seen as men are seen as capable of wielding power and this leads to benefits if they're seen as basically good. If they're seen as crazy, dangerous, evil, hostile, or at risk of being any of these, being seen as capable of violence makes shit way worse. Lots of intersections push you further towards being viewed as a threat.

(A pretty good bite sized model of transmisogyny is that it misgenders us as men + we get negative respect since we rejected masculinity + it frames us as crazy/dangerous).

Ppl seen as women are going to be seen as less competent, in need of guidance, control and protection by default. But it comes with certain (conditional) protections. Violence against women certainly happens, but the fact that it's a special protected category says a lot. (There's a lot to say about how much these protections are worth, who they really apply to and when they disappear and what happens then, but it's very clear that they exist and that they mean something).

4) so am I arguing for the existence of misandry? Absolutely not*. Gender is just a fucked up system of division and control all around. Privilege frameworks suggest that women are going to experience the same shit as men they share identities with + misogyny + possible extra intersectional oppression. And while this approach is sometimes helpful, I think a better default framework is that gender is just a way to create more social categories for a more complicated system of control with common threads like the subject-object binary that can play to different ways in different contexts.

The whole thing needs to be dismantled and we need to see ppl across gender categories as whole human beings with a meaningful interiority, the capacity for violence, etc. And if we recognize that gender is a complicated system of control, it follows naturally that our gender discourse shouldn't all ask men to sit down / shut up / listen.

5) the issue with transandrophobia BS is that it really wants to exceptionalize the trans masc experience. "It's fucked up that I'm being seen as suspect and capable of violence like terrible cis men, I'm obviously one of the good ones." And as they fight for the best of both worlds ("I should be respected like a man but still seen as incapable of chauvinism") it pushed naturally for trans fems to get the worst of both worlds.

6) returning to feminist "man-hating" there's a lot i oppose for being essentialist or doubling down on subject-object binary. Beyond that, a lot of it is just mean. And like, ppl can be jaded and mean sometimes. But a lot of social justice feminist dogma was ppl developing a bristly defensiveness from constant harassment and trolling. Ppl defending this as an understandable response, and then that shifting into codifying and valorizing it. And I just think it's a miserable way to live and it's miserable to be on the receiving end of it.

I think some grace and understanding for ppl being jaded and bristly is rly helpful but I'm done with valorizing it.

7) all of this said, basic feminist takes about men having lots of pressure and motivations to be chauvinist still apply. And they certainly apply to trans men. But there's a difference between having social expectations that you be a chauvinist and bowing to that pressure. And lots of men are chill and nice! Yes even cishet men!

It's easy to want to draw a hard line where you're "one of the good ones" and are categorically separated from the possibility of being sexist (ontologically incapable of violence, even?) and that goes really poorly.

(most of my beef with transandrophobia is that it's doing this + exceptionalizing trans masc experience in a way that fucks over trans fems).

But I'm not gonna ask ppl to constantly self flagellate or be hyper vigilant to make sure they don't slip up. Sin frameworks are miserable and it's not like being interpersonally shitty in a way that lines up with oppressive systems actually has consequences that much worse than just being an asshole.

So much of the more aggressive side of social justice just feels like ways to treat enemies, not your friends or ppl you want to be in community with.

I'm glad we've been moving on from it.

*editing a footnote since this has already come up a couples times / this post seems to be leaving my immediate circles: by saying misandry isn't real I mean: there isn't a systemic oppression of men as men that parallels misogyny. Gendered oppression isn't a "both sides" situation. When "egalitarian" or mra types brought "misandry" into the discourse this is what they were pushing for.

While I object to the idea that all men evenly oppress all women, patriarchy absolutely has men at the top. It's a complex and multi-directional system of power but there is an overall gendered slant to it. My framework here is still a feminist framework.

#writing #long post #not coming out of the closet #coates #transmisogny #gender theory #misandry #transandrophobia #i use men some places and ppl seen as men others none of it is super straight forward gender as it applies to trans ppl is complicated sry

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misc-obeyme · 9 months

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I love the fat MC headcanons!! 😭😭 Could I request the other brothers as well if this hasn't already been asked?

Wellll okay, I'll do it just for you, anon. <3

Here is part two of the fat MC headcanons featuring the younger brothers. They turned out just as long as the ones featuring the older brothers, but really what did I expect lol. Honestly, I'm really glad you enjoyed the first part, I was pretty nervous about posting it. I miiight be persuaded to do a part three with the dateables...

Anyway, thank you for the request!

younger brothers x fat GN!MC - NSFW MDNI

Warnings: discussion of weight and body image, suggestive content

Satan

He suspects you may have some insecurities, but he doesn't truly understand until you go with him to a few cat cafes. He notices when you won't eat more than one dessert item with your coffee. He also hears you talking to some of the cats, saying things about how they all seem to like you no matter what, how the cats don't judge you because of your weight. He has to fight with himself to stay calm. The idea that anyone has ever made you feel like you were somehow lesser due to your body size enrages him. Starts insisting you have a second pastry any time you're at a cafe, even if you genuinely don't want one. You might have to take a bite just to appease him.

Satan can't help but confront you about it. Did you think he wouldn't notice, MC? He gets that you try to act like it's no big deal, but he's not oblivious. You don't have to hide your true feelings from him. Tell him if you're feeling insecure. Especially tell him if he's somehow contributing to that feeling. He would do anything to make you understand that you're perfect just the way you are.

You'll really see him get angry if you tell him that being in a relationship with him makes it worse. Explain that you worry about what people think when they see you with him. He's so handsome, you're sure people have a lot to say about the fact that he's dating a fat human. He starts to see it everywhere. If a demon so much as looks at the two of you together, he flies into a rage. He won't do anything if you ask him not to, but he will glare down anyone that he thinks is looking at you weird. If he hears a rumor or anyone making fun of you, those demons just disappear one day.

Might lend you spicy books just to see what you think of them, but if you happen to mention that you're too fat to do something that happens in the book, you can be sure it'll be happening to you that very night. Oh do you think you're too fat for him to fuck you against a wall while you wrap your legs around him and hold on tight? Because he's more than happy to prove to you that he can hold you up just fine. You learn to be careful about what you say. He'll know if you do it on purpose, too, but he'll pretend he doesn't.

Asmodeus

He's aware of your insecurities immediately, but it really becomes apparent whenever he takes pictures of you. Whether they're pictures of just you or selfies you take together, you're very particular about the angle he uses. You always want to see the pictures before he does anything with them. You might delete them if you don't like them. When he asks, you say something about how you just think your body looks weird in them. He really starts to get how bad it is when you refuse to model for anything that he's doing in a professional capacity. If you change your mind, he knows you're only doing it to make him happy.

He actually spends some time thinking about how to help you. He doesn't want you to feel so insecure about your size that you let it stop you from doing things. Of course, Asmo decides to make you an entire clothing line. The whole point is to make clothing for larger bodies. He wants it to be a surprise, but he realizes he has to consult you on this. Starts out by showing you his sketches for designs. He loves the way your eyes light up, how excited you get. You tell him all about how hard it is for you to find clothes that fit you. The two of you create a great clothing line and put on a fashion show featuring plus sized models.

Even though you start to feel like he understands, you might still be insecure in a relationship with him. He doesn't really get that at all. He loves you, end of story. He can tell that it's bothering you, even if you don't say anything. Constantly compliments your body as a result, telling you how hot you are all the time. If anyone dares to say anything to you, he immediately eviscerates them with the best insults you've ever heard in your life.

You know this guy is gonna make you have sex in front of a mirror. You can protest all you like, but you have to trust him on this, MC. He wants you to see just how amazing your body looks when you're losing your mind on his cock. The expression on your face, the way your body quivers, he wants you to see it the way he does. You won't feel the same way about yourself when you see how absolutely stunning you are when you're crying out his name.

Beelzebub

He is completely unaware of your body insecurities. In fact, someone else has to tell him about it, since you probably won't do it yourself. One of his other brothers mentions it in passing and now he's thinking about it. He's going to ask you because he doesn't understand. Do you have a problem with your body, MC? Do you have some kind of injury or something? It's almost endearing that he doesn't get that it's a body image issue and genuinely just thinks you're dealing with something physically painful. You are going to have to explain it to him, though.

Your explanation may only baffle him further. Take the time to really tell him why you feel the way you do and he'll begin to understand. Tell him everything because he will patiently listen to all the times you were bullied as a kid, all the times you had to leave a store empty handed because they didn't have your size, the way people don't take you seriously or think you're lazy. Beel just listens and somehow, that alone makes you feel better. He might ask you some questions about food and exercise and how it relates. He's not going to suggest you go on a diet or start an exercise program or anything. He just wants to know if he's doing anything that contributes to your negative body image.

In a relationship, he's direct about the fact that he wants you to love your body. He picks you up all the time. He's more than strong enough to carry you around and he does it constantly, but especially if you say something about being too heavy. He likes to have you sit on his lap, too. He'll pull you into it in the middle of class, he doesn't care what other people think. He likes to feel the weight of you on him. He isn't a demon of many words, but he always takes the opportunity to whisper in your ear about how much he loves your body.

Let's be real, his favorite place to be is between your thighs. And there's no question that this makes you nervous. Not only because you don't want to squash his head, but because he's just so close to them and they're so big. It's one of the things you can't help but be self conscious about. People say thick thighs save lives, but you're pretty sure yours might take his if you squeeze too hard. He does not care at all. He's completely unconcerned. You might protest at first, but once he gets started, you won't be able to actually string together a coherent sentence anyway.

Belphegor

He doesn't realize your struggle at first, but he figures it out on his own after a little bit. He mostly notices little things, like the way you carefully move between the desks at RAD to avoid bumping your hips into them or the way you never wear shorts. After a little while, he understands what the issue is. Starts doing small things like making sure you always have a chair without arms so that you'll fit in it comfortably. Insists on sitting next to you in small seats so that you can share part of his. He's just going to nap on your shoulder anyway.

Eventually, though, he's going to call you out on it. It bothers him and he has no problem letting you know this. If you do something or say something that somehow indicates you're feeling insecure about your body size, he will ask you about it directly. He listens to everything you have to say about it, but it irritates him. He's not fully angry about it like Satan, but he does get a little peeved. If you say anything negative about yourself, he will simply tell you to stop. He'll tell you that you're wrong. Please don't talk about yourself like that, MC. He doesn't like to hear it.

Relationship or not, you are his favorite pillow and he's going to make sure you know this. You're so soft all over, all he ever wants to do is cuddle with you. His head is always in your lap or leaning against your arm. If he can settle his body between your legs and rest his head on your chest while snuggling with your large soft tummy, you can bet he is going to do that. You won't be able to dislodge him any time soon. If you are in a relationship with him, he'll mumble to you constantly about how much he loves you. It's not just your body, though that is certainly a plus to him. It's everything, every part of you is his favorite part of you.

Belphie will often insist on being underneath you. Whether you're inside him or he's inside you, he wants you in control and he wants to feel the weight of you on top of him. He doesn't care if you're worried about crushing him. That's not even something that could actually happen. He likes watching you - your expression and the way your body moves - he likes reaching out to grab hold of any part of you that's nearby. Probably leaves little bruises in your flesh where he was gripping you too tightly. There's just so much of you he wants to touch, to hold, to cling to.

part one with the older brothers | part three with the dateables

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

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chubs-deuce · 2 months

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I read your post about Chaggie and it reminded me of how I recently made a rewrite of Vaggie to make her more interesting.

For one, NOT make her a love interest right off the bat since it's been shown that by doing so it doesn't allow her to be her own character.

Play more into what being an exorcist was like for her, what made her have a change of heart and how she hates herself for what she's done in the past.

Perhaps during one of those exterminations she witnesses a family getting murdered or at least the husband sacrificing himself to let his wife and children get away, seeing how despite being sinful creatures they still have hearts in their own way.

She would look at herself, her sisters and Adam and how they don't act like that at all and wondered if what they were doing is really right.

And from there everything could be the same with the exception of her and Charlie being best friends instead of lovers and have her arc being more focused on wanting to make sure the hotel works so maybe one day SHE could get redeemed herself and feel like a real angel.

sorry ik this response is hella late I just haven't had the brain juice for it until now

Right?!

Tho imo making them an established couple from the get-go isn't even really the issue so much as Vaggie just constantly being sidelined and reduced to "Charlie's protective girlfriend" and their couple dynamic refusing to be anything but wholesome.

It just feels way too much like Vaggie makes being Charlie's main source of support her whole entire identitiy and at times it even feels a little bit one-sided imo?

I completely blame the fact that the narrative lets Charlie be her own character who deals with situations that don't involve Vaggie directly in any capacity, whereas Vaggie's problems all entirely come back to wanting to help Charlie or the hotel (so... in extension, also Charlie)...

And imo anytime they do interact in a romantic way it feels a bit much like the narrative is just pointing at them going "look! They're using pet names and holding hands! Aren't they cute??? Ship them please" and then... do almost nothing with them beyond that, even when given some great opportunities.

One thing that would've actually saved this ship for me would've been if the writers actually allowed them to have a proper fight about the whole former exorcist reveal.

Like why bring that up if it's not actually going to contribute anything to the narrative?!

They could've easily included the fact that Charlie jumped pretty recklessly into a deal with Alastor as something Vaggie is upset over (reasonably so imo), and then have both of them argue about it for a bit, before putting that whole thing aside for the moment because protecting the hotel is more important right now.

Charlie can still have her talk with Rosie about that whole mess and come out of it with a more forgiving mindset, while Vaggie has her little mini-arc with Camilla (tho imo she should've also been established to want revenge way more in order for the song's message to actually hit right).

Then later, when the battle is about to begin, her and Vaggie could sit down and talk about it and then mutually apologize.

THEN they can have their little duet (which - if you ask me - should've been a reprise of Whatever It Takes, not the father/daughter song...)

In canon there was never even? An apology? Charlie was angry about it for like half an episode and then brought Vaggie a souvenir and suddenly everything's fine? I honestly hated that. They had so much potential to finally add something meaningful to the pairing with this plotpoint and yet chose to omit that, and for what?

To keep them 100% wholesome? It removes any nuance that would've helped make their dynamic more interesting to follow along.

I'm just... so disappointed with how painfully bland this pairing is just because canon refused to take any kinds of risks with them :')

#anti chaggie #I am so sorry for anyone who likes the ship that has to read this bc tumblr's tagging system is wack like that just block the anti tag <3 #chubs answers

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dat-physics-boi · 8 months

Text

A leap of faith and physics

We thought for a civilization to form, one needed liquid water, a stable planet with a hot core, and tardium crystals. Apparently, this is not so.

Because we just received a vibromessage over the tachyon network from an unknown source.

Which in itself would not be too unusual. Plenty of newly realized civilizations figure out how to configure tardium to send tachyon messages across isospace. Hoping someone will answer. We always do. It always takes some time to go from simple repeating messages to understanding one another. Most civilizations don't come up with the galactic standard modulation on their own. Nor do we know their form of communication all that well, language, culture, all of that.

First contact is always a lengthy affair, until the new species is integrated into the intergalactic community. Then follows the exchange of knowledge and culture, the setting up of historical archives and sharing of starcharts. Since light travels only at luxionic speed, the charts provide a valuable look at the past. Once the new civilization has been caught up to date, things tend to settle. Updates are fewer and far in between, and culture tends to somewhat homogenize. Not completely, of course, as everyone has different living circumstances, but with all the exchange between us, some settling is bound to happen.

But we know where tardium reserves are, have felt the reverb of our scans, we know where civilizations could potentially pop up. The message we received was unusual not because its source was unknown, but because it came from a sector without any sufficient tardium deposits.

That... shouldn't even be possible!

The signal is also a bit noisy. Strange. Usually, the bigger the tardium array, the more self-stabilization should occurr. And for interstellar communication, you tend to need quite large arrays. So then why was there so much noise?

It was clearly a signal, and according to the triangulators, it came from the outer third of a dark spiral galaxy. We call them that, since they were never really observed, at least not with any isocartography. We only know they're there due to shared star charts. No idea what's going on with them at the current isotime. We can't know, without any tardium resonance to pick up.

Anyway, of course we answered. Their signal had been prime numbers, if we demodulated it correctly, followed by things we couldn't really make sense of. It was standard practice to begin communications with mathematics, and fundamental harmonics. It's strange that they did that right away, but not unheard of. We sent back primes, and then a couple of playful harmonics. Music. What we received back was weird, because we thought it was music, but it wasn't.

It turned out to be a starchart, and not just any kind. Pulsars. We sent back a chart of their galaxy, as reconstructed from several older starcharts. Then, we waited for their answer. And waited. And waited. An entire solar cycle (of our species) later, we finally got another answer.

And it just would not stop. We recognized it was a series of images, or rather, rapid successions of images, together with harmonics on a different band as well. This was video! The footage depicted a bipedal species, with symbolics next to different features. The images cycled through different body parts, with different descryptions. We had a really hard time catching and saving all the data, a task which had to be offloaded to the communal computation grid, as our own planet simply did not have the capacity to do it alone. This should have tipped us off to what we were going to be dealing with, but it didn't.

We continued, almost business as usual, just a fair bit faster. Then objects were being shown, often together with the bipedals, and their corresponding glyphics were depicted right next to them. Also, each image was accompanied by a sound file. They really made learning their language easy for us. We learned that they called themselves Humans, and their home was Earth, a planet orbiting a yellow star. They were a surface dwelling species! Those are pretty rare, as most can not survive the exposure to open space for some reason. We then sent back images and glyphics of our own, matching them in their intent. We sent images of life forms, images of our own body parts, images of objects and always accompanied by isostandard glyphics.

Usually, once communication has come to a basic understanding, the exchange of culture would begin.

But the Humans had started out with primes and starcharts, so of course, their next communication wasn't about culture. We... honestly didn't know what exactly it was, for a while. Until some of the mathematicians from across the network found patterns. They were sharing mathematics with us!

Eager to help, we sent back entire databases full of insights. They requested more soon. So we sent more. And more. And more. We wondered how they could even store all that we sent them. We asked. They sent back something we didn't understand. We hoped the mathematicians could figure it out, but nope.

Eventually, we sent steam engine configurations, as well as the corresponding heating and shunting tardion-arrays used to power them. They sent back their own designs for steam engines. And other engines that seemed similar, but shoudn't work with steam. The machine configurations, piston layouts and such, were fairly primitive. As was to be expected from a new species. But they never sent us schematics of their heating or shunting arrays. When we asked how they kept things cool without shunting arrays, they sent back another steam engine. But, when we called it that, they corrected us. What they had shown us was a heat pump. They used the opposite effect, instead of creating movement from a temperature difference, they created a temperature difference from movement. We asked them why they wouldn't just use shunting arrays. They asked what those were.

And this is how we found out why they were in dark space. Why their signal was so noisy. And why they had never depicted heating or shunting arrays in their schematics.

They had practically no tardium. They simply did not have enough of it to make arrays, as we thought all civilizations do. The largest piece of tardium they had was the centerpiece of a gigantic machine. It was about the size of a human "nail", which is a vestigial claw originally used for superior grip on one of the native plant species of their planet.

We did not know how to respond. We could not comprehend how a civilization could form without tardium crystals. They asked us if we knew where more could be found, preferably near them. We didn't understand what they meant. Then they asked us how to locate reserves. We gave them the modulations that we use to scan for the crystals' tachyon resonance.

They thanked us, and ceased their questions. Then, communication became choppy. Only occasionally would we receive an exchange of culture. Their questions about mathematics and tardium crystals ceased.

---------------------

When we first received back an answer from the deep space tachyon dish, we were extatic. And shocked. And kind of in disbelief. Nobody had really known if it would work. Still, everyone in the control room agreed that we should make sure it was really a signal, before we dropped that bombshell to the public.

We focused a couple more dyson collectors onto the dish, and changed the signal. Instead of primes and harmonics, this time, we encoded the pulsar chart, multiple times, in every encoding we could think of, and sent them all.

Only a few hours later, we received another signal from the previous location. The encoding was our own, easily recognized. With shaky hands, i pressed the 'open image file' button.

When i was greeted by a picture of the Milky Way, everyone in the room lost their collective shit.

"Holy Fuck!" "Oh my god." Someone fainted. Multiple people cried. Nobody minded any of that.

~~~

The prime administrator creased her brow. The direct line was ringing. This better be important. "Hello? Prime administrator here." From the other end, she could hear someone suppressing tears, and whimpering: "Tachyon dish project operator here. We... we."

"Everything ok over there?", she asked. What could possibly have happened that had the scientist crying? Was there an accident with the dyson swarm or something? Did people die? No, she trusted the operator of that experiment to not call unless it mattered to the entire human race.

A wet chuckle. "Better than ok. Maam? We... We're not alone."

Not alone? What does that...? Oh. OH! oh

"Are.. you sure?" Dammit. Now even her own voice was shaking.

"We sent a pulsar chart and got a beautiful image of the Milky Way back, in the same image file type. Pretty sure at this point."

~~~

The following year was downright insane. The mere confirmation that we weren't alone in the universe spurred us all on. Artists did their best to show all sides of us, scientists got together to determine what questions we should ask, even the long obsolete military awakened from its slumber, churning out tactical analyses of possible tachyon based weaponry, and how to defend against it.

Some people were panicking, others in denial, but most relished the opportunities that might open up.

Policies were made, on how to handle aliens that would come to the solar system. Tachyon mechanics, an until now unproven theory, made leaps and bounds, scientists working as hard as they could to understand it better.

The dyson collectors were turned to multiple new research projects, powering large machines that channeled vibrations into the tiny crystals we had found to pick up on tachyon vibrations. The largest one that we had discovered while asteroid mining was still in the communication dish, but the smaller shrapnel, a couple millimeters in size at the most, were being utilized.

Eventually, after a year was up, communications resumed. The linguists sent data, and worked closely with the astronomers that had made the initial transmissions. We also received back data, and the scientific community devoured every piece of information. We learned their language as fast as we could.

But our requests for the sharing of scientific knowledge appeared to fall on deaf ears. Whenever we sent natural constants, or physical laws, we got nothing back. Well, almost. Our prodding did yield one answer: How to locate the crystals. Which were apparently common? Though our scans painted a different picture. We did have some scattered about the asteroid belt, yes. But the largest one we detected was only 3cm in diameter. A little bigger than the one in the communication dish, sure, but not that much.

We came to accept this, figuring that maybe there was some kind of prime directive that forbade the sharing of further technology. Actually, perhaps we leaned a bit too far into our Star Trek analogy. Because most of us would not get it out of our heads to try to build a warp drive. Well, not really a spacetime bending drive, but something that could go faster than light. Because, obviously, thanks to our discovery, we now knew that while the speed of light may be finite, the speed of information was not.

-----------------------------

After ten cycles of cultural exchange, the humans sent a request for isocoordinates of the nearest known civilization to their own. This request kind of drowned in the noise, we didn't really think about it much, we just transmitted our coordinates. Turns out, the nearest ones were us, in what the Humans call the Andromeda Galaxy.

Shortly after the request, they went totally vibrosilent. We tried and tried to contact them, but to no avail. This, while tragic, was a reality of civilization, though. Extinction events could always happen. Sometimes the affected civilization would realize in advance and send a couple warnings, but nobody could help them from afar, of course. So that's what we figured happened to Humanity. Maybe their sun blew up, or they got knocked away from it by a passing object, anything could have happened.

Many cycles passed. I had aged, my once young and springy exoskeleton now wobbly and soft, though my mind was still sharp enough to crew a communications array.

None of us were prepared for the schockwave resonating through our sensor grids. Multiple arrays straight up shattered. Luckily, as big as they were, there was nobody close to them, so no deaths. What the rest of them picked up though made no sense. We could determine there was a pulse, but no normal communication had that level of power, nor resonance.

Then, half a planetary rotation later, there was a new luminance in the sky. We were about to renew our arrays and update our starchart, when the light source moved. Toward the planet.

What?

And then, my assigned communications array resonated.

"This is the Human vessel Enterprise, calling anyone on the planet. Can you read us?" the crystal sang in choppy English, the language of the Humans. The ones we thought were extinct.

I scuttled to my post at the resonator, tuning it to reply:

"This is communications, we read you, but i don't understand? We are recovering from an unprecedented resonance pulse that shattered multiple arrays, sorry if the modulation is a bit off."

The answer was swift: "Sorry about that, our engines are a bit out of tune at this point. That pulse might have been us. Glad to hear you all down there, is anyone injured?"

"Your engines? And uh. No, nobody injured."

"Yes our engines, again, we apologize for that. But glad to know everyone is alright.

Requesting permission to land on the surface."

This was a momentous occasion, which i didn't realize until later on. The entire tachyon network would eventually refer to this exact communication as a reference time. This exact moment would come to be known as 0:0 PFJ

0 Cycles and 0 rotations Past First Jump.

The only thing i remember is absently giving permission, not quite understanding what exactly they were requesting here. If i had, i would have convened with the councils beforehand.

Then, the cave began to shake. It wasn't coming from any of the arrays. It was coming from the surface.

~~~

They. They were here. The Humans were here. On the surface. Of. Of our planet. What? How?!

Most importantly, why?!

Then i remembered the stories about their exploration of the surface of their own planet. How they had sent people to their poles, despite their biology not being fit to survive there. And several did die! How they climed mountains. Made pressurized vessels to dive below the surface of their open ocean. We asked them why. They told us.

I realized at that moment, not how they were here. But why.

"Because we could, and no human had been there before," they had answered back then.

#humans are space orcs #haso #fanfic #long post #my writing

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aclowntiny · 7 months

Text

Ink Trails- Hongjoong x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Just about everyone has a soulmate, a person they're destined to be with, to go through life with in some capacity. The mark of this? Anything you write on your skin shows up on theirs.

Word Count: 2.4k | Soulmate AU, Banter, Faint Humor | Warnings: a bit of language

You weren’t a big fan of drawing on yourself. As a child, you were something of a neat freak, washing all the dirt you could off your hands and never wanting to add ammo to the enemy in yours and the sink’s war. Of course, your favorite sheet of temporary tattoos didn’t count as dirt, not when they granted you several days of carrying your favorite character, a little purple penguin, with you. In fact, you practically ignored the rest of the sheet besides a few snowflakes surrounding him, all of which everyone told you were now decorating some other kid, too.

Well, good, you thought, your penguin was the best and they probably loved it, too. Otherwise they couldn’t marry you or whatever soulmates did. Usually it was get married. Maybe you would get married when you grew up. Your grandparents liked being married.

As you grew a bit older, you wrote in school. Sometimes your pen or pencil slipped, skimming your hand with an accidental line. Sometimes your soulmate was clumsy, too, and you watched a pencil trail appear when you didn’t even have one in hand. The weirdest was when you watched a whole shaky ㅎ appear, the circle looking a bit square, then suddenly erasing and being reborn round again.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

It hadn’t really been your habit to write things on yourself like others you knew- it just didn’t come naturally to you when you had paper and, a bit later in life, your phone. Beside that, given the marks of soulmates, any notes you wrote would appear on someone else’s arm, hand, anywhere they could get scolded for if they had strict family or teachers or a barrier to looking presentable at an academic event. It just didn’t seem fair. That was the same reason why, even years after school and becoming an adult, you chose not to get any tattoos. What if your soulmate hated it? Then they get it removed and you lose yours and the cycle goes on like some sort of stupid cartoon sequence of ink and lasers.

Ok, that part maybe not so much, but you knew how personal and controversial tattoos could be, so kinda weird to put one on someone else without their consent. Sorry about the penguin, you supposed all those years later, I was four.

Instead, perhaps preferably, you doodled a lot on paper, keeping at it even when that rude boy Matthew from seventh grade told you your cat looked so bad, it made him think it was a dragon holding a cookie. Such insults would not be taken from the guy who used ‘I don’t like the color red’ as an icebreaker ‘fun fact’…while wearing a red shirt.

Even if you were no artist, improvement naturally came with age and frequency, and you favored keeping your drawings cute anyway. Yet another reason to put them down on paper- pen ink faded from skin, but on paper, it was like a tattoo. Permanent with all your other notebooks of doodles that would have more than covered your body.

Your body, which was semi-frequently decorated anyway, not of your own accord. Your soulmate, likely around your age, had no qualms about use of the forearms as a notepad, so it wasn’t the oddest occurrence by far to wake up with things like ‘7:00 독주회’ or a more frantic ‘ENGLISH TEST 9:00’ scrawled there. Or even once a very unceremoniously written, shaky, clearly hastily added ‘BUMJOONG WAS HERE’ on the back of your hand. That was a fun one to try to explain. It made you wonder sometimes if your soulmate was a less considerate person than you or if you’d simply proven well in your restraint.

You weren’t expecting any answers, or perhaps more questions, to come in the form they all did.

The morning was like any other: it was your day off, time you’d reserved so as to endeavor some shopping. Making yourself a nice breakfast and choosing one of your favorite outfits, you hopped in the shower. Deciding what the heck, it was your day off, you even busted out the new sugar scrub you’d bought as peals of warm, crashing water echoed around you, lathering some exfoliant luxury upon the skin you’d always cared for.

Never once had you expected it to entertain anyone’s notice.

But there it was as you strolled along the concrete of the shopping center’s sidewalk, completely unaware of what was exposed until you ran into a friend, waving and exchanging the platitudes of two meeting after some time.

“Wow, (y/n), what a surprise, I didn’t know you got a tattoo! I thought you didn’t want any!” Your old friend Brian exclaimed with a wide smile, tilting his head. “May I see the whole thing?”

His words rose slowly to your head as you blinked, gears turning. For you had not, in fact, gotten anything of the sort done. Instinctively you held out your hand, assuming your soulmate had scrawled another vague practice reminder on the back of their hand or wrist, but your skin was blank, just a smooth expanse the same tone it always was.

“No, not your hand, silly! There!” Your eyes followed as he pointed down towards the ground, toward…your leg?

Swiveling at the hips, you bent and tugged on any necessary clothing to reveal, sure enough, writing near your ankle. Your chest sunk.

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you repeated, voice a deadpan.

He pointed, finger rising slowly, almost shakily. “Then what’s-”

“I don’t know. I- I guess my soulmate did it.”

“Your soulmate got a tattoo without asking you?”

“We haven’t met,” you burst out as you raised the fabric around your leg higher, “I guess they don’t care what I think! What’s this even say, anyway?”

Frustration pricked at you at the sheer height of the piece- it wasn’t exactly dainty. Quite a ballsy move, all things considered. Sheesh. Wait, those were wings, huh?

“It says ‘faith’,” Brian supplied, “and I think it’s nice. Could definitely be worse. Could have been a partner’s name or, like, naked Spongebob or something.”

You cocked a brow. “Naked Spongebob?”

“Well, would you want that on your leg?” Brian shot back, crossing his black t-shirted arms.

“No,” you sighed, staring at your new, involuntary body art, “I suppose I would not. Well, you’re right- this is pretty nice. I can live with this. Hopefully it’s not the first one of many, though. My soulmate better leave me some control of my own skin.”

“Yeah, and if they don’t, you’d better give them a piece of your mind.”

A chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Have you never tried to find out?” Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at you like he was asking the dumbest question he’d ever uttered.

And maybe he was. Your chest contracted in realization that you had, in fact, never once considered taking any initiative into finding whoever it was had those recitals or English tests or who you really hoped had the spine to smack Bumjoong one for defacement of property. The person who, by the universe’s decree, was meant to be some miraculous piece of your life forever and you’d just…assumed they’d walk in whenever it was time. All your concern had gone to not bothering their appearance despite their clear lack of regard on the subject.

“Uh, (y/n)?” A hand waved in front of your face. Brian’s. “You’ve gone all spacey on me, what’s wrong?”

“Brian, I might be stupid.”

“Might?”

You descended back to earth, or at least close enough to its gravity, to find the wherewithal to smack his shoulder beneath the momentous echoing of reality throughout your brain.

“Also, I take it then the tattoo on your arm wasn’t your idea either?”

“The…what?”

Shopping day over.

Hongjoong couldn’t recognize his own handwriting. Or could he? Had he written that address on the back of his hand? He had to have. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his schedule wasn’t busy enough, now here was some other errand he’d forgotten.

Pulling out his phone and typing it into maps, he saw that at least it wasn’t too far away. A reasonable drive, especially for a…tuesday? Oddly specific, but appointments were appointments, he reflected as he swiveled in his leather office chair.

After all, if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have written it down so visibly on himself like that. That was a habit he’d largely dropped in adulthood, image of greater concern and regard for mess a bit higher, too. Plus, the only other good it would have served seemed not his lot.

At least a fair number of songs had come from it. Ah, music- the eternal, universal processor. What would he do without it? Music was a way of filling every void-no, scratch that, coming to terms with the existence of voids within oneself- the thing that made him feel complete, or certainly one of them. Jokes had it that music was Hongjoong's soulmate, and while the songwriter didn't appreciate fun being poked at his expense, it was hard to deny the itching grains of truth beneath his skin at the words.

Music-related or not, this short trip was his lot, so why not make the best of it? After all, whoever had organized it picked a pretty nice café as the rendezvous point. Worst case, Hongjoong would at least get a coffee out of it.

You were starting to wonder if nobody would approach you, more singles and even couples getting in line and heading straight for a table or the door than you could count on one hand. In fact, in came someone else right in time with your thoughts, a super hot guy in fact, though he looked confused as hell. His eyes darted back and forth between the chalkboard menu and the industrial-style metal tables as he stood a little bit out of line.

Shit didn’t hit the fan until he pulled his phone out to check it, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His loose black t-shirt sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo suspiciously similar to the second one that Brian pointed out on your own body. And that font was very, very unique. And big. And it was on you now.

Moving completely of its own volition, your body peeled from its metal seat and strode right up to him. No thoughts swirled to the surface of your mind even as you reached his side, prompting him to turn on his heels.

The only words your mind could barely form fell out of your lips. "You're the one who gave me these tattoos."

Jumping back, the man gaze at you with saucer-wide eyes, saying nothing as you pulled your own sleeve back to reveal the second and luckily last set of writing Brian had found on your body, this time reading 'No 1 like me', and again showed your ankle.

"I designed that one myself, how could you possibly-" His wide-eyed gape fell slowly into a smile. "I have a soulmate?"

"Yes, of course you do!" You replied, incredulous. "Did you think you didn't?"

"You never wrote anything!" He shot back.

"I was trying not to mess you up!"

"I just..." The man's handsome features fell, first into seeming hurt then just into a pensive look. "For so many years I taught myself to make my own way. Sometimes I was fine with it, sometimes I wasn't."

"No wonder you thought there was no one like you," you said before panicking, thinking better of it, "not that the tattoo isn't cool! And still true. I really like the font, actually? You said you designed at least one of these?"

"Yeah, I knew what I wanted, so I drew up the faith one and..." He tilted his head, sliding his phone from his hand back into his pocket. "wait, do you want to get a table?"

"Only if you buy me a drink," you teased, nodding toward your arm as you got back in line, "you owe me for these."

"I think you owe me for years of radio silence," the man shot back with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Heat crept into your face at the way he fixed the intense look at you, but you refused to back down. "The way you described it sounded like I taught you a valuable lesson."

"Pain can teach lessons."

Ok, you were about spent at that. "Are we really fighting over something as stupid as one free coffee?"

"I mean, fighting wasn't the word I would have used there, but you're right. I've got this one."

"Oh, you two are so cute!" The barista waved her hand as you placed your orders. "I love couples who bicker like old married grandparents! So, what are your names?"

You and your soulmate glanced at each other, your eyes sliding back into those deep, dark, expressive ones you wouldn't mind getting used to. He searched yours, too, and a small smile played on his lips that had you wondering what he was thinking... until you realized it, too.

Maybe you had wildly opposite views over the years on using your body as a notebook, but you two soulmates had the exact same sense of humor.

"We don't know," you both said at the same time.

"I'm Hongjoong," the man in black introduced himself, smiling wickedly now.

"(y/n), nice to meet you," you replied, bowing back to him.

The barista mirrored Hongjoong's initial shock at your confrontation as you both headed to your table, laughing now. Somehow that all came as easily as bickering, all your interactions up to that point having a certain flow you'd never felt before. Placebo effect? Maybe, yet the tug you felt the moment you first saw Hongjoong was yet to fade. It was like those old sayings: it felt like you two were making music.

"Ok, please don't think I'm being rude," Hongjoong's voice cut into your thoughts, "but I'm a songwriter, and I feel like I just have to write down some lyrics right now."

All you could do was just grin at that. Well, shit. Maybe now you really would have to try leaving more of an ink trail.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #soulmate au #can't believe this is my first soulmate au piece tbh...but hope y'all enjoy 😁

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fandomfluffandfuck · 25 days

Note

Does the serum make Steve…. louder? Like his lung capacity is obviously more than the average. Did his vocal cords get super soldier-ed too?

Of course, that would mean that Bucky would have to gag him when they have sex. Especially the marathon, sweaty, desperate, edging, kind of sex where Steve just loses all control over his volume because he can’t even hear how loud he’s being over the the sound of his own blood pumping straight to his cock.

They have all kinds of gags so Bucky can control how loud he wants Steve to be since Steve can’t. Maybe even one that looks like the Winter Soldier mask.

Holy shit, I love this idea.

Even if lung capacity and/or vocal chord strength doesn't equate to volume in any meaningful way, my answer to this ask is fucking YES.

YES.

Yes, simply for the fact that I fucking love vocal partners. Major knee-buckling, weak spot for me. So, there's no way I can resist a louder Steve post-serum. Louder and more sensitive, which is just... irresistible 😮‍💨😮‍💨

This got out of hand, I'm supposed to be doing homework, not writing filth on Tumblr, lmao

And the mention of gags alongside the vocal-nature of this makes me think of this fic:

"Day 18: Leather/Latex" by hannahrhen

Anyway--

I can not get my mind off of vocal top Steve. There's 🤌🏻something about him🤌🏻

Imagine him, on top of Bucky, pressing him into the mattress with all his strength--back muscles rippling, so slim to so broad from his hips to his shoulders that it looks impossible, making your eyes almost roll back, just staring, his ass round and biteable, his thighs flexing, his dick putting in work, carving out space for himself inside Bucky.

Steve's shaking and sweating as his hips thrust, his movements so well practiced--fluid, but deep and hard, too. It's intense as fuck. Just how Bucky likes it. Feels so good.

And, God, the rhythm is more than enough to leave Steve's blonde hair hanging over his forehead, mused and sex-ruffled. He's glowing sweat, misted like a fucking Greek God, but so, so much better than pale, white marble he's pink and feverish, his heart pulsing wildly in his chest all the way down to his devastatingly hard dick.

His heart racing and racing as he pants with his mouth open, groaning lowly when Bucky clenches down on his thick cock hard, it makes Steve insane, so tight, he can't believe he fits inside his little hole, whimpering when Bucky tells him faster, faster, oh, ah, ah, ah, yes!, moaning right in Bucky's ear when Steve stops pinning his wrists to the bed, shifting to grab his shoulders and really pound him instead, and Bucky's hands grab at him greedily, wanting to feel his muscles work as he fucks him, pulling him down. He fucks him good and hard, using all his bulk to make Bucky fucking take it.

When he moans like that in his ear, making him crazy with want, Bucky might try to tilt his head to the side, panting just as hard, breath humid and thick, gasping for just a little oxygen between their mouths, begging for a sloppy, filthy kiss but Steve can't lock lips. He can't stop making sounds. The best he can do is moan right into his mouth.

It's so hot. The sounds.

The noises.

Gasping. Whining. Moaning. Panting. Groaning.

All these obscene sounds that mix intoxicatingly with the harsh, wet sound of their bodies colliding. Steve is fucking him hard. And it feels so good. It lights Bucky up--he's only dry kindling and Steve is a match, the friction between them lights them both. Flames lapping at their skin. Soon enough, it's hot enough to crackle and spread, and they're taking down the whole forest. Ignited. Unable to stop. Not when Steve sounds like that. Not when he moves like that, making Bucky see nothing but white-hot sparks.

Pleasured so good, Bucky can bite his tongue, groaning softly and panting and swearing under his labored breath as Steve lays into him like he wants him dead, pounding his prostate until he feels like he might burst, all this pleasure rushing like painful, aching, glorious, intense static through his veins. Steve can't bite his tongue, though.

Steve can't shut his fucking mouth.

Bucky loves it. He's so loud. When it's not mind meltingly hot to hear every hit of pleasure that he takes, it's hilarious because it's so goddamn inconvenient. As much as Bucky might want to bitch and moan about it, complaining that they'll never be able to have a quickie in some closet or bathroom or back of the car because they'll be found out immediately with Steve wailing like that... the moment he starts to feel irritated, he'll twitch or clench or grab, and Steve will just let out the most guttural, wanting sound at the perfect moment, leaving Bucky snickering. Combing a hand through his hair, cooing at his big, dumb, fucked-out face. Mouth-open moaning.

Yeah, Bucky's best guy is loud.

So, even when Bucky manages to reach up, muscles trembling as he goes boneless on Steve's dick, to jam a few fingers between his gaping, swollen lips... Steve's hardly muffled. He's distracted, sure, licking, tonguing, and slurping around his fingers as if they're his dick, but he's moaning too. He's moaning more. That part of Bucky's body in his mouth. How could it not be good? How could it not make his lungs punch out a sound of desire? Lust thick inside him.

Guh.

He's hot and wet and drooling around Bucky's fingers and not any fucking quieter. He might be louder, Jesus Christ.

Naturally, then, it escalates.

If fingers won't do it, what will? How can Bucky get Steve to a reasonable goddamn volume when they fuck? What about Bucky's underwear, literally ripped off of his body in impatience and now an otherwise useless scrap of fabric, stuffed into his mouth? What about Steve's own underwear? There's no difference, really, Bucky just wants it. How about the bottom hem of Steve's sweatshirt, pushed up and shoved between his teeth, giving Bucky an eye-crossing view of his clenching belly and bouncing tits as he fucks him? A ball gag? Bit gags (again, because Bucky wants it, Steve wants it, there's no reason why it would keep Steve's volume down when a ball doesn't, no matter how fat the intrusion is)? A scarf tied around the back of his head? A panel gag? A thick belt doubled over and pushed between drool-glistening lips? A strip of shiny tape slapped over his full, plush lips that leaves a red mark around his mouth like smeared lipstick when they're done, and Bucky tears it off of him? An inflatable gag that Bucky can pump more and more until Steve is whimpering about the fullness and stretch while he's pumping Bucky full?

What will it fucking take? And why is it so hot, the length they have to go to just to make sure that nobody interrupts them with how loose Steve's lips are. All whiny and needy, despite how Steve fucks like a champ. He sounds like he should be the one getting pounded into the mattress (or couch, or wall, or shoulder wall, or... yeah.)

What will it fucking take?

A muzzle?

Bucky jokes. It's a half serious suggestion while they have lazy, post-mission sex that is absolutely better than the sex anyone else is having when they're not exhausted and at the top of their game, thank you very much. Their uniforms are half on, on the way to getting suspicious stains, half revealing dirty, bruised skin--just enough to whip it out and to take it.

Steve is hesitant at first, considering their history with muzzles. He doesn't know if he could stand to do it. Especially if it's a full muzzle that covers the bottom of his face like what the soldier wore. But, later, when they're toweling off after their post-lazy-sex, lazy-shower-sex... the moment Bucky gives him that lazy, charming grin, popping his dimples, and drawls richly about the pleasure of taking the power back, feeling the reins in his own hands, calling the shots...

Oh, God.

Steve's stiff in his jeans immediately, and he needs to, at least, try. For Bucky's sake. Sure, Steve, Bucky's sake. It doesn't have to do with any kind of selfish need to see Bucky's eyes lit with fire, as he dangles a muzzle in front of his face, taunting him. Steve kneeling. Poised to crawl on his hands and knees toward the other man above him. Low enough he could kiss Bucky's feet. He could use his tongue to clean his boots, humming at the taste, knowing exactly where he's been by the grit on his teeth and tongue. Savoring it. Everything he's done for him. The hell he's walked through to get to him. Above him, Bucky's reclined on the edge of their bed, one hand behind him, leaning, all casual and powerful, alluring with his thighs spread wide, setting the muzzle in his lap before curling his finger smoothly. Wordlessly beckoning Steve over so he can shut him up and they can have fun without the neighbor's calling the cops... again.

Those sure, knowing fingers tilting Steve's head up with a mean grip on his chin and slipping the rigid leather onto his face, making sure he can't open his mouth to moan like hell when he's given the privilege of fucking Bucky.

Those fingers.

Those fingers that Steve's going to watch, silenced and muzzled, as they stretch and pry his tight, wet flesh open, preparing himself for Steve's cock. Propped up on his knees in front of Steve, his belly and chest to the bed, hips up, thighs invitingly wide, showing him where he's so tight and aching, but... not yet.

Steve can't touch yet.

And he can't beg to touch. Muzzled.

He can only swallow back sounds and stare desperately, longingly, saliva flooding his mouth.

While they're at it--Steve muzzled like a big, obedient puppy, so good and big as he slides into Bucky after he's stretched, squirming on his back, his thighs still wide open to give Steve a teasing glimpse of his wet hole--Bucky adds a collar for good measure.

A collar.

The strip of thick, dark leather around his throat is complete with a leash, so Bucky can pull it tight, keeping his big, hulking puppy close with the taut, short stretch of leather between their heated bodies.

His fist. Steve's neck. Connected. Joined as one.

He owns him.

It's not like Steve could go anywhere with Bucky's thick, powerful thighs clenched around his trim waist anyway. He's trapped. Entangled in Bucky's heat. All tight and hot and wet inside. And his voice is just as restricting as the leash around his throat--cutting off his air, pulled at just the right moment to slice his muffled moans in half when he pulls at his leash--and orders him to hold back. D-don't cum. Not yet. I'm, 'm not done fuh-fucking done with you yet. Make me cum again. J-just, ngh, just one more. 'M not done yet. Then you can have your treat, okay, boy? That sound good, huh, pup? Mmm, mmm-hmm, yeah, yeah, just like that, gimme it like th-that.

Steve whines, pathetically muffled. It's barely a sound at all, so softened, but at the same time, it's so saturated with want that it's dripping.

How did we get to puppy play? What?

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #fic rec #big sub steve #dom bucky #top steve #bottom bucky

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archeolatry · 5 days

Text

Go take a look at this beautiful trove of old SparkSound magazines someone is selling on eBay. For the price they might as well be made out of gold, but the seller's been nice enough to take big, largely readable photos of so many of the issues. Is there a similar digital hoard of scanned versions? I'd love to see more! (I've seen photo pages in full but only snippets of the rest.) The absolute like... raw, sloppy, fanzine chaos of these as as official publications from a major label band is blowing my fucking mind, even if it is just for the fan club. It's literally their mom cutting and pasting and cramming mentions from both Melody Maker and TV Guide onto an A3 sheet of paper, layouts be damned. The apostrophe on her typewriter is broken for a couple issues but she carries on with an asterisk. She's also around 60 by this point and banging this out to an audience of hundreds or thousands like it's a local Kiwanis club newsletter. But she's doing it with gusto, by gum, and it's punk as hell. The best thing about it is that the lack of style is made up for by the absolute top-tier access to the band, and her being surprisingly on top of pertinent details.

For those of you who weren't in a fandom before the internet, those behind-the-scenes photos were like your favorite band's proof of life. There was no Instagram or Twitter, or anything that proved they existed between national TV appearances and touring in your area (besides those mentions in Melody Maker anyway). If you were lucky, your fandom had the capacity to trade videotapes and people in Scranton could see local TV appearances in Los Angeles and vice-versa. If you were really lucky they weren't all copies of copies with potato quality sound and video. Likewise, if you wanted the 12" extended European dance mix of a song with a B-side unavailable in the US, you had to either special order it somewhere and pay through the nose, hope it was in the imports section of a record store (and still pay through the nose), or you had to trade cassettes or burned CDs and hope the other person didn't flake on you. The fact that she's saying "Don't go running to the import section yet, the single will be out on ____ record label on this date with this track listing" is WAY more info than we usually got from our official sources. All "Mary Martin" needed to do for exclusive content was take pictures of her sons on vacation. On one page she's absolutely dunking on Russell them in wry cut-and-paste captions and on another she is the perfect hype man, telling people shows at The Greek Theater are gonna sell out so get your tickets early (but hold your horses on travelling- they're working on Japanese dates for September so you may not need to fly to the US). The personal thank-yous! The CARE! *slams fist on table* If any other band had their mom as the head of their fan club it'd be the most contrived shit in the universe, a complete lie, or both. I fucking love these guys.

#sparks #sparks band #Like…even the seminal punk rock fanzine Slash was typeset #And Mary over here is taking care of business between games of canasta #be quiet an old hipster is speaking #i'm a part time sparks blog now

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scientia-rex · 8 months

Text

Read some more of Toxic Parents tonight and wow!!!! the amount of anger I have!!! and the incredible unwillingness I have to actually remember my childhood and feel associated feelings!!!!! Like, there are events I keep telling over like talismans, because these are the events that prove I'm not crazy. These are things that happened that should never have happened. The time Dad kicked the door in is the biggest one. The time I spent twelve straight hours cowering in the far back of our station wagon with my fingers jammed in my ears so I wouldn't hear my father screaming at my mother and my mother sobbing as we drove to a different state. The time I told my mother I had gotten accepted to graduate school and her first words were, "How are you going to pay for it?" instead of "Congratulations" or "I'm proud of you."

But these aren't all of it. They're so far from all of it. One memory I have is not of the presence of abuse, but the sudden, bewildering absence of it: my sister drove me to the nearest town with a mall, an hour and a half away. We were stopping to pick up snacks for the drive back, I think at a Safeway. I picked up a box of Golden Grahams cereal and nervously asked my sister if I could have it. She said, "Of course you can, you know what you want." In the limbus of a childhood spent being told I was picking the wrong soda for myself when I gave my order at fast food restaurants, suddenly being told I could have what I wanted T-boned me emotionally. It was like running into a wall I hadn't known was there. What? I can just want things? I can just get things and have them because I want them? I don't have to justify it, or lie, or hide what I want? No one is going to tell me I'm stupid for wanting something or that I'll regret it?

Just an incessant drip-drip-drip of emotional abuse, sometimes punctuated by a flash flood. "If I leave your mother, how do you think you're going to eat? You're going to end up on the street."

And now, reading the section on how children end up feeling about the passive parents who enable abuse, I just think, oh, there's me! There's me. I hated her and pitied her and loved her and wanted more for her. I didn't have the adult emotional capacity to understand how much of her life she was complicit in, but damningly, I did vaguely, tangentially understand that she was constantly making excuses for Dad--coming to my bedroom to sit on my bed and tell me, while crying, that he was sorry, while he never apologized. Making it my job to comfort her. I said to her once that I remember, "If he was really sorry, he'd stop doing this," and she just looked at me with something that looked like sorrow but I could tell was rage--she was angry at me for not forgiving him and letting us snap right back into the "good" phase between angry outbursts, where we could, for however long it lasted, pretend to be a normal family.

And how she always resented me. She resented that I was separate from her, she resented that I could do and see and understand things she couldn't, she was angry when I went into Psychology, even angrier when I went into medicine. She's been throttling down her anger at Dad for as long as I've been alive, pretending to be malleable, having vague health complaints and maladies mixed in among the real ones, forever retiring to her bed with a washcloth over her eyes instead of interacting with me.

And now that I'm an adult, and not just an adult but a middle-aged doctor, why don't I call? Why do I insist on bringing up the past? Why do I expect Dad to apologize? I'm hurting his feelings, after all.

The past. Sure. When I graduated from medical school, he named the worst doctor we ever met and said, "He went to medical school, too. Don't get a big head."

And when we were talking, once, not long ago, maybe two years or so, about how he used to stand there and yell at us--I can't remember any of the words anymore, just the way he looked, the tone of his voice, the experience like being buffeted by a strong wind--he said, "At least your sister fought back. You just stood there and took it."

I can't imagine a clearer illustration that he doesn't actually regret his behavior. He doesn't regret his actions. He still feels justified. We were disappointments, we were failures, we weren't him, we weren't what he wanted for us, and more than that, we were convenient targets for his rage. You can do almost anything to your children and get away with it. And he didn't hit us, so it was okay, and the fact that we were hurt by the actions he took with the intent to hurt us means that we were weak. And it's okay to hurt the weak.

Christ! This is the man who, in a fit of sullen self-pity, when I gave him a mug that said "World's #1 Dad" for Father's Day when I was probably eight or nine, talked about how we both know that's not true. As if a child is your therapist. As if it were my responsibility to reassure him.

My mother has read Toxic Parents. My mother has read Why Does He Do That? She has a bachelor's and most of a master's in psychology. She has an IQ of 150. She is a bad mother. It feels like the worst judgment you can make, a bad mother. It feels worse than calling someone a bad father. Because we expect less from fathers. But a bad mother is unnatural.

But lots and lots and lots of mothers are bad at being mothers. And I love mine and I hate her, and I'm angry and I'll always be angry, and I'll die angry, and I have to try to carve what happiness I can from a world I entered into under false pretenses. I was always told I was wanted. I knew I wasn't. I may have been intentional, but I wasn't wanted.

My mother's mother just died last week. I didn't know her. She chose not to know us. I hadn't seen her since I was twenty-two and graduated from college. My mother is struggling with her relationship with her mother. She often tells me her mother was a narcissist. I want to ask her what she thinks she is. She's not a narcissist, but she's an enabler, she's a doormat, she's a classic case of codependency, and I don't think she sees it that way. I always got the sense she was just waiting for us to grow up and go away so she and Dad could go back to being happily miserable alone together.

I asked her, this last year, if she'd read Why Does He Do That? and she said she had, and she asked me carefully why I was thinking about it, waiting for me to confess to her that my husband of ten years was abusive. She's been gunning for this relationship since the beginning--I'd been with him for maybe a year when she mailed me a copy of He's Just Not That Into You (or maybe it was the sequel, It's Called a Breakup Because it's Broken) along with an article on how to date as a single older woman. I was 23. She was flabbergasted when I said I thought Dad was abusive. Denied it immediately. I listed examples and she didn't even say words, just made simultaneously pained and exasperated noises.

She wants me to be single and a career failure and pathetic so she can feel good about herself in comparison. Dad thinks he wants me to be like him, but if I actually behaved like he does, I think he finally would belt me.

I had to hide everything good in me from them so they wouldn't deliberately ruin it. I couldn't tell them about my writing. The first time I finished writing a novel I told Mom and she didn't even acknowledge it, just told me to do the dishes. I was sixteen. I can't tell them what I love about my husband because it would be like speaking to them in a foreign language. They think it's a performance, like their performance, and they're always waiting for me to slip up and reveal the misery they're sure is lurking just underneath.

I've done well. They don't own me. I wish I had real parents, but I'm going to try not to shop for oranges at the hardware store anymore.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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mazeinthemiroh · 11 months

Note

Oooh, idk why I didn't realize this before, but you also write for txt!!! Do you have any thoughts on how txt realizes they're in love with you??

-✈️

txt when they realise they're in love

genre: headcanons; romance, fluff

warnings: none

please like and reblog if you enjoy <3

soobin

when he no longer feels awkward around you.

it takes a lot for soobin to settle down with people

the transition from crush to something more has been a bit of a long process

soobin has had to reflect and figure his feelings out on his own which can take time. but when he finally realises and understands his feelings are real for you, a relief takes over him

he feels comfortable around you. he relaxes instead of tenses up. he's not as shy as he was before and looks forward to your visits

he finds your presence warm and welcoming. there are no awkward silences or miscommunications. just comfort and ease, which is something he strives for in his life.

yeonjun

when he can't remember his life without you.

you are so very important to him that you have become his favourite person. his top priority

he spends every minute of every day thinking about you in some capacity. not in an obsessive way. in a gentle way - "oh y/n would like this cafe" or "i wonder what y/n is doing right now, i hope they're okay because i know they were tired before..." stuff like that

he's more thoughtful than he lets on. he loves spending time with you, even the precious spare time that he doesn't get a lot of

and that's how he knew he was falling for you

because he wouldn't give up his free time with just anybody

and you weren't just anybody. you were the one.

beomgyu

when he feels like he's shared his soul with you.

beomgyu likes to joke around but in more personal relationships he craves deepness and intimacy.

he's probably the quickest out of the other members to realise he's in love because i see him as being in tune with his own thoughts and feelings.

he lives for the moments when your both lying on the living room floor together, staring at the ceiling, talking about life and dreams and everything in between

times like these he feels so incredibly in love.

because it feels like an exchange of souls.

vulnerable moments that he isn't used to... he gets emotional when reflecting back on them because they are so precious to him.

because of this, he just wants to give you his whole heart.

taehyun

when he finds himself caring more for you than anyone else.

not that he is neglectful of his friends or anything. he's still very much a balanced human being.

but he is finding himself to be more motivated with love and affection purely by his feelings for you.

in other words, you've helped him become a more healthier version of himself.

the way he treats others has improved dramatically. he's looking out for them more actively and is more observational instead of staying in his thoughts.

and he takes care of himself better too, making sure to eat properly and stay hydrated.

all of this self-improvement stuff all comes down to his lovey-dovey feelings for you. he doesn't know what to do with all this love he now has so he starts expressing in ways he hasn't down before.

hueningkai

when he feels absolutely accepted.

he feels so comfortable being himself around you, not feeling the need to hold himself back as he does with other people

there are only very few people who really get him. he's unique and a precious boy that should be cherished, and some people don't appreciate him the way you do.

that's why he's so, so grateful that he has met you. it genuinely feels like a fairytale to him, how this all happened. because he often questions why you hang out with him and why you love spending time with him so much.

at one point, he guards his heart, becoming distant because he feels that it's all too good to be true.

but he's able to see that you love him just as much as he loves you. and life could never be more sweeter to him than now.

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