#mommy wanna write

[xochimillilili]

I just think it'd be really nice to be treated as a princess, even just for one day, it doesn't even have to be sexual, though I wouldn't be opposed to being cooed at softly and petted while I eat someone out. Wouldn't be opposed to my hair being brushed softly and pulled back with a pretty ribbon for me before another round of cumming out our brains– a pretty princess has to look nice, even while ramming it's throbbing cock into your ass

It'd just be really nice to be praised and spoken to softly, reminded I just get to be the sweet princess today over and over with little whispers of "my princess" until I actually believe it. It could even just be for an hour, for the length of a tea party and while getting all dressed up for it. Just cuddles and being an cute empty headed princess... and possibly some very giggly impact play with a pair of cute princessy shoes

[actual-changeling]

He asks him exactly once.

Some months after the world almost ended, Crowley still smells smoke and tastes fire whenever he first enters the bookshop, and so every single time he stays into the evening, he gets drunk. It's not the ideal way of dealing with it, but it works, and, really, it's not going to last forever.

(Right?)

Either way, it's past midnight and he's absolutely shitfaced. Aziraphale pulled out the good whiskey around eleven, and while he is still nursing his second glass, Crowley has lost count of how many times he has topped off his. Looking back, it is hard to tell why that evening, why that question at that time - not that it matters much.

The room is spinning, he is less than artfully sprawled across the sofa and only held in place by a stern look Aziraphale had leveled at the cushions at some point; they wouldn't dare to let him slide off.

"Stars, angel," he says, responding to... something, surely.

"The whole bloody sky 's full of 'em, but you only see such a tiny teeny sparkling sparkle."

Pushing himself a bit more upright so he can face Aziraphale in his armchair, the liquid sloshing dangerously, Crowley impatiently waits for a response, flopping onto his back when he doesn't receive one within seconds.

"Y'know, 's all so pointless, innit?"

Even with his gaze tracing colourful swirling lines on the ceiling, he knows exactly what kind of frown falls onto Aziraphale's face, half worried and half thoughtful. Distantly, emptying his glass and miraculously not choking, he wonders what his concerned little pout would taste like.

"Maybe we're simply not supposed to know the point, my dear, the-"

"The Almighty 's not here, angel, She doesn't care 'bout my stars."

His interruption ends on a sigh, a puffy exhale laced with the first sparks of millennia old angry frustration, and his mind is jumping between centuries and memories alike, leaving him uncomfortably dizzy.

"D'you think," Crowley begins, his voice oddly steady, "She's still- does She care 'bout me?"

If he were fractionally less drunk, he would have sobered up before the words slipped past his lips, but he isn't, and he doesn't. Regret comes all the same, immediately and forcefully enough to punch the air out of his lungs. Home, he needs to go home, needs to take the question back, needs to run before the pity undoubtedly radiating from Aziraphale hits him. His limbs are dipped in honey, unresponsive to his commands, and he screws his eyes shut just long enough to get rid of the worst of the vertigo.

He does not know the answer nor which answer he wants to hear, and yet he has whispered the question to the stars countless times, receiving nothing but cold silence.

(I still love you, he wants to tell her, sometimes, hoping that maybe-

You made me and I still talk to you and you're my Mother, you're the heat burning in my the stars, you're watching us, me and him, and you have yet to punish us him)

With considerable effort, he pulls himself upright with one hand gripping the backrest, dropping his empty glass onto the floor and swinging his legs down next to it. His vision is a blurry haze, his mind too heavy to fully comprehend the panic raging behind it, and a familiar rush of blood in his ears is drowning out Aziraphale muttering in concern.

"Sorry, 'm leaving. See you t'morrow, angel."

"Crowley-"

Making it to the Bentley with nothing but a twisted miracle, he shakes off Aziraphale's fluttering hands, and falls into the driver's seat; she knows where to go, whether he's actually driving her or not. Loneliness seeps into his bones while the engine cools, and he forbids himself from thinking about the response Aziraphale might have given him if he had stayed.

The stars above London are distant and quiet like they always are, and not for the first time, Crowley accepts the silence as the answer it is.

(He asks the sky again three weeks later, he never did know when to stop with the questions.)

(Deep down, he thinks knows hopes if he just keeps asking, eventually She will answer; he hates Her almost as much as he misses Her.)

(Almost)

[celestiaras]

THE BI PANIC, NIJIREDS ARE FEEDING US SO WELL

[mayordea]

wwaaaah. new overdramatic oc art guys auugh

[tootles338]

[citylighten]

we're gonna touch on where fiora's at emotionally in a few posts and like...i had no idea she was hoarding four videos in her inventory. i think she's in a creative, and conflicted, slump forreal.

[shreddeddescent]

loud long groan

i don’t really WANNA talk about it but can you guys genuinely tell what the hell im talking about w the worst case scenario thing? cuz like despite my best efforts (eh efforts honestly) im not that vague.

unfortunately it’s made me create wonderful characters i never want to be separate from the narrative but their origins are. mmmn.

but thats kind of the point of them. sometimes you dont ask to be made but youre a person none the less and wishing you never existed to please someone else is just..... thats not healthy. its something raph relates to. something maybe they all do.

but...... hhhh. just genuinely wondering if im too obvious. or if its worth getting in to. still dont think id ever post the thing regardless.

[faithfulfertile]

it is literally my ultimate fantasy to carry his children and to continue his bloodline. all i want is for him to breed me, knock me up, let me grow his perfect babies for him. as many times as he wants, over and over again, until he’s finally satisfied. i want him to grab me by my belly and fuck me hard, as if he’s trying to get me pregnant again when i’m already carrying his offspring. and i’ll wear nothing but crop tops and tight dresses to show off my belly, so everyone knows how good he filled me up and what a good little breeder i am. i can’t wait for him to kiss my belly and caress it. i want to be his baby factory. i will never be satisfied until i fulfill my purpose as a woman, there is nothing i am better at doing than serving him and growing and raising his children. it is my pleasure to serve him.

[altruisticsinner]

growing up my mother was an angry person

always yelling and cursing at me because she felt like it

as a girl i was always confused why she thought i deserved her beatings

even after all these years i still feel this sense of anger and pain

though not at her—but at myself

i never knew why she was always mad at me

[esmeislewd]

I think it's actually pretty unacceptable I've not been made into someone's overweight pet bimbo???? Like excuse me but I deserve to be fed relentlessly and look hot for someone!!!

[actual-changeling]

I know that Ellie eventually going to school is a pretty much universally accepted part of the world building, but I am itching to explore her trying to do so and simply being unable to do it.

The child abuse she went through at the hands of FEDRA was probably prolific and cruel, and her life was basically nothing but different kinds of "education" strung together, whether that's whatever they cobbled together for general education or the military training. Joel might know it was bad (cause it's fucking FEDRA), but the extend of her trauma is hard to gauge when you are not in a situation that triggers it.

Her academic trauma does not disappear outside of school, but unless Ellie is in a similar situation it simply won't be immediately obvious (speaking from experience). On top of that, David being a teacher does not help whatsoever.

-

Joel and Ellie agree on a first day of school, but they want to check out the building beforehand, just so they're both a bit more at peace. Ellie is somewhat excited but also scared, and the closer they get to the building, the quieter she becomes, just hanging onto Joel's hand and squeezing it until her knuckles turn white. He pulls her close, notices she is nervous, but he doesn't press and gets them inside. One of the handful of teachers, a woman about Joel's age (they're aware enough to not have it be a man, Silver Lake is a known topic), meets them at the door and shows them around.

Small classrooms with surprisingly comfortable looking wooden chairs (Ellie sees the pillows on them and her mind short-circuits), some old sofas and couches, armchairs, spacious desks and all kinds of posters and materials. There's an art room and it is the only time Ellie's grip on Joel loosens a tiny bit, the array of brushes, paints, and instruments fascinates her, but that moment passes as quickly as it came.

With every step they take, the teacher's voice blurs with Joel's and turns into white noise, her vision grows fuzzy and grey, and she has to keep blinking with fluttering lashes to not sway on her feet when the dissociation gets worse. Absently, her mind keeps cataloguing the floor plan, windows, doors, all exists she can make our and imagine, but by the end of the tour, she cannot remember anything past leaving their house this morning. Something tugs on her hand, and she blinks up at Joel, his gaze loaded with a question she didn't hear, and maybe ten weeks ago she would have pretended she had; she doesn't know.

Ellie doesn't even know why she is reacting like this, there are no specific memories popping up, nothing to fight back, just her mind and body slipping into a protective armor of static like they're pulling her into the fizzling TV in their living room.

"Ellie?"

The teacher's voice snaps her back to a pounding heart and a breath stuck in her lungs, and when she looks down at their clasped hands her nails have left marks in Joel's skin. She lets go at once, holding onto her wrists with her arms behind her back, and she still didn't hear the question. Every cell in her body is telling her to leave, pulling her toward the nearest exit, but she doesn't. There are memories flickering across her vision now, a decade of unjust, painful punishments and her body being pushed to its breaking point, and she decides the answer to that question is more important than whatever they had asked her.

"What do you do? For, like, punishment?"

Her voice is steadier than she is on her feet, so she rocks gently back and force to stop herself from swaying. Joel's gaze burns hot on her cheeks, but she keeps her eyes on the teacher, whose eyebrows are raised so high they disappear beneath her fringe.

"Punishment? We don't- there's not reason to punish forgotten homework or the like here, Ellie, it's supposed to be both fun and educational."

Something about the tone in her voice unsettles her, but the answer isn't satisfying, and she needs to know, needs to know the rules so she can follow them, because the art room looks like it might actually be fun to be in and she is so tired of dark lonely spaces and marks on her back; imagining the disappointed look on Joel's face when her teachers tell him about it is the worst of it all, though.

"What are the rules? When are the drills and what's the consequences for breaking the rules? Is there-" is there a hole, she wants to ask, but her breathing is fast and shallow, periphery dotted with dancing black spots, and she doesn't want to give them any ideas they didn't already have. Joel's hand lands on her back, right between her shoulder blades, and the warm weight his comforting without being oppressive, her breaths slowing just a smidge.

The woman with a name Ellie forgot is taller than Joel with the shoes she is wearing, and she she squats down, the look on her foreign face looks like a a finished puzzle, the final piece having snapped into place. Her features are rounded, soft, a stark contrast to the borderline malnourished and hardened look of pretty much every person around the QZ including her teachers, a few light-brown and grey strands escaping from her ponytail, and Ellie can't help but think that she looks - nice, non-threatening. School isn't supposed to be non-threatening, but this whole building is dripping with it, and it scares her to death; getting this ripped away from her as punishment will hurt even more than escaping packed, concrete classrooms.

"You grew up in a FEDRA school, right?" she asks, voice almost tender, and Ellie can only stare and nod while Joel rubs circles into her back.

"I heard stories about what it was like before I came here, horrible experiences no one should have to go through, especially not a child."

She sounds so much like Joel the comfort laced into her words manages to penetrate the static and soothe some of the panic, her eyes a bright hazel shade, not blue, and she keeps her distance even though she could easily get into Ellie's personal space

"Even before the outbreak, school wasn't like that, and it is definitely not like that here. There is no punishments, Ellie, no real rules or structure outside of general lesson plans, no consequences for not turning in work or being late. This is meant to provide some stability and education, give you a places to hang out with people your age, have some more people to connect with. If you don't want to be here, no one will force you."

Ellie doesn't cry. She doesn't. A deep breath and some determined blinking pull back the tears from her waterline and her chest aches with a vengeance when she thinks about how different it would have been here for her and Riley, how much better. Riley would still be alive. For a few minutes, they're all silent, allowing her to gather the scattered pieces of herself and glue them back together, and when she does, a tiny bit of the fear in her bones has made space for tentative excitement.

"I like the art room," she says quietly, feeling younger than she ever has, and a wave of something washes over all of them. "Do I- can I-"

"You can use it whenever you like, even outside of school hours, as long as you don't leave too much of a mess and use it responsibly."

Liliya, her brain finally provides, straightens her back again, and the lack of a last name during her introduction is probably part of what through her off. Ellie looks up at Joel, a muscle in his jaw ticking with suppressed anger, not at her, at FEDRA, she knows him well enough to realize that, and decides her question about The Hole is both best saved for another time and hopefully not relevant at all.

"Okay," Ellie responds, pressing herself back against Joel and melting when his arm protectively wraps around her shoulders, "I'll give it a try."

Over the relief rushing through her hairs, she barely hears the details the adults next to her discuss, happy to bury her face in Joel's shirt without shame, and she manages to shake off the last wisps of static clinging to her. Maybe this will work out for her, maybe it won't, maybe all she will use are the art supplies, but when they are lead back to the entrance, more than ready to go home, Liliya gives her a smile, eyes crinkling. For the first time in her life, Ellie smiles back at a teacher simply because she wants to, and the hopeful excitement sprouting in her chest is enough to tell her that she will be right on time for her first class on Monday.

[wyrm-with-a-why]

Big lady megatron save me

Big lady megatron

SAVE ME BIG LADY MEGATRON

[novashelby]

I want to write lesbian smut.

I need to write that Esme smut so bad...ohmygod

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hhhhh i wanna write a kenny fic so BAD but i cant come up w a good concept for it………. T_T

[marshmellowtea]

obviously i think trevor is little!chris's primary caregiver but tbh i feel like he latches on pretty hard to caregiver!sandra as well because A) they're friends to me and you can't take that away from me gkldsjfkl and so he's relatively comfortable being vulnerable around her and B) he's never had a strong mother figure in his life so he naturally kinda gravitates to her gentle maternal style of caregiving :')