#the sea does not like to be queued
Text
imagine Jason is unnaturally light. his bones are hollow like birds. he’s a flyer for his school’s cheerleading team.
#this was not inspired by angelfall what do you mean#would love to go into this more but i had to look up what the right name for a flyer is so someone more knowledgeable than me pls write this#jason grace#jason grace headcanon#percy jackson and the olympians#jason grace bday 2023#the sea does not like to be queued#persea posts
84 notes
·
View notes
Text
(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)
— PAPI BONES
A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.
content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.
wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)
proofread?; barely.
tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )
synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)
Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table.
Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends.
Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean.
And somehow, despite everything, it worked.
You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago.
“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!”
It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.
“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”
She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed.
“Not interested, sorry.”
“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off.
“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit.
“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?” She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.
“I mean, I was planning on wa–”
Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.
Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence.
The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.
Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay. She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ‘taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.
You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way.
“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod.
–
“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”
“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.
“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns.
“-And, and! I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.”
Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one.
“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed.
Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”
“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily.
“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”
“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest.
Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery.
“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.
“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”
“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed.
That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house.
There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off.
The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.
It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.
You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room.
You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs.
Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.
It’s fun being sardonic sometimes.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass. She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.
There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.
There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well. Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell.
–
“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right?
Whatever.
“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.
“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.”
“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”
The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely.
“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.
“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing.
“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”
Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.
“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”
The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body.
Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in.
The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall.
There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies.
Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.
“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”
“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum. Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.
If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up.
You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.
“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line.
“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”
“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”
Shit. She was going to make you say it.
“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.”
Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”
“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity.
“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”
“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”
She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.
It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin.
You jumped.
As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.
“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage.
Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself.
You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.
“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.
“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.”
It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed.
She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants.
Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands.
She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness.
Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips.
You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots.
“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.”
and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real.
“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.
Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly.
Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more.
She obliged.
The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.
It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else.
Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection.
Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly.
Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it.
“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold.
Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow.
She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers.
You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it.
A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again. You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.
She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes.
For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone.
Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile. Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants.
“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips.
She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint.
She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.
Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on.
“Nothing man, we were just talking.”
Maybe she was actually just that charming.
Yeah.
#tiki writes#abby x reader#abby anderson x fem reader#abby anderson ff#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#abby tlou#abby tlou smut#abby smut#abby anderson x female reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
• gyro [they/them] // late 20s •
ao3 // fic tag // bookbinding // store
fanbinding request info + form
#q -> queued posts
recent fics [all completed]:
poly philtatos (the most loved by far)
pairing: luffy/zoro
word count: 24,853
ao3 tags: temporary time-travel; spoilers through wano; it's all fine in the end i promise; it's about the Yearning and the Devotion
summary: zoro protects the crew (and his captain) and does not realize they'll go to the ends of the earth to protect him, too
ocean theology
pairing: luffy/zoro; asura/nika
word count: 40,493
ao3 tags: canon-compliant reincarnation; mild body horror (horns teeth claws); archive warnings for violence inflicted by the crew not on the crew; it's about the Yearning and the Devotion; hurt/comfort/comedy at a 30/60/10 ratio
summary: “Did you know?” he repeats, desperate, and Luffy just looks at him. And he wonders, then, how much of this has been preordained—how much of this is real, how much of this is him. How much of what he’s felt since they were wedged side-to-side in a shitty wooden boat on the East Blue has actually mattered, and how much has been the universe pressing him down into the mold of someone else's heart.
feed your plants a little sunlight [3*]
pairing: luffy/zoro; crew & zoro
word count: 4,224
ao3 tags: slice of life; whole-crew nakamaship
summary: Instead of napping, Zoro helps. It is his job, after all.
alleluia
pairing: crew & luffy
word count: 2,650
ao3 tags: religious imagery and symbolism; spoilers through wano; crew POV
summary: With the revelation that their Captain is a god, the crew worships.
how to talk without speaking [1*]
pairing: luffy & zoro & nami
word count: 6,898
ao3 tags: mild spoilers for wano; nakamaship; literacy and language headcanons
summary: In the beginning, Luffy does not know how to read. In the grand scheme of things, this does not matter.
the sea makes bones of bodies
pairing: luffy/zoro; nami/wanda (background); koala/sabo (background); deuce/ace (background)
word count: 87,732
ao3 tags: it's about the Yearning; Slow Burn; hurt/comfort/comedy at a 30/60/10 ratio; only one is a monster but they're both a little monstrous; alternate universe - mafia; alternate universe - merpeople; alternate universe - soulmates
summary: the self-indulgent "hitman/fight club champion/reincarnated moon god X merman/legendary sea monster/reincarnated sun god" AU that no one ask for.
bone-breaker ospreys mate for life [4*]
pairing: luffy/zoro
word count: 9,517
ao3 tags: explicit; porn with feelings; mild spoilers for wano; pre- AND post- timeskip; it's about the Yearning and the Devotion; as always
summary: The first time it happens, it’s mostly stupid—just like more than half of what they do, anyway.
wood is a living creature [2*]
pairing: luffy/zoro (implied); luffy & his ships
word count: 3,363
ao3 tags: going merry; the dinghy gets her own kind of klabautermann
summary: They keep her—history’s forgotten hero, the first great ship of the second Pirate King.
step 1: die [1*]
pairing: luffy/zoro (implied); zoro & sanji
word count: 11,344
ao3 tags: incorrect descriptions of poisoning and other medical inaccuracies; spoilers through wano act II; roronoa “self-sacrifice” zoro; big sanji emotions; angst and hurt/comfort
summary: After two years with Ivankov, Sanji knows something about Luffy that Zoro does not.
step 2: survive anyway [2*]
pairing: luffy/zoro
word count: 19,023
ao3 tags: incorrect descriptions of poisoning and other medical inaccuracies; spoilers through wano act I; roronoa “self-sacrifice” zoro; law's weird jar of blood; no one being normal about luffy; angst and hurt/comfort
summary: Even though he knows he’s a hypocrite for it, Zoro is so fucking tired of learning everything from everyone but Luffy.
current projects:
bury your albatross ch. 3
fanbinding
current events:
gear 5 zine (guest writer)
romance dawn trio zine (guest writer)
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about Kishibe being an idol fan and occasionally goes to your group’s concerts with a hand towel, that has a print of your face, draped on his shoulders. He has the light stick, the happi coat, and the bandana - the typical idol fan outfit. He also enthusiastically bobs his head to all of the songs but only sing along to your lines under his breath.
He follows your social media accounts and saved photos of you from magazines, edits, and even screenshots selfies from your account. He also downloads videos of you, from fancams to livestreams and vlogs you recorded solo or with your group.
But he never cross the line in participating in messy internet fights. Because he’s not like other fans that spend their days trying to prove themselves as the bigger fan at a forum you likely won’t ever read or know it exist for the rest of your career.
Does he go to handshake events?
Yes, yes he does.
And you like that he’s a hot and intimidating old man out of the sea of sweaty, nervous, and overly-eager fans queuing to meet you.
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
(t)eenie. she/her, 30s, queer af | every post is queued
yes, ALL of them. screaming to: 9-1-1, music, trivia, the bear, old vintage art, skam, nostalgic movies, comic book characters, haunting imagery, himbo men in action movies, astrology, inanity, puns, poetry, surrealism, and including, but not limited to the majesty of space and the sea.
fic posts | madney parallels | 118 whump | hen in eps | 118 parallels | bobby in eps | all gifsets
Buck's Coma vs. Real World Checklist
COMPLETE | multimedia | 0.3k | rated G
Buck: When I wake up, and I mean like every single time, I have this checklist now that I run in my head, like a way to test that I'm really here.
Maddie: So, what do you check?
morning glory
COMPLETE | one-shot | 2.6k | rated E
the morning after the night before
Buck tries to piece together what actually happened. It's insane to think all his dreams came true last night
hope is a sword
COMPLETE | one-shot | 5.5k | rated T
hope is a good thing, maybe the best thing, and no good thing ever dies. hope is a dangerous thing. hope can drive a man insane.
whumptober 2023 | prompt #5 | debris | pinned down | "It's broken."
proof of concept: ach tagais 'nós na hoíche
COMPLETE | part of a series | 8.2k | rated E
PROOF OF CONCEPT [n] a realization of a certain method or idea in order to demonstrate its feasibility. A demonstration in principle with the aim of verifying that some concept or theory has practical potential.
eros
COMPLETE | one-shot | 3.1k | rated E
On the couch, watching John Wick. What better time to have a feelings realization and demonstrating what they want out of it?
slip like freudian
COMPLETE | one-shot | 4.5k | rated T
Eddie Diaz is taught a lesson by a very well-meaning benign witch when he runs into her at 7-Eleven with his sad pout out in full effect
how life goes on the way it does
COMPLETE | 12 chapters | 39.6k | rated E
Past Lives Movie AU where Buck and Eddie were childhood friends who move away at 12, lost touch again at 18, and don’t actually run into each other in person again until they’re 27. As firefighters in the middle of a call in LA. A lot of life happens along the way
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trials and Tribulations of a Hydrated Person
Nothing like all traffic lights turning yellow as a torrential downpour splatters against the window while doing your best to hold a seriously full bladder. Managed to hit every pothole and bump in some cruel twist of fate.
I wasn’t stretched levels of full for most of the drive, which meant I felt everything. Liquid gently swaying back and forth, waves sloshing against slowly stretching walls. A fluid tickle from the inside, oh god. I’d rather be bursting over that.
Then the heavy rain--was it my ‘punishment’ for some queued posts? My username?
Water noises don’t usually get to me too badly, but the force of the droplets’ spatter and visuals plus the pressure and wave-like tickle feeling... Two thoughts repeated like a mantra: “I need to pee, I need to pee, I need to pee right now,” and “don’t you dare piss yourself.” I’m quivering, my bladder’s rippling, my heart’s jackhammering like it does close to wetting. Rain comes down harder and all I see are fat splatters and solid streams.
The urge to pee was intense and growing stronger as tea and water filled me further. All I could see and hear was water and ohhhh fuck me, that’s all I felt. Struggled to not rock in my seat. Thighs snapped shut, subtle squirming, toes pressing up and down for a distracting sensation.
Another curve heavy stretch of road bounced the sea of piss demanding out.
A contraction slammed into my wavering control. Closed like a vice. I feared I’d squirt a long stream if it didn’t ease. I couldn’t take it, couldn’t stop it... I started leaking drops. Half a gallon desperate to pour out with the rain. Alone in this battle, at least. My poker face is legendary and I’m wearing baggy clothes, so no one would’ve noticed how swollen I was.
(Am, because I’m typing a blurb out with a bursting bladder.)
We hit every single light. I cannot describe the frustration and desperation as they turned from green--“almost time to gush a piss!”--to yellow. “Can’t do another couple minutes, here’s some more for your wet spot.” The anticipation of relief dashed four times to six times.
About ten minutes from home, there’s a big hill and dip. Bladder rollercoaster, here we go. Pee surged up, down, and swirled. Please give me rock solid bursting over this overstimulation. Rain still falling, slowing the drive and torturing me.
The swirling got me and I spurted through clenches. Simultaneous embarrassment and teased relief. Sitting there trying not to show anything but normalcy as tiny spurts kept leaking out. Brief warm streams no part of me was able to halt.
Droplets and spurts are two very, very different things for me. Little drops are difficult to feel, but mini jets leaving my underwear hot and damp only encourage more.
The new goal became don’t leak enough to cause a wet patch on pants. There’s a grace period of small leaks for me before my bladder... splashes... and it’s over.
Get home without any other delays, take note of empty bottle and tea tumbler partially responsible, and get faced with the new guy doing the counters. Please no. Talk to someone else, my brain isn’t functioning at the moment, thanks.
Finally get to my room and start what was supposed to be a short ‘share and/or enjoy my desperation misadventure.’ About to sound idiotic. I didn’t want to inspect the damage once I checked pants were good. Piss brain isn’t an intelligent one.
I... had to get up upon describing spurting. No splash, but close enough. There’s no point denying I’m a leaker, is there.
Now to complete my daily intake. Just over a gallon. I stick to the ‘pee when you need to,’ not before leaving anywhere if I don’t have to. The pros and cons of being a water guzzler.
#omorashi#female omorashi#pee holding#car omo#5/7 days are car omo in my life#raine-holds#i need a new tag for unintentional desperation#the masochist in me wants challenges but not certain it's in anyone's best interests
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
Claudia's Flower in S5E3
The blue flower is an interesting motif in S5E3. The creators made a point to feature it in both Viren's dream sequence and reality, I personally think it offers some very interesting symbolism for Claudia, Terry, and what may happen in the future with these two.
Terry lovingly plucks a flower from a nearby tree during their journey down the stream, and Claudia proudly wears it in her hair.
As we follow the couple's time spent on the river, we are also following Viren's fever dream - and in it, he sees Claudia entering the blood-red ocean without hesitation, absentmindedly picking a flower - the same blue variety that Terry picked only moments before. The young dark mage is clearly leading herself to her demise (I would think, anyway) into the blood-red sea - to me, this represents that Claudia will do anything to achieve her means. Dream-Claudia is clearly ignoring the obvious warning signs that the sea is dangerous. Although she is focused on the moon above her (ergo, her task at hand), her hands are stripping the flower of its petals one by one. The viewer may be reminded of the classic "He loves me / he loves me not" trope seen in so many shows and movies.
Viren calls out to her. "But wait, it will swallow you up!" (Which, by the way, is a very specific phrase - queuing us back to what Aaravos said to Khessa) And in that moment, a wave crashes into the boat, causing real-life Claudia to drop the flower into the river.
Later on, as the dream reaches its pinnacle, Viren is faced with a mirror image of himself, but of instead of in the looking glass, it's Claudia. Completely corrupted and overtaken by dark magic, her face is as grey and gaunt as her father's. Claudia even echoes the words, "I would do anything for our family, Dad - whatever it takes, however dangerous, however vile."
The clear message here is Claudia is, indeed, following in her dad's footsteps - she literally says and does this in the dream. In addition, as someone who loves drawing upon symbolism, I would like to think that the blue flower, while more subtle, is just as important. Given to her by Terry, it represents Claudia's softer side - her conscience, if you will. In S4, we've already seen Terry act as Claudia's voice of reason, especially during his dismay at Claudia's actions when she tricked Rayla regarding the coins. Later on in S5, he voices his discomfort with dark magic once again when Claudia is about to kill the stalking dragon. We've seen Terry try to be the absolute best supportive boyfriend he could be - and we've also seen him try to reason with Claudia, to be a better person despite her objective.
All that's to say is...Claudia is heading down a very, very disruptive path - a path that will challenge her to do any means necessary. She's already gone through incredible lengths and I don't see her stopping anytime soon.
But Terry? Will he be the one that reasons with her, that pulls her back from the brink of destruction...or will he choose to leave Claudia because she is losing herself?
'He loves me / he loves me not... Should I / Shouldn't I...'
Just some food for thought.
#i've been saying that Terry will deflect since last season#he is too good for this world#tdp#tdp s5#tdp s5 spoilers#tdp s6 speculation#claudia and terry#tdp claudia#tdp terry#tdp dark magic#tdp symbolism#the dragon prince
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maisie Peters: coming of age
With heartfelt songs of crushes and overcoming heartbreak on her number one album 'The Good Witch', 23-year-old Maisie Peters deftly captures the agony and ecstasy of youth. Here, she discusses her friendship with Ed Sheeran, the ups and downs of being online, and how she mines her personal life for inspiration.
By Charlotte Manning
It is Halloween when I sit down to chat with Maisie Peters. It almost feels too perfect a time to take a deep dive in and around her summer album release The Good Witch, packed full of spooky connotations and an exploration into, well, witchery. She promises that “some effort” is going into the costumes for tonight’s Bristol gig, teasing: “You’ll have to just wait and see.”
This is a pop star who is used to being very much online. She’s wearing a non-serious T-shirt bearing Robert Pattinson’s face, and one of the first things I’m shown is a cat meme that I — also chronically online — have seen dozens of times before. “It’s been the most mental year of my life,” laughs Peters. “Everyone keeps joking that my eyes are getting smaller and smaller. I’m giving… Have you seen that cat meme? It’s like, ‘I’m awake, but at what cost?’ (She quickly searches for it on her phone.) This is what I’m giving right now. I sit across from people and give this tired cat that says, ‘Awake, but at what cost?’ And that is me.”
The 23-year-old is the recipient of The Breakthrough Award, supported by Volvo, at the first Rolling Stone UK Awards. It’s a category stacked full of young, rapidly emerging talent, including names such as Olivia Dean, Shygirl and Wunderhorse. But it’s Maisie who is this year’s stand-out. She played Glastonbury’s Pyramid Stage the day her second album dropped, and when it quickly shot to number one in the UK Official Charts, Peters became the youngest female act to achieve this feat in nearly a decade, plus her UK tour culminated in a sold-out date at Wembley Arena. It doesn’t really get better than that, does it?
“We drove into Glastonbury and listened to the album; it had just come out, it was really cool and special,” she recalls. While her gigs often feel like a party, she had even more to celebrate this time around. Peters and her band stayed in a very apt “fairy-castle hotel” near the world-famous festival and decided to simply spend the album-release weekend living their best lives at Worthy Farm. “We played the show. It was kind of crazy because the new album came out that day. Imagine working on your job, and it’s the biggest weekend of the year? All systems go. This was the biggest week we were going to have.
As I approach the O2 Academy Bristol via a slightly dodgy backstreet later that rainy evening, there are hundreds of buzzing fans queuing, who, like me, are largely girls in their twenties. I end up feeling pretty under-dressed in my reliable straight-cut jeans and ribbed crop-top gig combo. As I enter, it’s clear that under the sea of raincoats and umbrellas, a lot of preparation has gone into these outfits. A mixture of Halloween fancy dress (mainly witch costumes, of course), alongside pleated miniskirts with Y2K-style “baby tees” (concocted by Peters, which she often dons on tour) are there to greet me. This (now very signature) look came “very naturally” to her: “I thought it would be fun if we made little baby tees with lyrics on before the album came out, to tease at the shows. People were like, ‘Oh, my God, Maisie Peters has done another baby tee.’ Then people also started making their own. I thought, ‘Well, this is cute, this is a thing!’ So, I kept doing it. People started making their own, and it became almost like a little uniform for this album. To me, that’s what style is — it should be easy, and you should just feel good.”
At one point, the crowd scream the words to ‘Mr Perfectly Fine’ by Taylor Swift as the excitement builds. I somehow feel I’ve missed the memo on this being a collective anthem among fans, but it makes a lot of sense. Swift, Peters says, is an artist she’s “extremely honoured” to be often compared to as her star only continues to rise. “I love the music that she makes. I love her records; they’re all so important to me. I’m really, really honoured to be compared to her, and to be thought of in the same frame of mind, in anyone’s mind, as her. She’s a big inspiration of mine,” she says.
From seamless guitar changes to refreshingly honest interactions with fans (“There’s nothing scarier than my romantic history… ghosts, demons, clowns. This year, I graduated from clown university”), the singer proves throughout the evening to be an absolute master of the crowd, a skill she’s no doubt developed in spades after spending time on tour with her ‘boss’, Ed Sheeran.
After signing with Sheeran’s Gingerbread Man Records back in 2021, Peters has now released both albums under his label. The pair have a strong friendship, and she recounts an afternoon they spent watching Star Wars movies earlier this year during “the craziest one-day trip of my life” in New York.
“We did America, Australia, New Zealand, UK, Europe… It was crazy,” she says of the experience. “I learned so much. I see videos of myself from the first Irish shows, where we began, and it feels like a different lifetime, a different version of myself. I just felt like a different person before this year. I’m so grateful that he took me around the world and believed in me.”
To nobody’s surprise, she marks her territory as the “number one Ed Sheeran fan in the world”. It would be hard to argue with that claim at this point. “He’s so generous and kind, and he’s really talented, and he’s smart,” she continues. “It’s a privilege to get to tour with somebody like that, someone that’s also just so good as a human being. It’s the easiest and the best thing because he’s so lovely.”
Sheeran would later appear at her Wembley show to perform his own breakthrough hit ‘Lego House’ together in a gorgeous full-circle moment: “He let me play his Wembley, so I figured I should let him play mine,” she tells the crowd on her final night. This is a sentiment she jokes about again during her Rolling Stone UK cover shoot, teasing: “It’s great to be able to support up-and-coming artists.”
At her Rolling Stone UK cover shoot, Peters’ warm persona lights up the room. She takes turns to chat to everyone in between being snapped, and answers questions to camera with ease, often checking the prompting notes she’s made on her phone. The soundtrack of the day is purely Girls Aloud — later that day it’s confirmed the group will be having a revival. How perfectly… witchy.
Speaking of witchiness, sophomore album The Good Witch was written about a surprisingly short period in Peters’ life, and its contents again prove how well she can connect with her audience. “I really do write for the girls,” she observes. “I really made a whole album based on a relationship that lasted for one month and maybe two weeks.” The record is a painfully familiar look into the heartbreak, frustration and unpredictability of a short-lived romance, yet she provides drops of joy and growth in equal measure, meaning a sense of hope always remains at the core, never allowing the sadness to win. “I wrote this album about that time in my life. It depicts the same six months with, give or take, a few different songs.”
But she doesn’t always write that way: “As I get older, I’ve tended to draw on my own life more frequently, but that’s not necessarily always chronologically accurate. I’ll write about something that happened four years ago like it was yesterday — it doesn’t matter to me. I am The Good Witch; I make what I want out of the things that are happening.” Peters has also remained adept at turning fleeting moments into the basis of a whole track. In 2022 fan-favourite release ‘Cate’s Brother’, she recalls meeting her housemate’s brother for the first time and quickly developing a huge crush. This led to intense lyrics, “And my heart went ‘Love him, he’s the one, and we shall wed,’” she sings.
The album and its subsequent deluxe version —released in October — touch on literary inspirations, including influences from the world of Greek mythology and fantasy, alongside a dose of religious imagery too. ‘The History of Man’ is a prime example, dotted with Biblical references: “So Samson blamed Delilah…”. Elsewhere, ‘In Guy on A Horse’, one of the deluxe tracks, Peters compares herself to Joan of Arc, depicting an elevated version of herself, as she criticises an ex-partner’s habit of looking down from his high horse.
“It wasn’t conscious. I wasn’t mood-boarding all my different literary inspirations or anything like that,” she explains, but there is an element to The Good Witch that acts as a conceptual album of sorts. “I got to write in that universe, which I loved. ‘The History of Man’ has some Greek mythology in it, and then ‘Wendy’ is essentially about Peter Pan. I was dancing around these universes.”
Gender is another theme very present throughout much of the record, with Peters viewing her journey between debut You Signed Up for This to The Good Witch as “giving girl-to-woman”, having done a lot of growing in the past two years. “There are a lot of threads and themes that look at gender and in what it is to identify as a woman and what it is to know men, which sounds a bit dramatic,” she says. “It’s funny because if you were to count the most used words in The Good Witch, they are the words ‘obsessed’ and the word ‘man’. I don’t know what that reflects about me, but it’s something to think about…”
The extended album closes with gorgeously nostalgic ‘The Last One’, which very nearly made it into You Signed Up for This. “‘The Last One’, I wrote for my first album, but right at the end, so it didn’t make it. It feels like such a closing track. But ‘Tough Act’ became the closing track on my first album, so that was done [and] dusted.” She believes some songs can have extremely specific destinies in that they must be placed at certain points on a record “or it’s not going to happen”. She continues, “Sometimes I write a song, which I know is either the title track of the album, and it opens the album, or it will just never come out — ‘The Last One’ was one of those songs. But I love that song, and it feels really special it now gets to close The Good Witch.”
Her favourite lyric of the entire album comes from the song ‘Yoko’, dealing with misunderstandings that followed after Peters left a relationship she really hoped would work out, relating this to the common misconception surrounding Yoko Ono’s part in the break-up of The Beatles. “‘Yoko’ is one of my favourites, and I always wanted that to be on the album, but she didn’t quite make it. There’s a lyric in that song that’s my favourite lyric from this whole album: ‘You have a phone, you should have called’.”
While the two LPs in her discography may seem quite different on the surface, she feels there are many similarities. “I always say they are sister records to me,” she explains. “Even the Deluxe really emphasises that because there are songs on there that I wrote for the first album. The Deluxe is a good way to tie up any loose ends, I guess, and to make sure everything I wanted to say from those years, hopefully, is out. I mean, there’s always more things I want to say!”
Elsewhere, Peters’ online persona is generally an incredibly positive one, having created a space in which her fans clearly feel extremely comfortable, seen and safe. However, this hasn’t made her immune to her fair share of negativity on the internet too, something she’s experienced more this year than ever before. Yet she still manages to deliver a witty response to the not-so-nice comments she’s been on the other end of. “You can say with a wry smile, ‘At least I’m relevant,’” she smiles. “It’s really difficult, and you get bitten twice as hard when you’re someone that is online,” she says. “You’re engaging, and giving yourself to people, and then, suddenly, the mood changes, and people don’t like you, or don’t like what you’ve given them. You’re like, ‘But I was just trying to create, or I was just trying to show you this new song!’ It feels very personal, even though you try to turn it off.”
Through any negativity, Peters remains incredibly self-aware, and doesn’t seem to hold any resentment towards those directing the vitriol her way. “These people don’t know you. It’s normally a teenager tweeting, and good for them! I was a teenager tweeting once too. We’ve all done it. As long as I shall live, there will be teenagers tweeting, as they should.” Still, she admits it’s hard to not feel that she’s being “personally attacked”, and the comments have taken their toll at times. “People forget I’m still a person that’s seeing this. I’ve experienced that this year. I’ve found it really difficult. When you’re touring and away from home, and you’re really tired and running on empty, and then you just see X, Y and Z on TikTok or on Twitter about yourself, it really takes it out of you.”
Being present on the internet has been central to Peters’ career — she started out by posting videos of herself singing on YouTube when she was 15. But this year, she reached new peaks of online fame when her ‘There It Goes’ video went viral on TikTok in early autumn, painting a very relatable picture of the aftermath of an intense end-of-summer breakup in a vast city like London. Fans latched onto a couple of specific lines, “I’m doing better / I made it to September / I can finally breathe”, and “The comedown of closure / The girls and I do yoga / I wake up and it’s October / The loss is yours”. Fans started producing their own visuals to the track in cute clips which soon flooded the app.
“Everybody wants something to take off on TikTok or to have a moment, but it was so fun that this moment was so organic,” she reflects. “What started happening was actually just this wonderful, sweet, pure, wholesome thing where people were using the sound, ‘I’m doing better / I made it to September,’ to round up little edits of their life and all the great things in it.” Peters admits she “couldn’t believe it” when she realised the song was going viral. “To see all these videos showcasing love and friendship, healing and growing and people just being themselves, I was like, ‘This is so cool.’ I’m so pleased and happy that was the moment, that’s what took off, because it’s so beautiful and lovely.”
In what Peters calls a “cliche” answer, it’s her parents she immediately shouts out when asked who she wants to dedicate The Breakthrough Award, supported by Volvo, to, as they have been by her side on her incredible journey since she was a teen. “They drove me to pubs to play when I was 15,” recalls Peters. “My dad would come with me when I was busking so that if anything shady happened, he could be there, but he would also pretend not to be my dad, he’d just loiter around. They’ve always just been really supportive, so yeah, I would like to dedicate [this award] to them.”
On what’s next after this whirlwind year, Peters has a clear objective: “I’m going to bed!” she declares, itching to spend some time at home. “I haven’t spent more than two days at home since July. I’m going to be in London, just walking around, so say hi if you see me. God damn, I hope I’m in my rest and relaxation era.” She plans to spend the coming weeks “cooking meals and going to exercise classes” and generally doing very little. “Is it the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory grandparents who are in bed all day? That’s what I’m going to channel. I want to collect my thoughts a little bit. Then in the New Year, that’s when I’ll start making some more music. I have some thoughts and ideas [for the third album], but we’ll have to see what happens. Life takes you in surprising places sometimes.”
Taken from Issue 14 of Rolling Stone UK, our Awards Issue. You can buy it here.
Words: Charlotte Manning
Photography: Lewis Vorn
Fashion & Creative Director: Joseph Kocharian
Styling: Luci Ellis
Hair and makeup: Elizabeth Rita
Styling assistant: Chessie Lulli
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
The State of Israel can butcher thousands of innocents but New Zealand would not lift a finger to provide support to its victims. IDF soldiers can gun down old men and women waving white flags, shell lines of refugees queuing for aid, and deprive hospitals of power and medicine – and all New Zealand does is a collective shrug. When, however, Yemen’s Houthis disrupt the passage of frozen meat, pizza bases and iPhones through the Red Sea, suddenly New Zealand goes on the warpath. We have declared war on Ansar Allah (the Houthis) and sent a strike force of six men and a dinghy to join Operation Prosperity Guardian, led by the USA.
I think New Zealand’s moral compass is pointing somewhere just south of Hell, while the Houthis, along with South Africa, in their own distinct ways, have become champions for human decency as they confront the genocidal state of Israel and its powerful enablers.
“New Zealand and other nations are suffering from the problems with the Red Sea and the inability to take cargo ships through there – and that is adding a lot of cost… that is affecting every New Zealander,” says Minister of Defence Judith Collins.
Collins had the chutzpah, the incredible cheek, to say she was concerned the Houthi’s actions were impacting people who depended on food imports. Sorry, Judith, that is outrageous hypocrisy at a time when the UN says 500,000 Gazans have already entered the famine stage of food deprivation.
The massive empathy gap between our government and the Houthis when it comes to the suffering of Gaza is simple. The Houthi have direct experience of a genocidal siege that, along with military strikes and disease, killed 400,000 people (please absorb that number) – the greatest humanitarian crisis on the planet from 2015 until recently. Saudi Arabia, supported by US and British intelligence, weapons and bombs, sought to control Yemen and inflict collective punishment on its people. During those years, according to the UN, hundreds of thousands suffered from cholera – a fate that awaits Gazans if Judith Collins and her ilk get their way.
The Yemeni – who rallied in the streets in their millions this month to defy the UK and USA – have empathy born of suffering. They have humanity; our government does not. Mohammed Al-Bukhaiti, a spokesperson for Ansar Allah (the Houthis), says their goal is simple: stop the genocide and get fuel, food and medicine into Gaza.
“We cannot allow these crimes to be repeated,” Al-Bukhaiti told Grayzone's Max Blumenthal this week. He went on to say: “Our war is a war of morality.” Interesting turn of phrase. People ignorant of history and geopolitics, like our own defence minister, can write the Houthis off as “pirates”. I don’t. Nor do people like the great American Jewish scholar Norman Finkelstein who said this week:
“As a Jew I would have respected any government, any people in the world during the Nazi Holocaust who had done what the Houthis are doing.”
Finkelstein went on to say that what the Houthis have signalled is that there will be no business as usual in the shipping lanes while the US and Israel commit genocide in Gaza. That is a moral stance if I ever heard one. He reminded us that “No Business As Usual” was one of the slogans of the Vietnam War peace movement.
“No Justice, No Peace” was another slogan that echoed a similar sentiment - it first appeared in the USA in the 1980s in response to pervasive violence and discrimination against African Americans. Here in Aotearoa, “Ka whawhai tonu matou, ake, ake, ake” (We will fight on, for ever and ever and ever) originally a riposte to a call to surrender to the British and settler colonial forces at the battle of Ōrākau, was adopted by activists in recent decades as a challenge to the State to address injustice or face Maori resistance.
At Ōrākau, our white forces slaughtered Maori women and men as they attempted to flee – bayoneting the already-wounded as they lay defenceless, which I think helps partially explain the powerful speeches of solidarity I heard in Civic Square Wellington this week delivered by Maori in solidarity with Palestine. Like the Yemeni, like the Vietnamese, like the Palestinians, like the Aborigines, like African and Native Americans and others like we of Irish descent, Maori know all too well what siege, slaughter and famine mean.
We were also very disruptive during our confrontation with the New Zealand state when we opposed sporting contacts with apartheid South Africa. In 1981 we had a National Government fighting for the rights of both white supremacists and Kiwis who loved rugby but lacked human empathy when it came to black people. Now in 2024 we again have a National Government, again indifferent to the suffering of people of darker skin, a coalition government fighting for Jewish Supremacists (as the Zionists state is described by the Israeli human rights group B'Tselem).
Today the moral compass points to South Africa and to Yemen. One route is navigated by the legal scholars of South Africa; the other, more immediate and muscular, by the Houthi who know all about the violence the powerful can inflict on them but chose to stand with the oppressed, not the oppressors.
I’ll give the last word to Ansar Allah’s Mohammed Al-Bukhaiti, because it’s so rare to hear these people unmediated by some US general or neo-conservative commentator:
“We know the story of David whose slingshot defeated Goliath. We don’t fear the weapons of the enemy. We believe a victory for Yemen will be a victory for morality and the highest values. We believe that a victory on the awareness front is more important than a military one - because the main cause of suffering from wars around the world is due to a lack of awareness.
We know there are a lot of good people around the world – if they found out the truth, their positions would change.”
EUGENE DOYLE is a Wellington community organiser and environmental campaigner.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
jason grace does emperor palpatine lightning hands
#jason grace#dark jason grace#< maybe??? idk lol#jason grace headcanon#pjo#hoo#jason grace bday 2023#the sea does not like to be queued#persea posts
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yesterday, I took the I-64 and drove down to the beach to take a break away from work. My wife and I have a small apartment at the oceanfront and probably it's time to sit back and chill out. Smelling the fresh autumn sea would certainly bring a sense of joy to my busy world.
Along the way, I stopped by the gas station to fill up my car, and there was this cute Asian chick queuing up in front of me with a bag of Doritos and a 4 packs cider. In front of the queue was this old guy that took more time with the cashier. Took a look at my watch and wonder how long more it will take.
"Nice weather." she quipped.
Yes it is. We chatted a bit. She is probably in her mids 20, similar to my daughter. What attracted me was her beautiful eyes. Nice long wavy hair, with grey highlights. She smells good too. Every part of her is like Michelangelo snorting crystal meth sculpting God's idea of a woman.
And this young voluptuous baby deer is going to be dangerous for my peaceful married life.
My heart sorta of skipped a little. Still, I built up some courage and asked if she wants to join me at the beach to continue our conversation under Atlantic stars and the ocean. One hand I hope she does, but on another I hope she doesn't. I guess that my brains and my balls are making decisions here.
She wished she could. She has to work next day, but we exchanged our numbers. I paid for my gas and we went apart.
Hello beautiful stranger.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
WIP Wednesday✒️✨️
(even though it's technically Thursday for me now)
Got tagged by the amazing @takeyourpillsbitchh to share a little snippet of my current WIP. Thank you, my dear! 💙
Here's a little something from my Ian's memory box fic (still untitled), which I have been really motivated to work on lately ☺️
----
Mickey attempts a casual shrug, somewhat aware that he isn't fooling either of them. "Doesn't matter now, man," he replies with a wave of hand that Ian quickly seizes in his, the assertive gesture forcing Mickey to stop what he's doing and look him in the eyes.
"Yes, it does, Mick. And I would have." He brings their arms down to their sides, loosely hooking two fingers with Mickey's so that they're technically holding hands. "Not that you're wrong; I meant all my reasons for going back home, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you for one goddamn minute."
He notices the way Mickey's lips twitch at the last sentence, a timid beginning of a smile that he stifles before it can reach his eyes, and Ian recalls he's seen it before. It was born in the exact time the word "husband" first left Ian's lips in front of a sea of loved ones in Chiavari chairs, and it takes all he has in him to focus on what he's about to say next.
----
Tagging @arrowflier, @suzy-queued, @metalheadmickey, @thisdivorce, @crossmydna, @doodlevich, @ianandmickeygallavich, @celestialmickey, @depressedstressedlemonzest, @bravemikhailo, @whatthebodygraspsnot, @flamingbluepanda, @heyheyusedtobemynickname, @you-are-so-much-better-than-that, @sisitrip, @imikhailotakeyouian, @squirrelfund, @mikhailoisbaby, @lizelandre, @twinklyylights, @teatimeallovertown, @chicanomick, @tsuga-of-mars, @grumble-fish, @sweetbee78, @secret-gallavich, @sunoficarus, @lethargicmick, @drvnkinlove and anyone who sees this and would like to share theirs! Love and happy writing to all 💙✨️
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi I hope this isn't like. awkward for the other vocaloid Oliver kin on here but uhhh can I get a moodboard for me please! You said you like details, which I'll try to do:
(Visual) themes of (don't worry if you can't fit them all in this is just a list of stuff you can do): The sea (specifically not beaches just the sea itself), eyes, liminality, soft things, duck plushies, ribbons/lace, bandages, and victorian-y stuff.
Text themes (I think you do text right-): being generally disoriented, tiredness, dizziness, basically not feeling quite aware of your surroundings ig?? (does this make sense it's currently 10pm)
Colours: can either be dark and muted or soft and pastel pick one and run with it, Dark and light blues (kind of like 🌃 or 🏙️ colours), silver, gold accents are neat
I apologise if this is WAY too much vjtsfsfdgfvbh just do what you like it's a grab bag basically -🐤🌌
QUEUED !
hi 🐤🌌 ! i went with dark blue with lace, ocean, and eyes with gold victorian accents ! i also added words of not being aware so i tagged it with "cw depersonalization" !
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Prompt idea: earlyish Jess/Leto, “whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”, where she’s unconsciously/instinctively doing the hand signal for “help” or similar.
I said I was gonna do less early-era but also I have so many thoughts about them and modified hand signals sooo here we are. PG-ish and late queued crosspost // also on ao3.
She should be calmer. She should be a lot of things, really.
Jessica is trying, skies help her she is trying and oh she regrets the naivety of a year ago when she had thought that the life ahead of her would be easy. She’d known her place in the pecking order all too well, known since she was a small child that she will never know quiet, and she is still waiting for the catch, still waiting for however this goes wrong and she cannot believe in any other outcome.
She is too young. She will always be too young for the ways fate has its way with her. She is too innocent to realize this yet. (She may always, despite everything she turns herself into, be too innocent.)
She has acclimated well enough to the immediate purpose of her placement, to physical activities that she is learning she likes. If there is anything truly dangerous in that man, she hasn’t found it in their collisions; at worst there is something haunted about him, but even that is transformed into determination. Proper compartmentalization, if that were to be the natural course of things, would be amicable enough. As it is…
Determination, she reminds herself on the early edge of an evening she knows will end with her sleeping alone. Perhaps the first person she’s ever known who experiences that the same way she does. Their similarities are going to be the death of her.
She knows only what she does not know, still out of place, still unsure how to exist in the ways she is now expected to, so much insecurity buried under her layers. To be in silence with another person is not new to her, but it’s different like this, when every so often the quiet is breached and she is asked questions with the purest intent she could ever imagine and-
A newer development, these evenings when her perspective is wanted more than her body, but just routine enough for her to develop her own. Comfortable enough to not think about the way her hands move half-hidden against her skirt, not loss of control so much as the first steps at becoming what her lover thinks she could be instead of the past version of herself thrown into the sea, and perhaps she will burn and rise a hundred times before she takes her final form, perhaps-
“Whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. What is it?”
And here she’d been hoping the next breach of silence would be a question about that trade deal she isn’t sure is a good idea. This is what she gets for thinking anything will ever go according to her expectations. Not here, ever, apparently. This planet is probably cursed. She’ll look into that sometime, when she’s bored enough and unsupervised for a good several-hour stretch, and prove she’s right. That’ll keep her out of the way for a few afternoons, maybe.
“This?” she asks, repeating the movement a little more visibly, just slightly different without fabric under her palm. “I… don’t know.”
It’s not that simple – it is never that simple – but her answer is not inaccurate. She is still learning the signals used here, and she can at least tell which are more common commands or codes but not yet beyond that. It would be improper to ask, as much as she wants to, and if she subconsciously mimics, there is no harm in-
Her partner replicates the movement with a fluidness that suggests deep familiarity. “That’s what you were trying to do?” No accusation in his voice, not yet, but-
“Yes. I didn’t-“
“And you don’t-“
She bites the inside of her lip hard enough that she bleeds, silently cursing her apparent inability to stay out of trouble. “I don’t-“
“It’s perfect you learned this one first.” His body language softens a little as he repeats the signal for her, slow enough to show how she could do it better. “It means, everything is safe.”
“I won’t-“
“I’ll ask someone to teach you the signals. You should know them. You’ve been here more than long enough.”
She’s in no mood to argue with that, as much as she wants to resist every little kindness she is shown. She should know the signals here, she thinks, the timing is right, and yet-
“You trust me that much?”
He glances away for a moment and she can imagine the silent prayer for patience well enough. “Trust has nothing to do with it. You’re a core part of the household, and if something were to happen, efficient communication is...”
“You’re not that cold,” she says almost too quickly, something almost like affection in her voice. “You are, but…”
“It might be easier for you. If you can say what you need without talking.”
There are days she loathes how easily everyone around her underestimates her, but it’s almost sweet like this, like her partner really does have no idea how many ways she could get whatever she wanted if she were so inclined. Something endearing about that, even in innocence he matches her, even-
“If you want.”
“It would make things easier,” he repeats.
“And what about this one?” she asks, attempting another hand-signal, one she’s seen her partner subconsciously make on certain nights.
“Follow me.” The delight in his voice is so obvious, and maybe, she thinks, maybe she will acclimate to this too. “I… do that, I suppose?”
She nods. “Could be easier for both of us.”
“Could be.”
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
I posted 17,577 times in 2022
That's 6,315 more posts than 2021!
20 posts created (0%)
17,557 posts reblogged (100%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@majorasnightmare
@phoenixyfriend
@captainbushel
@oatplant
I tagged 8,513 of my posts in 2022
#pokemon - 2,109 posts
#and now for something completely queued - 1,999 posts
#submas - 1,727 posts
#ingo - 1,006 posts
#emmet - 870 posts
#video - 549 posts
#pokemon au - 306 posts
#star wars - 271 posts
#orv - 205 posts
#dracula daily - 164 posts
Longest Tag: 136 characters
#maybe he just thought it was a cool pun and didnt think more of it because if you can't trust a cool pun whom can you trust on this disc
I sent 1 gift in 2022
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
I’m so glad tumblr tags are easily visible now!! I am learning so much about south sea pearls and how they are still soooo expensive just like all pearls in the past!!! Fuck yeah!! The internet is for sharing knowledge and I am ecstatic
5 notes - Posted November 21, 2022
#4
i have never made gifs in my life but i think that if i did this is how i would film analyze nope specifically in relation to flying purple people eater in a set of eight gifs
1 &2 as jupe saying i'll show you a spectacle and purple people eater "I heard him say in a voice so gruff/"I wouldn't eat you 'cause you're so tough""
3 & 4 as "Friendly little people eater/What a sight to see" and then jupe with gordy, reaching out for the fist bump
5&6 as "And he said, "Eatin' purple people and it sure is fine"/But that's not the reason that I came to land/"I wanna get a job in a rock and roll band"" and antlers watching his film footage of predators attacking prey
7&8 as the explosion eating the balloon. and "Well he went on his way, and then what do ya know/I saw him last night on a TV show/He was blowing it out, a-really knockin' em dead"
that’s what i’ve got. that’s my film analysis. i hope you feel its soul i have a lot of thoughts about the use of flying purple people eater, especially from antlers specifically
8 notes - Posted September 2, 2022
#3
So I was writing a fic just for my sibling’s birthday, but now it has a ‘plot’ and ‘the cosmic horror of a god scooping out your memories but they do not truly understand the human mind’
here is the link to the series- Ingo is thrown into the past with a phone he does not know how to use anymore, and akari shows up with a phone that does not have an internet connection but fully aware of how one works
the people of ingo and akari’s future were not prepared to start receiving tweets from the past
13 notes - Posted April 9, 2022
#2
See the full post
19 notes - Posted September 2, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Hello tumblr! New submas fic! There will be a reunion, and the previous one will also be finished, but JPG and I have been bouncing between three tracks and here’s the second
The summary is: Stuck in the past? Textures suck? Tastes bad? Horribly understimulated?
Just walk out! Hit the bricks! Leave through a portal with a kid you met a few months ago! What could go wrong?
And no one can crtiizcise the name or summary I came up with it just now with a broken tailbone
30 notes - Posted November 6, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#truly. ingo and emmet took over this year#despite a STRONG start from star wars#thanks everyone for putting up with it#long post
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alfonse Route Chapter 13 (9-13)
Last week on the Alfonse Route, Solmare tries and fails to make me feel bad for a poor, poor, Privileged Twat. Solmare also does not address why we brought Poor, Poor, Privileged Twat to confront the dangerous villain instead of the two experienced magic government fighters that were literally right there.
Basically, this
Liz tries to persuade Hugo to give them the Elixir Seed back, but Hugo says this
And of course, like all of his other spiels, no one bothers to explain what the fuck it’s supposed to mean, even though Alfonse and Shithead seem to know what it means. Hugo states that “the future is set in stone” yada yada yada and then Alfonse attacks him. Hugo dodges and shoots his own attack. Shithead puts up a barrier, and Alfonse reinforces it.
Shut the hell up Shithead.
Alfonse and Shithead come up with a plan to take back the Elixir Core and neither bothers to include Liz because they’re dicks, but Liz takes the time to marvel over how well they’re working now. The plan almost works but then Hugo throws the Elixir Seed and makes it explode.
And then Hugo throws himself into the sea.
Yep.
(Queued for: November 2)
#wizardess heart#shall we date#solmare#alfonse route#liz heart#alfonse goldstein#anti klaus goldstein#hugo peers#tw suicide#at least i assume
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
inspirologija
Inspirologija
blei1-blog
Blei
rainestormy-nights
The Cardinal Coven
jude-lizowskis
gonna start at the mall today.