#lesbian problems

[lesbiannbat]

"I swear I don't have a type"

[miffyscakes]

PLSPLSPLSDD write something inspired by go go juice by Sabrina Carpenter with abby Anderson😭😭🩷🩷🫰

go go juice

synopsis: really nobody is safe when you're drunk, and that includes your past situationship...

warnings: situationship, drunk reader

word count: 1.7k

a/n: writing this made me so excited since i havent been able to write for tlou in years

(last time i wrote for it was 2021)

Your phone screen keeps slipping out of focus, like it’s playing a joke on you.

You blink once. Twice. Still blurry. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. You wobble around the side and somehow bump into a brick wall. “Rude," you grumble beneath your breath.

The night hums around you—cars passing, laughter spilling out the door behind you, bass thumping faintly like a second heartbeat. Everything feels a little too loud and a little too far away at the same time.

You unlock your phone. Or you think you do, it takes three tries. Your contacts swim into view, names stretching and snapping back into place like rubber bands. And somehow, of course, it lands on Abby.

You stare at her name longer than you mean to, thumb hovering just above the screen.

You shouldn’t call her.

You absolutely shouldn’t call her.

You tap it anyway.

The phone rings once. Twice.

Your stomach flips, suddenly very awake despite everything else feeling floaty.

“Hey, you’ve reached Abby—”

“No, no, no—” you blurt, too late, pressing the phone harder to your ear like you can shove the voicemail back in.

“…leave a message, thanks."

There’s a beep, and you inhale sharply, like you’ve just been caught doing something you can’t undo.

“Abby,” you start, and your voice comes out softer than expected. Not slurred—just honest in a way you’d never allow sober. You laugh a little, but it wobbles.

“Okay, um—hi. This is… wow, you know who this is. Obviously. That was—yeah, ignore that.”

You slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the cold pavement, knees pulled in, the world tilting just enough to feel like you might slide off it.

“I wasn’t gonna call you,” you admit, words tumbling out faster now, like they’ve been waiting all night. “I was actually doing really well at not calling you. Like, impressively good. You would’ve been—” you pause, frowning, “—not proud. You don’t get to be proud. But like… You know what I mean.”

A car passes. You watch the headlights smear into streaks.

“I had this thing,” you continue, gesturing vaguely even though she can’t see you. “Like a plan. Just… go out, have fun, don’t think about you. Which—by the way? Terrible plan. You’re very think-about-able.”

You groan, dropping your head back against the wall.

“God, I sound so drunk.” You giggle, "I am so drunk, but also,” you add, softer now, “I think this is the only way I could say this without chickening out.” Your fingers tighten slightly around the phone.

“I miss you,” you say. It hangs there, simple and heavy. “And I hate that I miss you,” you rush on, like you can cover it up. “Like, it’s actually inconvenient. I had a whole personality without you for a minute there, and now it’s just—boom. Gone. Ruined. Because you had to go and be.. you."

Your eyes sting, but you blink it away, smiling a little despite yourself.

“I keep thinking I’m over it,” you admit. “And then something stupid happens—like a song, or someone says your name, or I see that dumb jacket you left—and it’s like I’m right back there. With you. Every time.” Your voice dips quieter. “And I don’t even know if you ever think about me like that.”

Silence hums on the other end, of course it does. You swallow.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing a lighter tone that doesn’t quite stick, “this is me being very cool and casual and definitely not emotional.”

A small, breathy laugh.

“Don’t call me back,” you add quickly. “Actually—no. Do. Or don’t. I don’t—” you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Wow, I’m bad at this …I just wanted you to know,” you finish quietly.

Your thumb hovers over the screen again. You hesitate, but then you hang up. For a second, you just sit there, the night pressing in, your heartbeat loud in your ears, and then your phone buzzes.

You look down and see Abby's name in your blurry vision. With your current state of pure euphoria from the alcohol in your system, you stupidly pick up the phone.

"Hey," Abby's sweet voice can be heard on the other side of the phone. ".. You okay?"

"Fuck you," you grumble, the alcohol from your breath filling the air in front of you.

".. Where are you?" She asks, and you can't tell if her worry is out of pity or genuine worry for you. "Are you alone?" You don't answer. Instead, you let the sound of people and cars passing by speak for you, and hope that it's enough for Abby to understand your current circumstances. "Just stay there."

You comply.

You aren't sure why.

A part of you screams at you to leave, while the other begs for you to stay.

It doesn't take long for Abby to show up, and it doesn't take long for you to recognize her car. "Get in," she says.

"No," you grumble.

"Get in," she says more sternly, and you huff beneath your breath from frustration as you abide. "What're you doing out in Seattle all alone at night?" You blink at her, your eyes finally focusing as her blue eyes come into sight.

"Do you still love me?" You sniffle as the alcohol begins to affect your cognitive functioning. "Because—Because I still love you and—"

"We should talk about this when you're not so drunk," Abby sighs. "You can stay at my place," she says, beginning to drive. As her car moves through the streets of Seattle, the colours of the street blur together and the sounds of the radio muffle in your ears.

"Shut up," you grumble to seemingly nobody.

Abby glances over, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly,” you mumble, sinking further into the seat, arms crossed like that somehow holds you together. “You’re thinking things. Loudly.”

She huffs out something that might be a laugh, might be a sigh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, turning your head toward the window. The city smears past in neon streaks—pink, blue, gold—like someone dragged a highlighter across the night. “You loved that.”

The car goes quiet after that. Not empty quiet—thick quiet. The kind that presses against your ribs.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I’m driving," Abby grips the wheel.

“That’s not an answer," you grumble.

Abby’s grip tightens on the wheel. You see it, even through the blur, “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re deflecting,” you shoot back, a little sharper now. The alcohol makes you brave in all the worst ways. “It’s like your favourite hobby, Abs.”

She exhales slowly, like she’s counting to ten. “We’re not doing this right now.”

“Right, because ‘right now’ is never the right time with you,” you mutter. “There’s always a better time. A calmer time. A less messy time.” You laugh under your breath. “Newsflash, Abs—I am messy.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

That stings more than it should. You turn to face her fully now, legs tucked under you, heart doing something uneven and annoying. “Then why did you leave?”

There it is. The question. It drops between you like it’s been waiting for this exact moment—half past midnight, half a bottle deep, no escape routes left.

Abby doesn’t answer right away. The turn signal clicks. Once. Twice. Three times. Too loud.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you,” she finally says.

Your breath catches, sharp and immediate. “That’s—” you laugh, but it cracks. “That’s worse, you know that, right?”

“I left because loving you felt like trying to hold onto something that kept slipping through my hands,” she continues, voice tighter now. “Every time I thought we were okay, something would just shift.”

“That’s not fair,” you snap, even though part of you knows exactly what she means.

“I know it’s not,” she says. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, blinking hard. “So what, I’m just too much?”

“I didn’t say that," Abby sighs.

“You didn’t have to.” The car slows to a stop outside her place, but neither of you moves. The engine hums softly, filling the space where your heartbeat used to be. You swallow, suddenly very aware of everything—your hands, your voice, the way your chest aches like it’s been bruised from the inside out.

“I tried to be less,” you admit, quieter now. “After you left. I thought maybe if I just… toned it down or whatever, it would stop hurting so much.”

Abby looks at you then. Really looks at you. And it almost undoes you completely.

“I don’t want you to be less,” she says.

“Then what do you want?” you ask, the words coming out small despite everything.

She hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

“I don’t know,” she says.

And there it is—that familiar, awful drop in your stomach. Like missing a step in the dark.

You nod slowly, even though it feels like something inside you is folding in on itself. “Cool,” you murmur, reaching for the door handle. “That’s… super clear. Love that for me.”

“Hey—” she starts.

But you’re already pushing the door open, cool night air rushing in like a reset button that doesn’t quite work. You step out, a little unsteady, but determined in that reckless, go-go-juice kind of way, half heartbreak, half bad decisions.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, leaning down to look at her. Your smile is crooked, fragile. “And, uh.. for not letting me become a true crime podcast episode.”

“Don’t do that,” Abby says, something pleading slipping into her voice.

“Do what?”

“Make a joke out of everything.”

You pause. Just for a second.

Then, you speak, “It’s either that or cry, and I’ve already done enough of that tonight.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

“Come inside,” she says softly. You look at her. Really look this time. At the familiarity. The history. The almost. Your grip tightens on the door.

“Yeah,” you say finally, voice quieter now, but steadier. “Okay.”

And when you follow Abby into her house and let the door shut, it feels a little like pressing play on something you never actually finished, even if you already know how messy the next verse is going to be.

@freakyjorker @poeticrenaissance @girlsngearboxes @meamouraa @riotstemple29 @beewives @divine-canine-tears @joyispunk @ellabslover @minasdiaryxx @strawbbypie @hadesboneyard @whimsicalsanctuaryinsight @lonerslug @stacysmom102 @gigibeex @blessupblessup @qqueenpprincee @whotfisthatsblog @oatmatchalatte @callmeazu @cherry-kissesxox @adorbsbat @imminentparagonvampire

[klauroras]

we need to normalize lesbians / wlw NOT being bffs with your ex. you rejected ME choosing ur bf who cheated on you constantly over me 😭 and then u go off and get married for 3 years now and IM STILL ON YOUR MIND???? girl get outta my dms

[amazinglyadequate]

PLEAK stop asking Santa for a bratty femme gf for Christmas! I'm scared to leave my house 😭😭 I can hear him and his reindeer outside every night LURKING! The only reason he hasn't gotten me yet is because I don't have a chimney. But I'm BEGGING stop adding a bratty femme gf to your Christmas list I miss my family, I miss my friends. STOP THE MADNESS😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[flamingtwiggy]

All I could think at this post was:

“Alicent, that’s not what we meant by stick your sword in Rhaenyra!”

[lelianasbitch]

mine pussy doth quake for women

[sappho-offical]

In a surprising turn of events, I have been shipped with @official--eve to which she informed me she's in an open relationship

In an unsurprising move, however, I am unable to determine whether or not that was her flirting with me 👍

[skribz-skribblez]

Lesbians, I'm not crazy, am I???

The tooth gap is a draw, right????

Like, why is it so cute??? Why is it so endearing, but also kinda hot for some reason???

Tell me I'm crazy! You have to see it, it's a thing, right?? This is a thing!!