latersonsonafrote started following iamnotsomalia
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…Can I help you all?
You looked fun, Mister, so I came to say hullo.
How are ya doing?
latersonsonafrote replied to your post: Gonna reply to this with something funny—
I’m just tellin’ the truth
I think that’s the word
Gonna reply to this with something funny—
wait no why would PEter know the words “womanly charms” that’s dumb
erase erase erase
latersonsonafrote replied to your post:
I don’t know what I was expecting,
(( jesus help me i’m just really cracking up over here literally i am getting strange looks from the public
WHAT WERE YOU GUYS EXPECTING I SAID IT WAS BUNNY PORN— ))
(( I drew Angelique being sassy with Peter
ahhhh two AM derp drawings yes ))
(( I FOUND THIS REALLY FUNNY FOR SOME REASON ))
latersonsonafrote replied to your post: latersonsonafrote replied to your chat: Leon: can…
OMG ARE YOU SERIOUS DFKGJSHDGKNGBV
(( of course we’re serious are you kidding me
like I told vaz about your England and everything and just ladlsdkf
YOU’RE MY CANON SEY I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT….??? ))
latersonsonafrote replied to your chat: Leon: can i just say i love angelique Leon:…
IOH MY GOD WHAT
(( we went on for like five minutes just talking about you and your amazingness and just yes all of it take our love ok. ))
Leon: can i just say i love angelique
(( ANGELIQUE PLS.
Okay another story time because I have a lot of stories to give
Angelique was literally my representation of what Seychelles was. I had been following someone for a long time who drew your Angelique and that was literally how I thought Seychelles was, which was why I didn’t understand the hate she got because I thought she was gr8.
I’M REALLY HAPPY YOU DECIDED TO FOLLOW ME??? like super happy and now you’re part of tumblrtalia and this pleases me hello
I’m glad we’re RPing and stuff ))
London had a tendency to be dreary, but this was just obnoxious.
It was as if the French gods had awoken from their slumber to shower the city with torrents of their insidious urine, drenching the hapless passerby and transforming the sprawling city into one great freezing blog of grey. This on top of the smog and the confusing streets and towering buildings and the sluggish Thames that stunk of fish and some other nameless substances she didn’t want to think on, blending with the grease and the exhaust and the stale lager washing in from behind the pub.
God, but she loved it.
England was one of her favourite nations to visit, despite it all; it might have been a bit too cold for her, and the buildings too tall and the smog too thick, but she loved it just the same. The hodge podge of cultures and the Bridge and the fish and the people she so deeply enjoyed built London into a sort of paradise, for the last Paradise herself. She’d taken the excuse of the Olympics- and she’d be participating, this time!- to visit her father, to see the stadium’s progress; but Papa was out working, today, and so she’d arranged to have little Peter visit.
Peter was a sweet boy, she thought; a bit naive, as was to be expected, but sweet nonetheless. She’d the intention to take him to lunch, maybe shopping; she did love children. She couldn’t have her own- no nation could, as far as she knew- and sometimes being in the presence of the child was like a bullet to the chest; but at least she could mother a child for a bit, if not for long.
Presently she was waiting in the same chairs of Heathrow she’d sat in a week previously when she’d flown into London herself, her legs crossed demurely. Above the noise of the moving crowds and the hustle and bustle of the departing crowds, she could barely hear herself think; but she had a clear enough view of the terminal, and sure enough, she managed to spot a blond head, like a thatch, bobbing about. With liberal apologies and ‘eskizes’, she managed to make her way to the little figure.
Peter had been excited when he got the call from Angelique. He had been nearly bursting with pride when she asked him to visit her, and Lovino had to take the phone from him and talk to the Seychellen in order to understand what he was saying—even Feliciano couldn’t decipher what the small war fort was chattering on about.
And so they arranged for Peter’s first real airplane flight. The boy didn’t much like airplanes—something that had followed him from the war—but he did adore the idea of flying, and that’s what managed to allow him to accept flying all by himself in the first place. The idea that he was indeed a big boy and that that he would be able to fly off on his very own—and the ladies talking to him about what would happen on the airplane were awful nice, Peter would have agreed to anything they said.
It had made him a little uneasy that he was going to London—because that’s where Arthur lived, after all, and he wasn’t sure what to do if he saw the elder nation—but the prospect of seeing Angelique, whom he hadn’t really talked to since February, brushed those fears away. He adored Angelique. The way she talked, the way she moved…it was just how Peter imagined a nice, wonderful lady being.
He loved Angelique enough to shyly ask to call her “mama”.
And that’s what he did. As he stumbled out of the plane, helped by the wonderful attendant, he craned his neck to find the elder woman, smiling wide as he spotted her. Raising a hand, he waved.
“M—Mama Angelique! Over here! I’m over here!”
latersonsonafrote replied to your post: (( changed my icon for this magic anon vuv ))
((this is the full picture uvu
I found it appropriate))
latersonsonafrote replied to your post: Star /o/
…why on earth would be terrified oh my lord}}
(( I HAVE NO IDEA. ))
(( he has…a LOT of feelings for Angelique. He knows that he should stay and watch her from the sidelines, but at the same time he just wants to be coddled by her and hug her and tell her that she’s beautiful every single day. He remembers when she said that he could call her mama and he was estatic, but he’s been terrified of calling her that ever since.))
Two Times that Angelique Wanted to Spank Peter, and Once When She Wanted to Hold Him Tight.
Angelique turned her head and glanced back at the small blond behind her, brow quirked. He was on the ground, holding a scrapped knee, little tear buds forming at his eyes. With a sigh, the Seychellen walked briskly over towards the other, kneeling down and examining the flesh. Finding nothing to be wrong with it, she gave him a fair swat over the head.
“Now then, child, we don’t use that language. Arthur might, but you’re better ‘en that.”