#yellow is his pride flag

[lutraslutra]

I’m here to fill in the holes.

The colours are too on point to just be an “I like yellow” situation , there is a palette he carries around in his pocket because Crowley wasn’t always available to be a walking colour reference

[noliaert]

some fanart of THE vampire that owns the night🫰

[everyone-is-queer]

Genderfluid flag color picked from Meta Knight (Ultimate)

[gaycodependency]

every time i see a wowp tik tok, it sends me barreling back into it with a slew of thoughts that for some reason tends to be the opposite of the general reception of the show. like the takes for this disney channel show is some of the wildest i’ve ever seen

[jaybirdbluelily]

I had no idea how to draw will’s haircut with the sweatband, so I left it out.

Anyway’s, it’s done!!!

not to make everything about byler or will but um. twiddles my thumbs.... kicks a peddle..... clasps my hands behind my back.... if anyone wanted to draw will at pride.... perhaps even take some inspo from noah and all of his rainbow gear and his straight outta the closet shirt..... i mean i'm just saying i think tht would be very cool idk.... 🥺🤲

[seri-tonin]

Finally getting caught up on kny. Goddamn I forgot how much I love this show (especially genya <33)

[boyfhee]

박성훈 、SPOILED ROTTEN

sunghoon is drunk and is trying to break into your room through the balcony.

ꔫ pairings : rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader ꔫ warnings : kissing, drinking ꔫ notes : lost my mind while writing this

when your eyes open to the faint knocking against the glass doors arching from the ceiling all the way down the floor of your bedroom, you thought you were about to get murdered. a soft groan spins in the air and you get off your bed, brows furrowed as you walk towards the balcony, hesitatingly sliding the curtains away— you couldn’t be further away from the truth.

“sunghoon?” it’s two thirty at night, you don’t know how he climbed up your balcony. he blows softly against the glass, tracing out a small heart once it fogs up while looking at you. there’s a bottle of sauvignon blanc in his hand— he’s drunk tonight, and you’re busy fighting a smile between confusion and surprise. 

you slide open the door and pull him inside just as quickly as you close it back, draping the curtains again as you put your hand over his mouth, holding him against the wall, when he tries to chant your name into oblivion. “what are you doing here?”

“missed you,” and he takes your hand off his mouth, kissing your palms, and then your wrist, his gaze makes its way to you before he pulls you closer and puts your hand around his neck, nuzzling into your neck. “kiss me?”

he looks up, and you notice how his cheeks are a little flushed, heart doing flips at the way the yellow and dim lights in your room illuminate his features. you’ve been dating him for a little over seven months, but you can never get used to how intoxicatingly attractive he looks. 

“you’re drunk,” you say with a sigh, palms against his chest as his lips curl into a faint frown. “and you shouldn’t even be here,”

“nothing wrong with wanting to see my girl,” his warm breath caresses your skin as he chuckles against your neck, soft and sloppy kisses trailing all the way down to your collarbones. you sigh close to his ears— and he looks up again, with a smirk this time round. “or are you worried about your parents catching us together?”

it’s annoying how impossibly smug he is all the time, despite the constant sword of either of your parents knowing about your relationship constantly looming above your heads. it was inevitable, he told you, you’re irresistible. there was a smug grin on his face when he told you that, a prideful look on his face since he was dating the one girl flagged forbidden by his parents, and you furrowed your brows, wanting to know more reasons as to why he fell for you. irresistible? you asked him, and he planted a soft kiss on your jaw. inexplicably so, he replied.

his lips are soft, just enough to drag you out of your trail of thoughts. you can feel him grinning when you kiss him back, and just when you try to pull away, his tongue darts past your lips, hands ghosting up your back and resting on your hips. it’s like this is where the line blurs, you don’t know if you’re drunk or sober, if it’s the faint taste of wine on your tongue making you want more, or if it’s him doing so. 

“hoon—” and you finally pull away with a whine, breathing a little heavy. “you seriously need to go,”

he groans, rolling his eyes, although the smirk never leaves his lips. “oh, c’mon, baby,” he takes your hand, pressing his lips against your knuckles, not letting his gaze away from you even for a second. and his lips follow down to your wrist, shoulders, and then back on your neck. “it’s about time they know,”

and it’s a little dangerous, a bit risky, but sunghoon continues to plant tender yet messy kisses down your neck, slowly backing you towards your bed. it was irresistible, inexplicably so. sunghoon is spoiled rotten, it can blamed upon his background, he simply gets what he wants. 

[cy-cyborg]

Forgetting your character is disabled isn't a "good representation" flex: Writing Disability Quick Tips

[ID: An image with “Writing Disability quick tips: Forgetting your character is disabled isn't a good representation flex” written in chalk the colour of the disability pride flag, from left to right, red, yellow, white, blue and green. Beside the text is a poorly drawn man in red chalk looking down confused at his leg, one is drawn normally, the other is drawn to resemble a basic prosthetic. He has question marks above his head. /End ID]

For a while, I was involved in the booktok and Tik Tok writing communities, specifically parts of the community focused on more diverse books and authors. During this time, I noticed a reoccurring pattern when people were highlighting stories featuring disabled characters, or even promoting their own books, and that was how often people would say "I kind of forget they have [insert disability here] because they're such a badass."

The intention behind this statement is (usually) good, with people trying to show that their disabled characters are self-sufficient and don't fall into the tired old sad/helpless disabled person trope, however, you can - and very much should - do that without erasing your character's disability. If you find yourself forgetting your character is disabled, or your beta and pre-release readers are commenting about forgetting it, then there's a good chance that's exactly what you've done - and as a disabled person myself, if I see that statement being used in your marketing in particular, it's a giant red flag and a sure fire way to make sure I give the book in question a skip.

Remember, disabilities (especially major ones) are a part of your character's identity, and they're important regardless of the character's personal relationship with it. Even if your character doesn't specifically identify with the label of disabled or doesn't really care that much, it's should still be impacting their daily life, even in small ways. If you're finding yourself forgetting about a major part of your character's identity, it might be a good idea to check and make sure their disability is having an impact on the character.

I see this comment most often with amputee characters, and to me, it's a pretty consistently good indication that the author has treated their character's prosthetic as a cure rather than the mobility aid it is. It's far from unique to amputees, mind you (I talked about this a lot when I was discussing the character of Toph from Avatar), but it's when I tend to see it the most. Remember that mobility aids and other forms of assistive technology and assistive magic (if it's a fantasy story) are just that: they're aids, they assist, they shouldn't be cures.

Of course, this wasn't unique to Booktok, I've seen it on nearly every other social media site with a writing and book-focused community at some point, but Tik Tok was just where I spent the most time and it seems to be where I see the most people specifically gloating about it.

[arieslost]

loudest in the paddock | cl16

summary: you’re charlie’s biggest fan.

word count: 1,013

warnings: suggestive comments at the end, possible bad writing (apologies in advance if this ends up being true)

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

being charles leclerc’s girlfriend is a badge of honor that you wear with pride, and you love to make it known to everyone, whether there’s a camera on you or not.

the fans have a field day with all of your reactions that get captured on camera during race weekends, to the point where charles has a folder on his phone that is home to a number of memes that they’ve made of you. you just get easily excited, and clips of you yelling about something, whether good or bad, have gone viral on many separate occasions.

things are a little different this race. since the moment max’s brakes caught fire and then exploded as he was coming into the pit lane, you’ve been laser focused on the fact that your boyfriend’s teammate is in the lead, with your boyfriend himself only a couple seconds behind in p2. the only time your eyes weren’t glued to the tv was when you noticed someone standing in front of you to block the camera’s view of your celebratory dance when it was official that max had DNFed.

you’re practically biting your nails off as the laps go by, praying harder than you ever have before that this race ends well for ferrari. you hadn’t been able to attend the last race, so the possibility of witnessing charles on the podium in the flesh had you shaking in your boots. especially after how rough last season was.

and then george crashes on the last lap.

“what?!” you exclaim, flying out of your chair and covering your mouth with both hands.

the tv switches to a different camera that shows his car on its side in the middle of the track, and you can feel your heart in your throat as you wait for what looks like an obvious red flag. you can hear someone say your name, and out of the corner of your eye you can see your own face on another tv. usually you smile, wave, or make a funny face at the camera when you catch it filming you, but right now you’re too worried about the fact that only a yellow flag has been called along with a virtual safety car. your hands go from your mouth to your head as it’s confirmed that the race will finish under the virtual safety car, meaning a guaranteed ferrari 1-2 and charles on the podium.

you waste no time in throwing your headset down and cheering, getting wrapped up in hugs by the team as they pass you by to head to the side of the track and cheer carlos and charles across the finish line. while they do so, you rush out of the garage to find your way to the podium in order to get the best spot to see both ferrari drivers up there and hear the dulcet tones of a different anthem than that of the dutch one.

the wait goes by quicker than you thought, and they’re announcing lando’s name as he walks onto the podium to claim his third place finish. then the graphics behind the podium change to charles’, and the second his name is called you do what you’ve been waiting to do since the moment max retired from the race.

years of attending concerts and dance competitions had thoroughly prepared you for this moment. you cup your hands around your mouth, and the second you spot charles, you shout as loud as you possibly can.

“CHARLIEEEE!”

your scream renders everyone else silent for a few shocked moments, and you giggle when charles nearly trips over his own feet as he cranes his neck to try and find you. you shout his name again, sending the ferrari team into a chorus of similar cheers, and when charles finally spots you, his smile grows impossibly brighter and he blows you a kiss from the second place position on the podium.

he looks nothing short of ethereal— his hair fluffy and messy from being encased in his helmet, the rings adorning his fingers, the way he holds his chin up with barely contained pride as the team sings the italian national anthem. you make a mental note to tell him he’s been looking a lot like tony stark lately, and you’re loving it. even more so when he gets drenched in champagne, the confetti sticking to his soaked skin.

he has no struggle in finding you after the ceremony— as soon as you spot him, you let out a wolf whistle that has him blushing.

“there’s my girl,” he laughs as you launch yourself into his arms, kissing the top of your head. “made sure i could hear you all the way from the podium, huh?”

“of course, what did you expect?” you ask, smiling widely as you look at the trophy that got sandwiched between you both. “i’m so proud of you, charles. the whole world needs to know about it.”

“here,” he holds the trophy out to you. “pour toi, ma belle.”

“you’re shouldn’t have,” you tease, taking it into your hands and admiring it as best you can while trying to ignore your reflection in its surface. “this is amazing. you’re amazing. where’s carlos?”

“i thought you were my girlfriend,” he snatches the trophy back. “no more trophy for you.”

“but he won,” you continue, rolling your eyes when he pouts. “hey, i only gave him gracious applause. i seem to recall screaming your name before.”

“and it’s the only name you ever will.” he says with a wink, and you elbow him in the ribs.

“you are so…” you trail off, at a loss for words courtesy of his audacity.

“correct?” he supplies, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“i was thinking ‘unbelievable.’”

“i’m taking that as a compliment.” he says, before leaning in and whispering in your ear. “now let’s go back to the hotel and see how loud you can be for me there, hmm?”

you can only hope that the hotel walls are soundproof.

note: for some reason writing for charles is like fucking impossible for me so if this flops i have nothing and no one to blame but myself 💪🏼💪🏼

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy

[wagconts]

Senna's Legacy | Charles Leclerc

summary :: where you're Senna's daughter and carry on your father's legacy through your institute

word count :: 2.320 words.

The atmosphere in the paddock during the Brazilian GP was unmistakable. Maybe it was the tropical breeze, the green and yellow flags swaying in the wind, or the unmatched passion of Brazilian fans that always made history. For you, though, this weekend had an even deeper meaning.

As Ayrton Senna’s daughter, your name carried a weight you bore with both pride and responsibility. For years, you had been at the helm of the Ayrton Senna Racing Dreams Institute, a project dedicated to supporting children with dreams of becoming Formula 1 drivers by providing education, infrastructure, and opportunities in such a selective sport.

The Brazilian GP was always a golden opportunity to promote the institute’s work. This time, however, Formula 1 had organized a special visit to the project for some of the drivers. They would pay tribute to your father and see firsthand the impact the institute had on these kids’ lives.

It was Thursday morning, the perfect day for the visit since it aligned with the institute’s busy class schedule and fit the drivers’ agendas before the race weekend. You stood in front of the building, waiting anxiously for your guests. A large panel featuring Ayrton’s face and the phrase Dreams Start Here welcomed visitors. As the black cars began to arrive, you adjusted your blazer and took a deep breath.

The first to step out were Verstappen, Norris, and Hamilton, all enthusiastic and friendly. Leclerc followed shortly after. Dressed in his Ferrari gear and wearing sunglasses that accentuated his sharp features, he smiled as he saw you.

─ You must be the mastermind behind all of this ─ said Lewis, shaking your hand firmly but kindly. ─ It’s an honor to be here.

─ Thank you all for coming ─ you replied with a warm smile. ─ I’m sure the kids are even more excited than I am to meet you.

Charles chuckled, removing his sunglasses and hooking them onto his shirt.

─ Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.

As you guided them through the institute, you explained every detail, from the racing simulators to the classrooms where kids learned English, math, and engineering concepts. The drivers listened attentively, but Charles seemed particularly interested.

─ How many kids does the program support each year? ─ he asked, watching a group using the simulators.

─ Around 200 directly ─ you answered. ─ But with our partnerships, we reach thousands in underserved communities.

Charles nodded, clearly impressed.

─ That’s incredible. Your father would be so proud.

A lump formed in your throat. Hearing such words from someone who genuinely admired Ayrton always stirred deep emotions.

After the tour, the children had their moment with the drivers. Photos, autographs, and simulator challenges turned the day into pure joy, as if everyone had reverted to childhood. Yet, Charles seemed to stick close to you the entire time.

─ Can I ask you something personal? ─ he began as you both watched the kids play.

─ Of course ─ you said, curious.

─ What’s it like carrying Ayrton’s name? It must be amazing, but also overwhelming.

You smiled softly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts.

─ It’s a mix of both. The pride is immense, but so is the constant expectation. It feels like I always have to live up to his legacy. That’s why I pour so much of myself into this institute.

Charles nodded, his gaze locked onto yours.

─ Well, from what I’ve seen today, you’re doing just that. He would be immensely proud.

The sincerity in his eyes made you look away briefly, your cheeks flushing as a smile crept across your lips.

That afternoon, Formula 1 held a tribute to your father. A float shaped like Ayrton’s iconic helmet made its way around, and Vettel led a walk with the drivers along the circuit. Watching these heartfelt gestures left you in awe, proud of everything being done to honor him.

Later, a professional filming team arrived to record a special segment where each driver would give a speech about Ayrton. Since you had been invited to observe, you stayed close enough to hear every word.

Max Verstappen spoke of how Ayrton had inspired his generation. Lewis Hamilton, visibly moved, shared how watching Senna race had ignited his passion for the sport.

When it was Charles’s turn, your heartbeat quickened.

─ I grew up hearing stories about Ayrton Senna ─ he began, holding the microphone with confidence. ─ To me, he was more than just a driver. He was the embodiment of determination, courage, and passion. Today, I had the privilege of visiting the institute led by his daughter. What she’s doing is nothing short of continuing his legacy, but in a way that touches lives on an even greater scale.

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found yours.

─ Ayrton inspired generations to dream, and his daughter is ensuring those dreams have a chance to become reality. It’s an honor to be here and witness this.

The cameraman lowered his equipment as murmurs of praise for Charles’s speech filled the room. Your heart raced, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions his words evoked—not only for being a Senna but for the way Charles had mentioned you so personally.

On Sunday, the stands at Interlagos were packed. The Brazilian fans were electric, and the energy was contagious. Before the race, Charles found you in the paddock, where you stood with some of the institute’s kids.

─ Ready to cheer me on? ─ he asked the kids in broken Portuguese he had hastily learned from a translator.

─ Yes! ─ they shouted in unison, laughing as they hugged the driver.

He straightened and turned to you.

─ I hope I can live up to the hype today.

─ Good luck, Charles. We’ll be rooting for you.

Later, at the post-race celebration, you were chatting with other guests when you felt a light touch on your arm. You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was—the familiar scent of Charles’s cologne gave him away.

─ Can we talk? ─ he asked, his smile slightly shy.

─ Of course! ─ you replied, following him to a quieter corner.

─ I just wanted to thank you for this weekend ─ he began. ─ Visiting the institute and meeting the kids gave me a new perspective on racing.

─ I’m glad you enjoyed it ─ you said sincerely.

Charles hesitated, running a hand through his hair, clearly nervous.

─ Actually, there’s something else I wanted to say. Or, rather, ask.

─ Go ahead ─ you encouraged him.

─ Would you let me take you out to dinner? Not now, of course. But after the season ends.

His question caught you off guard, but the smile that spread across your face was answer enough.

─ I’d love that ─ you replied.

Charles’s grin widened.

─ Great. I promise it’ll be special—you won’t regret it.

─ I’ll be looking forward to it, Charles ─ you said, meeting his eyes as your heart raced.

[webby-after-dark]

AMfucker flag

[pt: AMfucker flag /end pt]

Fucker pride flag for people who identify as "AM fuckers", or folks who want to fuck Allied Mastercomputer from IHNMAIMS.

Extremely self indulgent as I'm dating an AM fictive. Keep kissing his flat fucking screen

[flag 1 id: a rectangular pride flag with 6 equal horizontal stripes and a brown screen border around the outside. there are blue shines around the edges. the colors top down are: yellow, blue, dark blue, red, reddish black and black, and in the center is an outline of a love heart with a heartbeat in the center. it is dark blue with a blue outline outline. /end id]

[flag 2 id: same as the previous without the symbol in the center /end id]

[flag 3 id: same as the previous flag without the screen frame on the outside /end id]

[flag 4 id: same as the previous flag with the same symbol in the center as the first /end id]

[banner id: a black banner with a white outline on a transparent background with black text with white outlines. large text on top reads "THIS BLOG IS NSFW" and underneath in smaller text it reads "MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED". to the left is an imagine of Magia Baiser from Gushing over Magical Girls /end id]

[veinsfullofstars]

🏳️‍🌈 Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

(ID: Kirby series fanart sketches of various Kirby characters, each with scribbled backsplashes of pride flag colors based off of my headcanons**. Clockwise from the top - Meta Knight (Bi, Demi) & Dedede (Bi), the former wrapped in his cape and perched on the latter’s arm, smiling at each other contentedly, little pink hearts over their heads. Gryll (NB) & Keke (Lesbian), holding hands and cozily sitting side-by-side on Gryll’s broomstick, along with the former’s familiars Salt, Pepper, and Sugar. Daroach (Pan, Aro) & Dark Meta Knight (Gay), the latter looming over the former and wrapping him in his tattered wings, the rat gazing up with a sharp grin and reaching up to run his claws down the side of the knight’s mask, a burning heart over their heads. Magolor (Aro, Trans) & Marx (Ace), the latter running in to wrap the former in a one-armed… one-hatted? hug, nuzzling against his cheek as the giddy wizard hugs him back, a yellow heart set against queerplatonic colors over their heads. Susie (Lesbian) & Zan Partizanne (Lesbian), the two holding hands and carrying many shopping bags, the latter looking about in curiosity as the former smiles fondly at her. In the center of them all, Kirby (Agender) leaps up with a big, joyful smile, holding up a heart filled with all the colors of the Pride flag. END ID.)

**Note that these are just my personal interpretations of these characters’ orientations/identities and may not reflect yours or even those implied in canon (they may also be subject to change given my own ever-evolving perspective). If these do not perfectly match your own takes on the characters, then that’s totally fine. I hope they bring you just as much joy and creativity as mine do for me. Part of the fun of this series it how open it is to interpretation, how so many people can see different things in the same piece of art and inspire each other thanks to those differing perspectives. Additionally, all ships shown are of consenting, non-related adult characters.

Sketch start 06/01/24, sketch finished 06/02/24.

[mikufigureoftheday]

hi!! glad to hear you're doing good, could I ask for some mikus with the aroace color palette? if there aren't any aromantic and asexual colors respectively?

Ohhh I don't think I've ever seen this flag before now~ Such a nice color scheme, it reminds me of a sunset

It seems that her figure designers are cowards and REALLY don't want to put her in a lot of warm colors, especially yellow, so a few of these are kkiinndddaaa a stretch, but I believe they're worth pointing out

and this one doubles as a holiday and pride decoration, it's a win-win;3

[saszor]

full description both in ALT text and at the end of the post!

my disability pride drawing for this year's artfight! don't mind that it's almost september Please :)

OCs belong to (roughly from left to right): @mothswitheyes, ~meloewe, @spencerwatchestoons, @sililas, @lolodedodo, @pigeonkitt, ~Calicatto, ~Saltycoookie, ~necrichor, bottom right: @levymcgarden55, @hunipyon.

[ID: digital drawing showing a scene featuring eleven characters hanging out in the same room. on the left is a low coffee table with five characters sitting around it: Lea, a Black vampire with ombre hair is speaking with cane in her hand; Yumi, a petite blonde woman listening to her from her wheelchair; Hayden and Naomi - a tall white man with burn scars and amputated arm, and a much smaller blue-haired person with an EKG on their chest; and Hideo, a darkskinned Japanese man in a wheelchair who looks at them unimpressed. Slightly behind them are two people talking, both with a dog with them - Gigi, a Japanese person with albinism and fox ears shown from behind, and Jie, a Chinese man with a BKA and small scars on his face and throat, holding a cup in hand. In the background, Thabisa, a Black chubby woman is waving to 99A, a wheelchair using gray alien who is waving back. In the very front, shown from the chest up, are Cleo and Elysian smiling at each other - the former is a Black burn survivor half-elf wearing a big scarf, and the latter is a white enby with yellow-purple hair and patchy facial hair. The background features multiple flags: the disability pride flag, the disability rights flag, and the Deaf flag. End ID.]

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[fryingpan1234567]

some CHB headcanons

every cabin has LEDs around the inside, but there’s a constant battle over what color they are

Percy has his rippling back and forth from teal to blue and it looks like light dancing through water all over his walls and floor

the Apollo cabin can usually settle for orange and yellow as a common ground

the Aphrodite kids have a different color for each time of day and sleep with pink on the lowest brightness setting

the Hermes cabin has like ten different strips and they’re all constantly shifting

Demeter cabin’s shifts with the seasons

ANYWAYS MOVING AWAY FROM THE LEDS

they have movie nights, which I will talk about in a different post

before everybody goes back to school, the Aphrodite and Hecate cabins have a massive salon at the end of the summer with new haircuts and magic hair dye and outfit recommendations and fake but enchanted sturdy nails and a whole bunch of other stuff and basically it’s a week straight of spilling hot tea between everyone in camp

if someone asks where a camper got their hair done when they get back to school they just go “oh, um… summer camp.” and their friends will snort and be like bro isn’t summer camp the opposite of a makeover?? but they get no argument, just a shrug and a half smile

when I tell you pride month over there is a fucking riot

because Mr. D is in on it, right?? because he’s the god of gender?? and Chiron is aroace and has been raising dumbass gay heroes for literal centuries?? PLUS the sheer fucking amount of queer peeps up in there?? dude yeah

cabins competing for who shows the most pride

Demeter’s roof is covered in rainbow flowers

Hecate’s is enchanted to emit actual light in whatever flag colors of whoever uses the front door, even when they’re straight (it’s just a rainbow)

Percy collects a bunch of shed scales from the hippocampi at the bottom of the lake and then puts them all over his cabin

I could make a whole post about CHB pride but

every single Apollo kid is also a theater kid fight me

Rachel Elizabeth Dare painted a skateboard for Percy’s birthday and he brings it everywhere now, it even sits in his backpack at school

Leo, Annabeth, Percy, and Piper fucking love horror movies. Frank, Hazel, and Jason fucking hate them. They watch through their fingers, if at all

Piper loves the band Surfaces with all her heart, but she also is a die hard Green Day and P!ATD fan

Jake Mason is covered in burn scars up to his neck, just like Deadpool, just not bald lol

Hephaestus and Apollo kids faintly radiate warmth (like more so than a normal person)

the Stolls sometimes stay at camp year-round because their mom is off on international missions that are too high-risk for them to help with

the seven are AVID Smash Bros players

really everyone but

not as many people go to the Athena campers for help with homework as you might think, but whenever anyone does, they’re happy to help

the sun chariot blasts music at a frequency only the Apollo kids can hear, so their life kind of has a shitty soundtrack that consists of a mix of Broadway, Queen, modern stuff, and random bits of Beethoven every now and then

the Romans swear on few occasions

the Greeks know when to swear and when to be polite

the Valhalla peeps swear unbridled and all the time

the Egyptians never swear (in English)

for the longest time, Will Solace thinks the only gift from his dad is his healing prowess— which is obviously great, but he expresses being upset over the fact that he’s not very good at archery

well, considering this is the dumbass who didn’t bring a weapon to actual fucking Tartarus, Nico drags him to the weapon shack thing immediately afterwards and made him pick something out

he's immediately drawn to the Celestial Bronze shotgun.

Nico’s just like “what in the redneck shit did you just pick up” and Will jokingly aims it at his chest and grins and says “you know I’m from Texas, right?”

that’s how they find out Will is one of the damn best marksmen in Greek demigod history

some of the Disney nerds in the Apollo cabin sing What Once Was Mine to the little ones who need bandaids for knee scrapes and give them lollipops afterwards

Percy Jackson absolutely used to make poverty and struggle meal jokes all the time, but he got weird and concerned looks for it at CHB, so he kind of just stopped. But one day, aboard the Argo II, the PERFECT opportunity came up and he just HAD TO and as per usual— everyone else looked at him like he’s crazy— but Leo laughed so hard chocolate milk came out of his nose and that’s the story of how the two of them became Best Friends