#its morning fuck
Text
sorry that took like an hour i stopped to eat dinner heres my idea
#my art#adventure time#simon petrikov#betty grof#trans#lesbian#petrigrof#ion think i needa tag this for anything theyre both clothed & its not suggestive#i think simon isnt scared of needles but he cant make himself do it himself so betty does it for him#idk how he got by before meeting betty#i also dont think i needa tag this for eva spoilers considering it came out uh#28 years ago#FUCK I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE COMIC HOLD ON#ok 10 min later im back#also i think this kinda implies golbetty is flesh underneath like an eva#ok i think thats all#and in case i dont see you good morning good evening and goodnight
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
every morning i wake up and every morning i delete pathetic lil pissbaby youtube comments that say something like this its honestly a highlight of my morning
#liliths mind#bloodborne kart#its so fucking funny every morning seeing one comment go#“wow cool!”#and then 5 minute later seeing a comment on one of my bunlith or stream videos like#“WHY ARE U GYA”
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
AREN'T YOU HAPPY? AREN'T YOU GLAD? AREN'T YOU EXCITED THAT WE'RE FINALLY FREE!?
CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I DID THIS ALL FOR YOU?
#what a fucking episode man#anyway#its 4 in the morning i was not expecting to spend this much time on this but AAAAAA finally getting to draw for myself again!!#my art#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug season 5#ml#mlb#miraculous#miraculous ladybug spoilers#mlb spoilers#ml spoilers#emotion#ml emotion#mlb emotion#argos#felix fathom#chat blanc#chat noir#so#i have a new favorite mlb episode#teehee#NSBDBFJFKFKBDG#ml leak free#felix graham de vanily
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
cw: dubcon humping. gn reader. he’s just a little pent up guys.
gaz is absolutely the type to squeeze you into a hug that lasts a bit too long.
idk, maybe you’re his best friend or something. someone he instantly clicked with at uni and who’s stuck around despite everyone else in his life falling away like pastry crumbs. devotion that isn’t romantic nor entirely platonic in a sense, but a secret third thing that has you inviting him to stay the night when he returns home and his flat is too far a drive for someone so tired.
you greet him at your door when he arrives. he’s bulkier than when he left for deployment, fills up the arms of his t-shirt and the thighs of his pants. smells like sweat and the faint traces of his cologne (Y by yves saint laurent. you’d gotten it for his birthday.) so sexy you might as well abandon your propriety and slip a hand down the course hairs of his happy trail. but you don’t. instead, you go in for one of your patented this-isn’t-more-than-a-friendship half hugs.
which he does not take. as your one arm hooks around his neck, both of his wrap around your waist and force you to embrace him fully. it’s crushing. so tight you have to lift your head to breathe properly. he lifts you off your feet and sways you back and forth as he whispers little complaints; things about stubborn CO’s or unnecessary bloodshed. you allow it because it sounds like he needs it, this small comfort.
except it verges on longer than a few seconds. longer than proper for a pair of good uni friends. his hand kneads the flesh of your back, and his hips grind against your groin. is he hard, or is that a gun he has yet to unarm? you can’t tell, but it seems to work for him when the hard mass in his jeans catches the canyon of yours. he groans quietly, stuttered, as his thrusts gain pace. as he tightens himself like a cobra around its prey. as he plants his lips onto your neck and starts inhaling the scent of your freshly washed skin.
“…kyle?” you whisper, awkward hands flailing about behind him. your voice comes out in a strained way, vocal chords crushed against his shoulder.
“jus… give- fuck. give me a moment, mate.”
so you do. it doesn’t last much longer after that, anyway. his grinding grows brutal, knocks the little air left out of your lungs. it hurts to a degree. he’s hitting the tendon between your leg and crotch – and you’re sure it’ll be tender in the upcoming days – but you don’t voice your troubles to the man around you, who unravels at such a startling pace you know he’s too far gone to pay proper attention regardless. how else would he be bold enough to grope the plush curve of your ass? two hands latch onto it like dough, anchoring you up so the angle hits just right.
and then he starts to get sloppy. his rhythm loses pace. his stance widens and he fucking whines into your ear as a wet spot spreads across the front of his pants. you’re so dizzy that, when he lets go of you, you have to hold onto his forearm to steady yourself, blinking owlishly at the grin that stretches across his face. as if he didn’t just hump you and cream in his clothes. why are you the one caught off guard?
“thanks for that.” he winks, then pets the flyaways off your temple.
#its 9:30 in the morning#oh im sick. im so fucking far gone#kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x reader#kyle garrick#gaz#x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
UNFUCKABLE
#GOOD MORNING#CANT EVEN GET FUCKED ON THE WE WANT TO FUCK KENDALL ROY WEBSITE HE IS LITERALLY THE JESTER OF HIS OWN COURT#truly the funniest thing to ever happen to him like this is worse than losing the company and he doesn’t even know its happened#kendall roy i wish you were real so you could see this#succession#m
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Getting domestic in Waterdeep (gale would have the fanciest lounging around robes)
#gale dekarios#baldurs gate 3#gale x tav#gale of waterdeep#myart#tav morn yegoth#i couldnt decide if this was the evening or morning so its up to you if morn is starting his day with a fuck off glass of wine or not#choosing to romance gale as a half orc was a great idea their height difference is everything to me
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)
...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.
She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.
Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.
The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.
Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.
He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.
He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.
But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.
And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.
His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.
Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.
Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.
"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.
"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more
Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"
Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.
On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.
And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.
Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.
Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?
She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.
Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."
She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?
Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."
"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."
Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."
The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.
She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.
But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.
"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.
Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."
Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.
(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)
"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."
"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."
"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"
Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."
Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."
It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.
"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.
Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.
She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.
"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."
(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)
(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)
Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.
Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."
With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#older brother danny#sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining.#sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he.#bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me#because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him#which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he#friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on --#-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes.#not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs#a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know#he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks#but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post#when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock#and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot#so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th#waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't#- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought#a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is#'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.'#not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the#fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes#“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny.#sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
part two
———
Getting outrun for seven miles by an eight year old is a uniquely humbling experience. Compactly humiliating, coincidentally, is being outrun by an eight year old while dragging along a bouquet large enough that it cannot be adequately contained with two hands and must therefore be carried between two people.
Lee is having something of an afternoon.
“It starts in seven minutes!” shouts Will, at least twelve solid yards ahead of them and running backwards. He does not appear even to be sweating. “Hurry!”
“Could not be hurrying more if I tried,” Lee wheezes.
(It’s not that Lee isn’t a good runner. He is. It’s that Will is freakishly fast, because he has dimples when he smiles and has endeared himself to the dryads, who have been teaching him how to sprint like the hopped up little Energizer Bunny he is. Michael has been calling him Soda Boy for ages, on account of how he so closely resembles a can of pop that has been vigorously shaken, which he hates. Remembering it brings Lee some peace.)
“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”
Clamping his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to preserve energy, Lee surges forward. Michael matches him, having to run significantly faster to keep up with his long legs. Their panting forms a discordant melody of despair. Poetic.
When they stumble through the door, chests heaving, Lee considers collapsing to the ground and weeping for joy. He will never run again. If a monster chases him, he will simply fight or accept his fate. He has reached his quota.
But, for perhaps the first time in his life, there is no time for dramatics. The lobby is devoid of the massive crowds it held earlier, shadows eerie in their absence, and only the final tail end of a line shuffles through the stage doors.
Despite his internal vow, Lee sprints forward to catch up with them.
“Hold it,” says a man in a venue volunteer! vest, holding up a hand. He glances at them, resting his gaze on Will’s messy hair, Michael’s scuffed shoes, Lee’s wrinkled shirt, and pausing for quite a while on the giant bouquet. The narrowed eyes and thinned lips are familiar. Lee stiffens.
“Go on in,” the man says to the middle aged couple in front of them, who’s crease-free jackets read ‘Dance Mom’ and ‘Prop Team Dad’ respectively. He shoos them inside, complimenting the honest-to-Apollo corsage in the woman’s hand, chortling along to the man’s joke. The laughter drops from his face the second the couple is guided through the doors, and the man turns back to the three of them.
“The show,” he says, nose upturned, “has begun. I can’t let anyone else in lest they cause any…disturbances.”
“The show starts on three minutes and forty-seven seconds!” Will protests, sticking his watch in the man’s face. Completely oblivious to his murderous look, he continues, “Forty-six seconds! Forty-five! Time’s-a-tickin’, let us in!”
The man bares his teeth in a smile. “Regrettably, you are too late. You’ll have to wait for the intermission.”
Will blinks at him. He looks at Lee, at the doors, then back at the man.
“But…we’re on time. And if we come back later, we’ll miss my sister’s dance!”
The man shrugs. “This will be a valuable lesson, then.” He purses his lips, glancing again at the bouquet. “Perhaps be more prepared, next time.”
Will turns back to Lee and Michael, crestfallen. He swipes quickly under his eyes, squeezing his thumb into fists, but the tears well up anyway. “We’re going to miss it?”
Michael snarls. In one quick move he shoves the massive bouquet entirely into Lee’s arms, yanks Will by the shoulders to stand behind him, and gets right in the man’s face.
“You listen here, you slimy ratbag, you had no fuckin’ trouble letting those last scragglers in so you better clean up your act quick before I —”
A loud crashing noise makes them all jump, interrupting him. Nearly crushing the flowers, Lee whips towards the source of the sound. One of the competition banners has been yanked down, metal frame collapsing on the tile floor. Fastening screws rattle to a slow stop beside it.
“What the —”
Another banner crashes to the floor. This time, the little hands that tore it down are a touch too slow to dart away, a blonde head not quick enough to duck behind a corner.
“Hey!” the man shouts. Shoving Michael aside, and moving quicker than Lee can think to stop him, he sprints towards the corner Will disappeared behind. “Get back here! You can’t do that!”
Lee curses, trying to manoeuvre the flowers to see and run at the same time. Michael runs ahead of him, on the man’s heels, chanting shit shit shit shit under his breath. Lee’s brain takes the initiative to alternate, chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck every time he takes a breath.
They’re going to get kicked out for sure. Diana is going to kill them and it’s going to be justified, because Lee is going to have to live with the noble look he knows Cass will have on when she realises they’re not there to watch. The shakey, practiced smile she’ll slap over the disappointment in her dark eyes.
Shit shit shit shit indeed.
“Lee! Michael! Over here!” whispers a voice. Lee whirls around to face it — boy does he ever feel like a puppet on a stick right now — and, for the second time in as many minutes, feels his head pound at the disorienting frenzy of emotions that bubble up when he sees his baby brother’s face. Will stands half inside a doorway Lee hadn’t noticed on the way in, tucked in the shadow of a corner.
He is fast, holy shit.
“What the hell are you doing,” hisses Michael.
“Getting us inside! Hurry up!”
Lee doesn’t need further prompting, clock ticking in his brain. Gods, how long do they have left? Thirty seconds? Less?
“Most big theatres have sideline entrances,” Will explains after Michael helps shove the giant bouquet through the tiny door. He guides them, upright to their hunching, down a tight corridor. “They’re for performers to pop up in the audience without being seen. Mama and I race each other to find ‘em when she did shows.”
Lee had forgotten, for a moment, how much of his life Will has spent in and out of theatres, bars, stages. Naomi Solace has been growing more and more famous since…half of his life, at least. Lee remembers hearing about her four years ago, when she’d done a smaller show in Queens. A friend of his had gone.
Michael reaches out and tugs the mostly-undone ponytail he’d wrestled Will’s hair into that morning. “Good job, kid.”
He grins over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
They stumble into the darkened audience in the nick of time. The second Lee steps out of the cramped little corridor, dragging the stupid flowers (he is, in fact, regretting his choices at this point in time; when he has a free moment he will add this to the list of reasons he will be kicking his past self’s ass if the Hephaestus cabin successfully recreates DeLorean time machine) along with him, the stage lights come on. An announcer’s voice calls out, “Entry 109, Competitive Open Solo: Cass Hasapi.”
“Fuck,” Michael mutters. A quaint family of four gasps. He sneers at them. “Fuck, you see Diana?”
“No, is she maybe —”
“I think that’s her hair —”
“That person is way too tall, what are you —”
“I swear to the gods, I am going to kill you both,” whispers a beautifully familiar voice, and then Lee is being dragged. “Sit the hell down and shut the hell up. Will, baby, c’mere.”
Will climbs happily over the two empty seats, settling onto Diana’s lap and curling under her chin. He sticks his tongue out when Lee and Michael follow in behind him, struggling with the bouquet, muttering about favouritism.
“I’ve literally known you for six times longer than you’ve known him,” Michael mutters, sticking his tongue out right back. A grandmother with a severe bob whirls back and hushes him.
“Yeah, I’ve had all that time to get tired of your bullshit. Shut up.”
Before Michael can retort — Lee is sure he has an eloquent and devastating response, Lee has been helping him practice — soft piano drifts out from the speakers. A light turns on, pointed at the stage.
All four of them snap their mouths shut.
In the centre of the stage, Cass stands, poised. Her back is turned to the audience, arms extended above her and tilted to the right, as if reaching for the setting sun. Her hair, braided loosely back, brushes the edge of her thickly draping purple costume. Her knees are bent and locked and one bare foot sticks out like she’s trying to balance herself, like she’s mid fall.
A gravelly, male voice sings lowly along to the piano. How do you know which time might be the last? She moves along the dip of his voice, dragging her limbs through the rigid air. What I would give just to see you again? She moves with a swooping twist of her heels, twisting at the waist. Under the heat of the stage lights, her face contorts, forehead deeply wrinkled, mouth parted, breathing quickly. I’d walk to the depths of a world down below and demand to get back what some circumstance stole. She holds herself with such tension that Lee finds his own shoulders hiking up to his ears. Her chest moves rapidly, hands shaking, knees buckling. His breath goes stale in his lungs.
When the chorus starts, hard and heavy and sudden, I turned back one last time just to prove you were there, Cass hits the floor. He gasps with the rest of the audience, clutching the plush armrest, but it’s intentional, part of the dance. ‘Cause the last ray of sun made Eurydice cold. Collapsed on the floor, limbs bent, dress askew, she crawls, begging, towards the audience. Did she know? Did she know? Did she know? Did she know?
Cass does not move gracefully. She moves like a beached, gasping siren dragging herself back to the depths, like someone climbing out of a pit. Every movement looks heavy and painful. She looks at the audience and Lee is surging forward before he can stop himself, breath hitching, brain screaming: help her! help her! help her!
If I knew how it’d feel back then, I wouldn’t take another step.
Her body twists again, hair escaping her loose braid and sticking to her neck, her forehead. She claws at her throat like she’s suffocating, eyes accusing everyone watching like they’re holding her under. Each movement of her arms swell and sway on the beat, bare feet slapping the ground with every hit of the kettle drum. If you can see me it’s all in your head, but it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.
Everything ends.
The piano fades out, the drums hit their last beat. All that’s left is the wretched guitar, taught like strings snapping, taught like the tense pull of her suspended muscles.
But I opened the door and went down the stairs; I turned back one last time to prove you were there.
As the last word fades, she drops. Not slowly, not evenly, but like whatever was holding her up crumbled to dust. Like she was shot. Her purple dress pools out around her like dark Hyacinth. She lays completely, entirely still.
The lights cut. The air in the audience goes heavy.
They come back on and no one says a word. Lee realises, as it drips onto his hands, that he is crying. Diana is, too, tear tracks too fresh to dry on her face, and Will is leaned forward so far he sways precariously. Michael’s hands are pressed harshly to his eyes.
Trancelike, Lee stands. All eyes snap, abruptly, towards him, but he ignores them. He looks straight across the rows of chairs and locks eyes with his sister, upright now, heaving, standing hesitant. She looks at him, and then beside him at Michael, and then at Will in Diana’s lap. They scramble quickly up next to him, and without any of them saying anything, they begin to cheer.
Cass’s face lights up.
With permission, much of the audience claps. No one stands as they do and as they continue hooting and hollering the claps fade quickly, replaced with stares and murmurs, but Cass still stands there, beaming, looking away and looking back like she can’t believe they’re there. That someone is there, that someone watched her, her, from beginning to end. A hand tugs on his sleeve.
“Can I sonic?” Will asks, raising his voice to be heard.
“Level four,” Lee allows.
He needs no further permission, grinning. He lets out a piercing whistle that makes everyone around them shout in alarm and Lee’s ears ring. But Cass laughs, loud and bright, so it’s worth it, and when Will looks at him in question he nods. The second whistle is definitely beyond a level four, but Lee doesn’t care. Cass looks the happiest he’s seen in a long time.
———
None of them care too much about staying for the other performances. But Cass has two more dances with her studio classes, spread out as they are, so Lee remains doomed to two hours of an aching ass and performances that come nowhere near Cass’s masterpiece. Will seems intrigued, though, by some of the pieces, so he grits his teeth and bares it. Besides, the rolled eyes he shares with Diana and Michael every time someone does something exceedingly cliche or tries and fails at depth (someone, often, being one of Cass’s teammates, shocker) makes it somewhat worth it.
By the time the judges call the last entry, though, Lee is ready to book it out of there.
The lights come back on and pop music plays through the speakers as dancers, in track suits over their costumes, congregate on the stage. Lee stands and stretches, letting Will stand on his shoulders and jump off into Michael’s arms to get some of his energy out. (And, also, ‘cause tossing a small child between them is fun. Diana jogs into the aisle so they can throw farther, but they all decide against it when a security guard glances over.)
After what feels like eight million years, the judges finally lumber over to the stage. The building voices hush as they climb the steps, standing in front of the gathered studios with cabled mics and stacks of foreboding envelopes.
“Welcome, dancers and families,” starts one judge.
She blabs on for several minutes about what an honour it was to judge and how wonderful everyone was. Blah, blah, blah. Lee spaces out about the time Diana’s eyes glaze over, and he looks instead to the gathered stage, observing. There are five different studios that he can see, each with about forty to fifty dancers. Mostly young women. They sit tangled together, legs on legs, arms around shoulders, feet tucked under thighs. Cass, he notices, sits on her own, at the very back of the stage. She sits straight-backed and proud, though. Chin lifted, braid resting over her shoulder.
Impossible to miss.
Two of her group dances win Diamond (Diana explains to them that this is Very Good. She thinks). Most others do not get this honour. Lee notices especially the older couple to their left looking quite sour. The glee he feels is indescribable.
“The winner for our open solo, for all age groups, was actually unanimous. It’s been a while since that happened!”
A girl near the front of the stage, who Lee recognises as the one to make a cruel joke about Cass’ mother, preens. Her solo was boring as hell. He’s not sure what she’s so smug about.
“With a score of 97.6, congratulations to Entry 109, Cass Hasapi!”
The four of them scream like lunatics.
They don’t even wait for scattered applause. Each one of them clambers up on the pristine chairs, covering them with scuff marks, and yell at the top of their lungs, jumping and cheering like chimps in a cage. Cass goes red, but she can’t hide her smile as she stands and accepts her award, grinning over at them. Michael holds up his camera and snaps a photo of her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, glowing.
———
“Cass!”
Will sees her before the rest of them, sprinting towards the changeroom doors at top speeds and leaping up into her arms. She catches him easily, spinning them both around, pressing a thousand kisses to his hair and face.
“Hello, my darling! Hello hello hello!” Every word is punctuations with a kiss, or rather a press of her wide smile to anywhere she can reach. In seconds his cheeks are stained with her lipstick. “Oh, it has been weeks, darling boy, I missed you!”
Will clings to her sweater, face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds him just as tightly.
(Will has seen Cass more than Lee, in the past few months. He knows she’s made a few sudden trips to camp. But he also knows that she was the first one to welcome him into camp, the day his mother dropped him off, and when he was claimed she was the first to bring him home. She loves to tote him around, too, to have him trail after her for cabin inspections, holding the clipboard, or paint his nails when she’s bored. He misses her something fierce in the winters. She holds on tightly when she comes back home.)
Squeezing him one last time, she turns to the rest of them. Despite her wide smile, her mascara runs.
“You came,” she says, voice wobbling.
Michael clears his throat. “No shit.”
His voice wobbles, too.
“Come here, you goober.”
He’s the next to cling to her, inserting himself under her arm. She presses a kiss to his temple and he pinches her ribs, complaining, getting louder when she digs a knuckle into his hair. Diana jogs up and separates them, as she always does, flicking Michael on the forehead and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, squeezing her hand.
Cass’s tears spill over again. “Thank you.”
Lee clears his throat. He feels, suddenly, like a doofus, holding a bouquet of flowers the size of him, but Cass looks at them and grins again, chuckling.
“You sell your kidney for that or what?”
Lee snorts. “No, we exchanged Will. This is a clone.”
“Did not!”
Lee blows a raspberry. “Did too. Clone.”
“I’m not a clone! I’m me!”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Ya-huh!”
“Alright,” Cass interrupts, rolling her eyes fondly. She kisses the tip of Will’s nose again and sets him down, turning towards Lee, hands outstretched dramatically. “Hand me my dues.”
Because she is, at the core of her, a true daughter of Apollo, even though the amount of poise and grace that bleeds from her at any given time contradicts almost directly with the guy who beams Pocketful of Sunshine directly into their brains at five in the morning every single day without fail, she kneels with a flourish. Because Lee is, at the core of him, also a child of Apollo, he goes unquestioningly along with the bit, pulling out one of the flowers to knight her before resting the entire bouquet in her arms. She has to hold it with both hands.
“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, grinning.
“They are ridiculous,” Diana stresses. “Dumbasses were damn near late getting this for you. They already had flowers, mind you. They’re just dumb.”
Will holds up his hand with his watch. “I kept us from being late!”
Diana squishes his cheek. “Thank you, sweetpea. You’re already smarter than your brothers combined.”
“Stick out your tongue again and I’ll grab it, you little snitch,” Lee warns.
Will, darting to hide behind Diana, does not heed his warning. Because he’s a little shit. bc
The walk out of the building in a gaggle of movement. As other dancers and their families walk by, glowering at Cass’ flowers and at Cass in general, Lee makes a point to catch their eyes. To smirk. To let them know, without saying a word — you were wrong. Of course you were wrong. Look at how she’s better than your bitter ass without even trying.
It warms him inside, truly.
“I’m thinking,” Diana says, walking back to the car, “that we stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. On Michael’s dollar. Will, look real excited so Michael can’t say no.”
“I am excited,” Will says, turning to face him, “so that’s real easy.”
Michael sighs. He taps his foot on the pavement, glaring. He sighs again. “You’re getting s plain cone and that’s that. You understand me?”
Will takes that as code for ‘begin negotiating’. Diana joins him, the two of them chasing Michael to the car, yelling about Blizzards and sundaes. Cass falls into step next to Lee, adjusting the flowers.
“So,” she says, shooting him a small smile.
“So,” he intones.
“Diana told me you snuck the boys out of camp.”
“…Yes.”
“Organised the whole trip, basically.”
“It wasn’t hard. I just told Michael to pack his shit and he listened, for once. So.”
“Lee.” She waits for him to open the trunk, letting him stuff the ridiculous flowers inside before facing him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Thank you.”
“I don’t —”
He swallows past the lump in his throat. How can he say it? How can he tell her about being fourteen and older than half the unclaimed kids in Hermes, still reeling over camp as a whole, and the fear that had dissipated from his chest when she stood in front of camp and said, firmly, he’s ours? About the hours she spent listening to him ramble about Pokémon, learning the game for him, mailing him cards she finds around? About the letters she sends him every week without fail, even though she’s swamped with her own shit, because she remembers the night he cried, months and years of being weird and lonely and unlike anyone else he knew? How can he explain the bubbling in his chest, the ache for her, because of her?
“Of course, Cass.”
She opens her arms and he falls into them, forehead on her shoulder, arms tight around her waist. She grips around his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. His throat is dry, choking back the thickness of his tears.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Lee.”
#AND WERE DONE#AND ITS FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING FUCK#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#hoo#heroes of olympus#lee fletcher#will solace#michael yew#diana mckinney#cass hasapi#cabin seven#my writing#fic#longpost#song is orpheus by vincent lima btw#pjo hoo toa
230 notes
·
View notes
Text
sharing is caring <3
#KISS THE MAILMAN!!!!#they are waiting their turns!!!#this is so fucking indulgent & niche asdjaskjcnaskclak#eddie gets all the love!!!#im such a giggly lil bitch about this im-#yall dont even know how bad it was when i was actually scribbling this. commit me to an asylum#its soooo Unserious and its soooooo Fun#eddie is the perfect size for them to Hold and Cherish#screaming crying wailing eating floor tiles!!!#ok somebody take me out back and shoot me The Voices Are Winning#scribble salad#what do i even tag this with??? DO i even tag it???#lmao imagine i toss it into the welcome home tag#woe! laughingletterstock be upon ye!!#im spicing up the soup... at least i like to think that i am!!!#i create silly mindless stuff like this so that i can Think later#alrighty im gonna queue this for the morning#there's like. 3 people absolutely frothing at the mouth to see this so!!!#morning queue! i could post it Now but like. lmao#ive posted enough today.... gotta space it out a lil
499 notes
·
View notes
Text
the take that elain shies away from lucien because he “understands her too well and it scares her” is bad for a lot of reasons, but namely becuase it’s contradicted in the text by elain herself. straight out of her mouth.
in acofas, when feyre tries convincing elain that lucien cares for her, elain word for word says “He doesn’t know me”
i am literally begging people to start listening to elain
#she’s made her thoughts and feelings clear as day through her words and her actions#that take puts such a bad taste in my mouth#elain is avoiding him becuase she doesn’t want him!!#its fucking weird to want a woman with a man she’s actively said she does not want!!#it’s weird to think she needs to give him a chance!!#there’s nothing i hate more than being told to just give a man a chance#sorry yall i drank my hater juice this morning#pro elriel#elriel
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
btw i heard that yesterday when fred was telling everyone he was looking for something paranormal, pac asked "is love paranormal?" and looked at fit, but watching it myself he said it and fit literally immediately moved around the entire group to stand right next to him and they exchanged multiple quiet glances at each other. and no one told me.
#qsmp#fitpac#i have to do everything myself around here. god 🙄 /j#these two make me so [family guy death pose] its insane#anyways that concludes tonight's (this morning's?) vodwatching as the sun fucking starts to rise outside. help
482 notes
·
View notes
Text
hi chat guess who's back
#THIS HYPERFIXATION ISNT FUNNY#IVE BEEN HYPERFIXATING SO HARD ON DANGANRONPA TO THE POINT THAT I CAN HEAR CHARACTERS SPEAK TO ME#IN MY EAR#I CAN HEAR MONOKUMA'S STUPID FUCKING PUHUHUHUHU LAUGH EVERY SO OFTEN AND ITS DRIVING ME INSANE#I DONT DREAM#BUT I DREAMT OF PLAYING DANGANRONPA#AND NAGITO'S HOPELESSLY STUCK IN MY HEAD I HATE HIM#this is it this is my return to tumblr#all because a friend of mine rambled to me about danganronpa until 5 in the fucking morning#i hate this twink#nagito komaeda#danganronpa nagito#danganronpa#danganronpa 2#danganronpa: goodbye despair#aiden.png
585 notes
·
View notes
Text
eheheh a little doodle for @cj-does-va
(IM SORRY IF YOU DONT LIKE BEING TAGGED :devastation:)
also dont look further this is the only drawing i did. yep.
hi. you weren't meant to see this.
#i told you not to look#mitsusart#i would apologise but im not sorry#you did this to yourself HEHHEHE#undertale au#art#undertale#killer sans#cj does va#sans undertale#utmv#killer!sans#shitpost#sorry for my degrading art recently#enjoy#cj if you see this#your fucking easter bunny audio is stuck in my head#okay goodnight (its morning)
137 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kirishima who likes that cheesy, shitty porn that makes you and Bakugou cringe, but you two can't help but indulge the big guy when he wants to role-play.
bakugou has been a swimmer since he was an infant, but pretends to drown in you guys' pool so Kiri can jump in and save him as the life guard on duty. gives bakugou mouth to mouth which always seems to devolve into tongue kissing and a cough from you to at least get back on script. it somehow ends up with you thanking the life guard for saving your boyfriend by offering up your mouth to him while he continues to tongue down Bakugou. its a little stupid, but everyone always gets off.
or, his other favorite one, where he's coming in for a massage and you and bakugou are both the masseuses. Bakugou works his back muscles and you flip him over to do his front. you always somehow end up bouncing on Kiri's cock while Bakugou fucks his mouth. you don't mind that one as much, because Kiri's chest oiled up always look so delectable, and the sounds he emits low in his throat when you play with his nipples is always worth the ache in your thighs the next morning.
you've done hero-villain-civilian role-play before too, where you're the helpless victim fallen prey to a mysterious blood riot and trying to be saved by dynamight. that one, despite how much you both complain about it all, seems to elicit the eagerest responses from all of you. its something about playing helpless while being taken from behind that does you in. especially when you're bent over in Bakugou's lap while he's tied down to a chair, unable to save you, his sweet little civilian. eye to eye with him, his mouth gagged, while Kiri fucks you so mercilessly that your drool hits Bakugou's chin and his evil laughs makes both of you close to orgasming.
now that one makes the role-play seem just a bit less cringy. but only when its you guys doing it, not the fake shit Kiri watches. if wants cheesy porn, then you two are willing to help him play it all out in real life.
#not that big of a fan of this but I thought about it this morning lol#also I hate writing tags on safari now its so fucking stupid#why is like breaking everything up letter by letter its distracting#anyway I think he's into roleplaying shitty p*rn but it always turns out well bc its with you two#bc its you two doing it with him!!#I think bkg would be more into like certain fetishy- stuff and home videos#specifically videos of you guys together lol#what a sap#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#krbk treats! 🍬
960 notes
·
View notes
Note
“When your need grows teeth” is so good I literally bite the pillow like a dog while reading it!!! I need to know more about Ghost and the ‘unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog’.!!!!!
haha i really didn't think people would pay much attention to it, tbh! i like adding little things like this into the stuff i write. a little story within a story, i guess. but i would love to flesh it out, since where it was this undertone of "oh, you..." (sort of cheeky, kinda sly when you looked at the bigger picture) with Price, it would more-so be, "oh, no..." with Ghost.
Price's original convo with Ghost would have been acknowledged as gospel and adopted into Ghost's own scripture for the longest time (since it's my weird little hc that Ghost uses Price as a yardstick for normalcy—or, almost like a needle in his morality compass), and then seeing Price give into those needs was sort of like this big moment that caused that compass to go haywire.
essentially, if Price is a starving dog, then Ghost is one on the verge of death, willing to sink his teeth into anything just to survive. and that's sort of the crux of it. in my head, Ghost would have been unleashed by this, but what took the muzzle off is his own MC, who thinks they're taking in this sick, old dog from off the streets, and helping it as much as they can, only to wake up and realise this dog is rabid. and it already bit them. but what really caused this poor person such misfortune was that little tossed in line by Price when he's volleying with Laswell about his status. Or damn near close to it. and that's what sealed their fate lmao. the implication that this baby is somehow more permanent than a ring.
idk! i like the idea of someone sweet, if a little naïve, being bit by him, a man who wakes up most days thinking he's still buried in a grave. or what happens when a living corpse feels heat for the first time in ages after being given a bed and a warm body with a soft touch. quite catastrophic, imo.
#the Ghost fic would be a legit babytrap tho lmao#like youd wake up after Simon broke into your apartment to him fucking you already and hes shushing you#and youre just a little too sleepy to realise you ran out of condoms before his deployment#not that hed have bothered anyway#youd probs wake up the next morning with him calmly drinking tea and the only thing hed say is something like#“if its a boy well name him Tommy”#and ur like fuck fuck fuckkkkkk#kinda rambled sorry!!!#but my writing really doesn't let me dive into stuff as in depth as id like without being omnipotent so whenever i get the chance i go off#ghost x reader (baby trap edition)#cod#call of duty
254 notes
·
View notes
Text
Me, too, Blade. Me. Too.
(I am taking donations to buy a gigantic $250 stuffed cheeseburger. It's giant. I want it. I will never obtain it. I saw it in a shop window and..... wow. Big.)
#honkai star rail#hsr blade#kafka#you guys this thing was fucking huge but i cant spend 250 on it lmao#also the way to tell i love characters or a game a lot is by if i draw them being stupid#i love blade so much hes so funny and suffering....#do not actually give me money to buy a giant burger#i walk around and its so big and i am so small#i would have to actually drive my car just to put a giant stuffed burger in it#there is absolutely no way i can even hold this thing on the way home#i have in fact told my sister this very sadly before i found out the price this morning#i was lamenting last night over giant borger in window........ i want it.......#then i saw the price and was like WELP guess not lol#ill post art for a different fandom later hopefully but this was super important to me to draw#specifically with these characters#worst case scenario i fail my own self inflicted october challenge of a different series each day#but hsr gets two days worst case scenario which isnt bad#im so sorry to anyone who wants to look at mr blade in serious situations i am incapable of serious
286 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
adrianaafz
アドリアナ
fishposting
smells like seachem prime
robots-aliens
Robots & Aliens
veganpussy
VeganPussy
bobasslut
tired