#everything is always about

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

(any time after the events of the vengeance saga & ithaca saga)

*under the ocean in poseidon's palace*

poseidon: *talking with amphitrite*

poseidon: i wouldn't wish that upon my worse enemy!

poseidon: *pauses and feels phantom pains from his old impalement wounds/scars*

poseidon: *eye twitching* ...unless of course...we're talking about my enemy, odysseus.

poseidon: *looking up at the ocean's surface from his underwater palace*

poseidon: fuck you odysseus, you know what you did!

amphitrite: ...

amphitrite: *sighs*

*meanwhile on ithaca*

odysseus: *yapping away with penelope whilst on a walk through the palace grounds*

odysseus: so then i said "cause i don't even have to kill you, i just have to avoid yo-"

odysseus: *violently sneezes*

penelope: ...

penelope: are you feeling unwell, my love?

odysseus: no i'm fine.

odysseus: i just get the feeling im being bad-mouthed...again

odysseus: *turns head and glares at the ocean*

[triona-tribblescore]

I just wanna draw them being all soft n stuff okay? :'( <333

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[ruporas]

your love returns in tragedy (ID in alt)

[hajihiko]

[chloesimaginationthings]

I love the idea that Michael is always gloomy and low-energy with a bit of snark but the mere IDEA of Foxy turns him into the most easily excitable person on the planet

YES, but I also extent that to every animatronic he really likes!!

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[myballsitchaurghouchie]

Dance untill the sun sets

[ID in Alt Text and under the cut.]

ID: A digital drawing of the Lamb and Narinder from the video game Cult Of The Lamb, dacing over a blue background. The Lamb is drawn with a short ponytail, wearing white shorts and a red top with short sleeves, as well as arm and leg guards. Their back is facing Narinder who is holding one of their hands up above their head. Narinder is drawn as his follower form, wearing wide pants and a red shirt with wide, shoulder-length sleeves. Both characters are smilling and have a slight blush over their face.

[lotus-pear]

the dialogue choices in this game should be more diabolical

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Yay, found family beloved. (This video references this post!)

Sir Kingsman is not upset or ashamed at the Huffman siblings dating the same sex (-and from a different genre at that..), rather, he's just pondering whether the partners they've chosen are good or bad for them. Basically, he's looking after his children. Always.

For a man his age, he's pretty tolerant to whatever shenanigans it is these two get up to.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Enki S Ending: God Blocking Gambit

[heavensincarnate1111]

favorite thing about annabeth’s character is how she’s so in touch with her emotions, like we see so frequently that the “smart” characters are stoic and monotone but annabeth is the EXACT opposite of that!!

she isn’t afraid to cry or get excited or get angry, if you took a shot everytime annabeth cries in the entirety of pjo you would’ve died from alcohol poisoning and i love that for her!!! we need more crybaby representation!!

[stil-lindigo]

the fox god.

a comic about a trickster.

--

creative notes:

–

all my other comics

store

[bloobydabloob]

I don’t know if this is worth a post on here. We post anyways maybe (?)

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[natp20]

i don't know what it is about the fantasy high setting that drives me completely insane. the mall has an ice cream parlour owned by a djinn and a strudel place with direct supply from the strudel dimension. your gnome parents modified the lawnmower to have fun with their new "friends." death means nothing if you've got your spells prepared. generational curses that make your life miserable recognize that you're not the stepdad, you're the dad that stepped up. we wanted something else from our god, so we made her into something else. your wizard principal is on a time travel roadtrip with his half-phoenix daughter and spent an obscene amount of money on a jet ski. there's a strudel dimension.