#thanks anon this was too cute

[froggieetmblr]

Have you ever drawn Gwen Stacy, I'd think she'd be so cute in your style, cuter than she already is lol ?!

Favorite girlfailure (ft. Comic gwen and pav🫶)

[willowser]

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

[i3utterflyeffect]

cursor selkie sc (due to some unlikely plot contrivance) in god with a bag of groceries au would be so funny...bystanders watching god pass by with a bag of groceries, followed by tiny god with a packet of cookies. adorable.

ANON... YOUR MIND..........

[alexbkrieger13]

[splatoonusna]

How do you feel about the Neo Splatana Stamper to Splatana Stamper Nouveau official change?

[veemimis]

hiiiii!!! i LOOVEEE your art your bayojeanne art is the cutest ever

i saw your post and maybe 👉👈 could we maybe get some bayojeanne foreheads touching or jeanne kissing cereza's forehead? uwu or if a two person art is not what you wanted suggestions of maybe a cereza with a butterfly on her nose looking all cute? :3 👉👈

thank you for the consideration and for sharing your art with us!!! it's wonderful!!!

HIII ANONNN ! ! !

HEHE YOU'RE SO SWEEEET and thank yew for the requests >:3

I have the other two sketched out I'll post them whenever I finish them , but heres the first ! ! ! It kinda turned into nose touching rather than forehead touching but WHATEVER ! !

[kissofthemis]

Artem and Rosa chatting over coffee BECAUSE they're pulling an all nighter again?

The whirring of the coffeemaker felt exceptionally loud in the otherwise quiet office.

Rosa didn't want to waste any resources or time by making a full pot of coffee, so she had defaulted to heating up a pod. However, she forgot how loud the machine was when heating up a single pod, and she lifted a finger to her lips to give a whispered "shush."

She wasn't worried about disturbing anyone at this hour, as she was fairly confident that she was the only one still at the Themis office at 11:52 PM, but the jarring buzzing noise and now the echoing plops of coffee falling into her mug were a bit too eerie for her liking amidst the silence.

"At this hour, I would recommend not adding as much vanilla syrup as you usually do. Can I grab you a sugar?"

"Eeeek!"

The unexpected voice caught Rosa entirely off guard. She whirled around, one hand clutching her chest, only to find herself face to face with what was now an equally startled Artem.

"Sorry. I wasn't... trying to judge your coffee habits."

"N-no, that's not..." Rosa exhaled sharply, willing her heartbeat to return to a normal rhythm. "Please don't sneak up on me at this hour, Mr. Wing," she managed to sigh out at last. She was still audibly panting, but she tried to act as nonchalant as possible as she grabbed her mug and stepped to the side. "One sugar sounds great. Thank you."

Rosa practiced some deep breathing while Artem fetched two sugar packets. "I wouldn't recommend both at this hour, but I do know you have a sweet tooth, so..." His voice trailed off, and he instead punctuated his sentence by handing her the packets.

"Thank you." Rosa accepted them and dipped her head politely. "Um... you aren't going to chastise me for drinking coffee at this hour?" She was admittedly surprised to find him being supportive, although she couldn't help but think he was concealing his disappointment in her.

"Well, I certainly don't agree with it," Artem admitted. "But if I were to criticize you..." A small smile cracked at the corners of his lips.

"Then that would make me a hypocrite."

Artem placed his own mug underneath the machine and added a fresh pod. As the coffee began brewing, he turned to Rosa with a more neutral, but slightly curious, expression. "Do you expect to be here for a while tonight?"

Rosa sighed and leaned against the pantry counter top, drumming her fingers against the surface in a bit of frustration. "Yeah. Hopefully not all night, but at least another hour or two. Did I tell you about the acquisition deal I've been working on?" When Artem gave an affirmative nod, she continued. "Well, it turns out their accounting methods and records were alarmingly inaccurate. Now we have to rework the working capital calculations, and it's possible that the company we're acquiring doesn't have that minimum threshold in their treasury. Now our client wants to entirely rework that aspect of the purchase agreement to protect themselves from any losses we may incur, and I don't blame them. The problem is that the other company doesn't want to own up to their mistakes, and their counsel is more or less enabling their bad behavior." She slumped against the counter top with a heavy sigh. "Which means I'm spending all night going over the absurd revisions that opposing counsel made to our latest draft of the purchase agreement... and I probably have to reject most of them! Oh, and here's another kicker. We're inheriting some employees that work remotely from outside Stellis, so we have to make sure that their employment agreements don't contain any weird wrinkles we need to know about. Some of the foreign laws just don't have analogous laws in Stellis, and vice versa. The price of growth, I suppose...."

Just how long had Artem been standing there, watching her, while stirring the very-clearly-finished cup of coffee in his hands?

"Oh my gosh! I've been talking your ear off! I haven't let you get a word in! I'm so sorry, Mr. Wing!" Rosa bolted upright and dusted herself off before bowing apologetically.

Artem raised a hand to stop her and shook his head. "No need to apologize," he tried to assure her. Was it her imagination, or did he sound a bit flustered? "I quite like listening."

Rosa was a little surprised by that statement. "Really? Even though it's all..." Whiny? Complaining? Work-related? What was she most embarrassed about, actually? "You must have enough on your plate," she finished at last, before nervously beginning to twirl a loose curl around her finger. "Please rest assured that I have this under control!"

"I know you do."

Was it her imagination, or did he sound a bit tender?

'Oh, no. It's only midnight, and I'm already delirious.'

"I like hearing you talk," Artem said simply. How could he say something so ridiculous with such a straight face? "I know that I've dragged you out of your comfort zone with criminal cases," he went on. "To hear you speak so passionately about the work you prefer to do, about economic and corporate matters, is quite refreshing." He wrapped his long, slender fingers carefully around his mug, as if wanting to ensure he could capture the entire circumference in his hands. "Your passion is warm. It's admirable."

"A-anyway, what brings you here at this hour, Mr. Wing?" Why did she say that? He was already here and stayed late, obviously. Why didn't she phrase her question that way? Now he was going to think she was dumb!

If Artem found her question bizarre, he gave no indication whatsoever. "I was supposed to depose a witness next week, but the deposition was moved up due to scheduling conflicts." He paused to take a sip of his coffee, then he glanced over Rosa's face with a knowing expression. "Opposing counsel asked if I would prefer to push it back an extra week, but I declined."

Her emotions must have been easy to read. Her first thought had naturally been, 'Opposing counsel is a real jerk to cut your preparation time instead of extending it!' Rosa opened her mouth to inquire as to why Artem agreed to move the deposition date up, but as she looked up at Artem's face, realization struck her. She lowered her gaze and simply nodded.

"Your client is anxious, and you didn't want to incur further delays. Otherwise that anxiety would only continue to grow."

Artem's expressions tended to be calm, cool, and perhaps even stoic or cold. The way he carried himself emitted an air of confidence and calculation, as if he were prepared for anything and everything, and as if nothing could ever faze him.

But Artem wasn't just a legal robot. Rosa saw the emotion hidden in his azure eyes. Once you cracked the surface of the lake, the depths of those blues contained compassion, sympathy, concern, determination, sorrow, and an overwhelming dedication to justice.

Artem was the type of person who would inconvenience himself in order to ease someone else's burdens.

"Don't forget to take care of yourself too, you know."

Artem blinked in what was probably the most outward expression of surprise that he had ever shown at the office. "Pardon?"

"You can't take care of others if you don't take care of yourself first." Rosa shrugged as if that were the most obvious fact in the world, and then she turned to head back to her desk.

"Wise words," Artem murmured, and he stopped next to her desk as she sat down. "I wonder where you heard such advice."

Rosa tilted her head to the side in confusion. Artem tended to be straightforward, but she couldn't help but feel as though another layer of meaning laid beneath those words.

The twinkle in his eyes gave her the answer.

"Well, don't give people advice that you won't follow, Mr. Wing!" Rosa folded her arms over her chest in a huff. When had he become so bold as to tease her like this?

"I think the same principle applies to you," he responded simply. "You do have a tendency to avoid asking others for help."

Rosa aggressively lifted her mug to her face, hoping to conceal the fiery blush spreading across her cheeks. "I just don't want t--"

A coughing fit broke off her sentence as coffee went down her windpipe.

"C-can I get you some water?!"

"N-no!" Cough. "I'm!" Another cough. "Fine!" She wasn't convincing him at this rate.

But Rosa trusted him to keep this intimate, somewhat embarrassing moment of the midnight hour as a secret. She just prayed the moon could do the same.

[heartorbit]

I love your talking/ranting in the tags of your art. very underappreciated art form and I've only seen myself and like two other people do it. go forth mighty warrior tell us what youre doing tomorrow in the tags of your art post for myself and the other three ppl who read them!!!

helpme Thank you brave warror i'm not in the habit of talking about myself on social media but something about tumblr tags has me laying on my stomach kicking my legs with a glitter gel pen like it's my diary. Except then people reblog my post (very nice) and tag it laughing at MY tags and i'm like FUUUUUCK PEOPLE CAN SEE THAAAAAAT (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

[moon-buggg]

I love your scp au art so much, they're just too cute it makes me tear up ((if I saw them irl with those big blank eyes would I cry out of fear? probably. but are they still the cutest, squishiest thing? yes.))

you're scared of this little guy and his big old eyes? he can't help that he only has a clear membrane over his eyes and no eye lids :(

[anonymocha]

can u PLEASE draw more medblue i need more yuri beyond my comprehension

Baby Blue and Medicine Coquette just for you 💗🎀 Thank you anon you get me

Inspo^^ Re99 requests still open btw!

[i-like-forcefem]

There’s a bunch of cute trans girls in this discord server I’m in, one just posted “gotta crack a few eggs to make a discord server”

am I in danger of being forcefemmed

Not at all! Don't worry your pretty little head about it, cutie :3 Though just to be safe I would recommend you find as many femboy and trans-pride memes as you can get your hands on and post them in the discord! Just to let them know you're an ally :3

[cementcornfield]

https://x.com/bengals/status/1739322611866452192?s=46&t=4nsvGMTnbYsCN_2D0a2rJg

Not Ja’Marr struggling to read the sign 😂💀

Always Open for Christmas 🎄🧡

[mariatesstruther]

okay just hear me out modern au where tommy ends up picking up ellie from pre school almost everyday since joel is busy but he keeps meeting teacher maria

okay bestie as a preschool teacher you GOT me with this one. like you got me SO GOOD. this might actually get published to ao3, you got me soooo fuckin’ good right now. i have so many unnecessary details for such a simple plot so here’s a cut

tbh i feel like even as busy as joel is, he’d prioritize picking up and dropping of sarah as much as he can, so maybe he and tommy would alternate???? so on days when tommy drops off, joel picks up and when joel drops off, tommy picks up. sarah goes to a public preschool with a lot of kids, so she gets easily overwhelmed and sometimes needs extra cuddles or kind words in the mornings to make it out of the car.

one monday, a couple months into school, sarah is particularly VERY anxious because there’s a new teacher to replace ms. doherty, who quit unexpectedly on friday “because she said we gave her alooooottt of headaches, daddy.” now, sarah knows nothing about the new teacher except that shes a girl from a place called new york—and sarah doesn’t even know what new yawk IS like, thats So Far Away??? (“it’s not really that far, baby,” joel says to her. “and it’s new york. with an o sound.”) still, sarah is VERY concerned:

is new yawk like another planet???? (no, babygirl.) but what if she’s an alien???? (the school only hires human teachers, baby. they promised.) but what if she’s a SECRET alien??? (she won’t be, i promise.) okay but what if she’s mean???? (if she is, you tell me or tommy and we’ll talk to her about it, okay? she shouldn’t be mean to you.) what if she doesn’t play good music at quiet time???? (you can ask her nicely and i bet she will, baby. just say please and thank you, okay?)

still, even with her questions answered, sarah is very nervous on monday. both joel and tommy go with her in an effort to start her day off extra good, especially because joel can’t pick her up. they reassure her that new york has plenty of nice people and her new teacher will probably be one of them. she also gets TWO WHOLE extra minutes of cuddle time with BOTH of them before she and daddy have to leave the car—it’s half for her and half for them, because they’re honestly pretty anxious for her to like her new teacher too

joel is the one to hold sarah’s hand and walk her inside, because the school prefers only one guardian to drop off at a time. tommy’s nervous, but joel actually seems pretty pleased when he gets back to the car with no sarah in tow. surprisingly, he’s back faster than any time they’ve ever dropped sarah off before. with a proud smile, he tells tommy is that miss maria seems really nice. more importantly, she’s Black, which joel says Sarah got really excited about. tommy pries for more details, and he’s glad he does: apparently miss maria has locs, a few even blue and purple, and the first thing sarah’d said to her was an emphatic “😲😍🤩 i like your hair!!!!!!!!,” to which she had responded “thank you! i like your hair! what’s your name, sweets?” and that’d been that

later, when tommy does pickup that day, he doesn’t know what to expect. most times at the end of the day, sarah is super reserved and a bit cranky, eager to get home to finally have time to herself. tommy’s goal is usually to try and get her to at least wave goodbye to her teachers like joel asks—but, more often than not, she opts for reaching for uppies and hiding her face in his chest until they leave.

today??? no. it takes sarah a full two minutes to even notice tommy’s there because her and this drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous woman in a soft-looking lavender pants and blouse set are finishing up a painting at the easel wall. they’re working on what looks like a brown and purple butterfly, probably the most carefully shaped sarah’s ever made.

tommy’s heart stops when this goddess miss maria finally looks over at him and smiles with perfect pearly-whites, waving him over behind sarah’s back. when she says “sarah honey, i think someone’s here for you!” in her sing-songy toddler-tone, tommy swears an angel gets his wings. sarah turns around, shrieks with joy upon seeing him, and runs down to him with her arms out, yelling all the while: “THOMMYYYYYYY!!!!!”—because sarah’s still working on her hard ts—“thommy!!!! thommy thommy thommy come look!!! i made a butterfly for u!!!!! look!!!!! it matches ms. maria!!!!!! it’s gorgeous!!!!” (she’s been obsessed with calling things gorgeous ever since she heard tommy say it about a harley motorbike last week. joel especially thinks it’s cute, especially because of how she over-emphasizes the j-sound: gor-Jus.)

tommy’s never seen her so excited to show her art off at pickup-time before; usually, she waits until they’re home and she’s feeling less shy to start showing off, but she’s babbling and pointing to it as he picks her up and sets her on his hip: “it’s brown and purple like miss maria!!! isnt it so gorgeous, unca thommy??? do you like it???? aren’t they SO gorgeous????”

and now miss maria is looking at him. and he’s looking at her. tommy knows he’s blushing, and he hesitates—which sarah does NOT appreciate, so she says: “unca tommy!!!!!!! don’t be WUDE! thell miss maria she’s gorgeous!!! she is!!!”

luckily, miss maria saves him by explaining, in a slightly firmer teaching voice: “sarah sweets, that’s okay! we’re only just meeting, and that’s not really something you say to a stranger, okay?”

“but why noooooooot?? you are gorgeous! like my butterfly! isn’t she so gorgeous, thommy?”

“well, yeah, of course,” tommy agrees easily, because she obviously is—and shit. now miss maria is looking at him like he’s a fucking bonehead, because he obviously fucking is. “but—uh, i mean—she’s right, hon’. you gotta listen to your teacher, and that’s not somethin’ you say to a stranger, okay?”

but then, after thinking to her tiny self for a few seconds: “well if she stays my teacher then she’s not a stranger, is she???” sarah asks tommy, then turns her conniving little head towards maria, too. “and you said you’d stay! so can he say you’re gorgeous tomorrow?” then, without waiting for an answer, she’s back towards tommy to finish: “i think you should call her gorgeous tomorrow.”

“i think we should go home, s’what i think,” tommy says, finally deciding to save himself from four-year-old torment. he sets sarah down and pats her on the end with a gentle but firm request to go get her stuff from her cubby, which she goes to do without her complaints of being too tired to walk. maria watches them closely with a close-lipped but relaxed grin. when sarah’s out of earshot, he apologizes. “sorry ‘bout that, ma’am.”

“don’t be,” miss maria teases, crossing her arms. “you did call me gorgeous, after all. i’ve had worse introductions.”

“tommy miller,” he offers, moving to shake her hand. he notices her nails are done-up, a sparkly blend of pretty shades of purple that look tie-dyed on somehow. her hands aren’t soft, not really, but they’re smooth enough to make him shiver as he pulls away. “sarah’s uncle.”

“oh, i know,” she reassures, then nods her head pointedly towards sarah. the little one is coming back towards them with her lunchbox in one hand and her water bottle in the other, walking extra careful so she doesn’t trip over herself like she did last week, tommy guesses. clearly fond, maria continues. “she spent all day telling me about you and her daddy. you’re doing great with her.”

“unca thommy! i’m ready to go!” sarah sing-songs, interrupting whatever miss maria might’ve said next. internally, tommy thanks his niece—the you’re doing great was already enough to make him cry, and he’d rather not do so in front of either her or her amazing new teacher. plopping her lunch and bottle at tommy’s feet, sarah gives not one, but two eager waves to miss maria, hands flapping madly up towards the woman’s face. “bye miss mariaaaaa!!!! i’ll see you tomorrow!!!!”

“bye sarah sweets!” maria says back, waving just as enthusiastically. to tommy, she raises an amused, teasing eyebrow. just loud enough for him to hear as he turns away, he hears her say “bye, gorgeous,” and laugh, giving yet another angel a pair of wings.

it takes everything in him to not fall straight to the floor, toppling his own precious niece, right then. he doesn’t think he even breathes until both he and Sarah are secured in the car, him in the front and her in her carseat. she’s already babble singing mary j. blige’s “just fine,” which they usually play and sing on their way home from school to help her regulate. when he plays the song this time, sarah smiles bright at him through the rearview and says “i already feel just fine, unca tommy!!! but can we still play it, just for fun?”

“of course, baby,” he says, and start singing along with her. he’s feeling just fine, too.

🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

tagging some homies (btw just let me know if u wanna be tagged in this kinda stuff or not guys! im never sure lol): @becomethesun @clickergossip @boilingcowboy @bumblepony

[percabeth4life]

hc: everytime percy almost dies or miraculously recovers right before death or sees the god or survives smth that wouldve killed anyone else, he makes an offering to Thanatos basically going "sorry if i messed up your schedule again, hope you have a great day, am happily awating when you can actually collect me, bye!<3"

Thanatos considers them good friends, says it once in front of Hades, Persephone&Demeter(&through an amazing game of telephone, Poseidon gets told his Son is "making good friends with death" and Poseidon takes that to mean Percy is (1) almost dyinf even ore frequently than usual or (2) they are sarcastic and he is sassing thanatos&he(Than) does nOT appreciate it

Lmao, Poseidon is panicking, Thanatos when rescued in SON is just like "<3 bestie! How nice to see you <3 You doing good? How am I doing? Yeah just trapped here"

Percy does not realize Thanatos considers them good friends and is just confuzzled. He's happy Thanatos seems to think he's chill tho.

[r0semultiverse]

psst...ur cute

anon, you got good taste, thank you 💜

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Arsonist Neil/firefighter Andrew snippet plsss🙏 (i hope the wips don’t fight you too much this week❤️)

WIP Wednesday (4/24)  Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 158)

Okay, his arsonist friend is having some sort of clothing-related crisis. That’s great. But Andrew will humor him. He counts the shoes lined up in the bottom of his closet, surprising himself at how many identical pairs of boots he’s got.

“Five pairs of boots, three pairs of sneakers, two pairs of slip-ons, and a pair of bunny slippers that my cousin gave me which I have ever worn in my life." Andrew lies, looking down where they are currently on his feet. "Why do you need a rundown of what’s in my closet?”

10 sighs before answering with, “Everything I own fits into a duffle bag.”

Andrew can definitely relate to that, except he never had anything that nice. He thinks of the big black trash bags he’d carted through foster home after foster home. He remembers one move in which he didn’t even get to take the shoes he’d come with. The Wilkersons wanted his sneakers for their real kid and gave him a pair of dollar store flip flops right before the social worker showed up.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re asking about my wardrobe.” Andrew says as he drops onto his bed.

There’s a sigh and then, “I guess I always knew that it wasn’t normal, but it has been for me for a long time. Just the necessities, you know? I just wanted to know how much a regular person has.”

“I wouldn’t count myself among the regulars,” Andrew admits. He likes having clothes, but he doesn’t even wear most of them. There are several items that still have tags attached and two of those pairs of boots are scuffed up beyond repair. But he can’t get rid of them. He might need them.

“So, do you think it’s weird that I’ve got eight outfits and one pair of shoes?”

“No. Your clothes look good on you. As long as they’re clean— and don’t have scorch marks,” Andrew adds, making 10 snort. “It doesn’t matter how much you’ve got. The man makes the clothes, not the other way around. Why is this coming up?”

“I just unpacked my bag. And my clothes barely take up one drawer.”

Andrew clicks his tongue. “You’re just now unpacking? You’ve been in town for weeks.”