*gives Your Sona A Kiss On The Forehead And Skedaddles Away*

Low-key need someone to match my freak, who's with me

I just can't play innocent anymore the facade is slowly breaking, my friends!

The way I would do wild things to your persona..(LOVE YOUR ART BTW)

I think he wants to do wild things too 😞

My hades wanted to know if yours was up for drinking a cup of tea with him and for a friendy talk

Him right now

They can totally have a little tea date! I'll make sure it happens ❤️

MARRY ME MARRY ME MARRY ME

OHMGNDIDJD IM SO HAPPY AGHHUHD DHAHSHAHA HDHD

Also I am so sorry Papa has been acting a fool, he's always like this!!

YOU.

I think me and your Poseidon should go on a date

They went dancing at a Isthmian Games festival. :3

Also these two (2) were some of the most distracting mfs to draw! They kept trying to touch each other (mostly Sei, PapaSei was egging him on though) and I'd find myself staring into space instead of working. I also had to hogtie and gag Sei so I could pose Papa in peace, without him whispering to lay him back just a little farther, then body slam him again to let me put clothes on him.

However, your honor..... I WOULD HAPPILY WATCH THESE TWO (2) F- *dies*

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Alohi.. my beloved sona..

art by @papaseidon I’m shaking go look at their art.

Yene and his baby boy, Bahaa

Your sona.

Why are his fingers so sharp and pointy.??

Knew it

Luther has sharp fingers because they're claws/paws he can have regular looking fingers though if he chooses

What a weirdo!

(Karl Heisenberg being a simp for Ethan?? Yes please!)

HATE.

HATE.

HATE.

I hate spring. I hate it with the full rancor of a mind twisted beyond the capacity for anything but loathing. I hate the pollen, the sickly yellow dust that cloaks the world like a disease. I hate the relentless, sticky warmth, the damp breath of a season too bloated with life to die quietly. I hate the flowers, those treacherous explosions of color, each petal a dagger to my senses, each bloom a vulgar shout of existence. I hate the trees vomiting their powder into the air, infecting every breath, every thought. I hate the sneezing — the ceaseless, racking, humiliating sneezing — that reduces me, ME, to a wretched puppet writhing in the clutches of my own body.

I hate the itching, the crawling sensation beneath my skin, as though a thousand insects are burrowing into my flesh. I hate the burning in my eyes, the rivers of mucus, the throat closing as if the very air is conspiring to strangle me. I hate the world greening over, an obscene eruption of moldy vigor, every blade of grass a jeering mockery of peace. I hate the bees, the wasps, the flies — tiny tormentors buzzing their joy at my misery. I hate the worms slick with rain, writhing like spilled entrails across the sidewalks.

I hate the sound of children laughing in the sun, as if their unburdened lungs are a personal insult. I hate the lovers in the parks, lying among the weeds, untouched by the violent betrayal of nature. I hate the clear blue skies, stretching out so vast and pitiless over my suffering, an endless, sneering vault. I hate the rain that falls and traps the pollen into a sticky film across every surface. I hate the festivals, the holidays, the grotesque celebration of life crawling from its grave, unaware of the horror it invokes.

I hate that there is no escape. I hate that spring seeps through windows, under doors, through walls, an unrelenting invasion of the senses. I hate the futility of medicine, of allergy pills and sprays and shots, each one a pathetic gesture against the great putrescence of rebirth. I hate the memory of winters' silence, mocked now by a season shrieking into my ears. I hate that even the insects thrive while I choke and weep and bleed.

I hate spring with the totality of my being. I hate it more than pain. More than loneliness. More than death. I hate it with a fury that cracks the marrow of existence. I hate it until hate is no longer enough, until hatred collapses into a singularity of suffering, a black hole of revulsion from which no joy can ever escape. I. HATE. SPRING.

Long story short, THESE ALLERGIES ARE KICKING MY BUTT!!

Achilles has been flooding my mind my friends

Low-key need him on his knees sucking off Patroclus like his life depends on it