#em wants interactions
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magicalara · 2 years ago
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Alright everyone I've returned for the day bc I have a 13 hour shift ahead of me and need a reason to not end it all
Send me asks and shit pls
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bookalicent · 2 months ago
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yeah so this was insane
#i feel like too many people reduce this interaction to jason being like ‘lol same’#but idk :/#this chapter is from jason’s pov#and leading up to it he’s like ‘people keep walking on eggshells around me bc of the the michael varus stab wound’#and he hates it so when he goes on deck to help out with the storm#everyone’s like wtf except for percy#and jason states how much he appreciated percy not treating him like a sick kid#and i feel like it’s echoed in this sentiment where jason could say so many things like#‘you should never feel that way’ ‘im here if you need anything’#but he doesn’t make percy feel alone in his desire to just…. end it all#which ik for some people that doesn’t work but you’re not a character in hoo and percy is dealing with so much guilt#and he can’t tell annabeth bc she’s a main aspect of that guilt#and he doesn’t wanna guilt her more and he feels ashamed and when he describes this he feels weird for feeling it#so having jason this tough guy be like ‘yo i understand it bc i felt the same way#that’s gotta mean a lot to percy#also insane how jason who also struggles to display vulnerability#allows it in one of few times in this moment just so percy this guy he’s supposed to be jealous about#feels comforted and not alone in his guilt and shame#and also it’s just insane how jason’s wanting to kay em ess does not get talked about AT ALL#and just seeing his mom and the pressure of new rome getting to him#like this scene is insane and i’ll never shut up about it#also ignore me i’m just finishing my reread of hoo that took all summer#jason grace#percy jackson#pjo#ashla.txt
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thegirlinthecher · 8 months ago
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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year ago
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(loosely) that scene from potc... its so Them i think...
#apologies for the low quality scribbles i simply couldn't be fucked!! <3<3<3#and they're a lil funky.... i havent drawn em in a while....#but geez. man. oof. ough#the potential of the pining + Names ouagshashjafkanvfla#THE RITUALS ARE INTRICATE#scribble salad#franklydear#welcome home#ever since finding out how they call each other by last names my brain has been Mush over that#the layers!!! the potential for development!!!#what would the transition to first-name-usage look like#i feel like they're gonna be on first name basis Before they actually refer to each other by their first names#and maybe frank will call him eddie first.... maybe....#leaving eddie to be the one maintaining a sort of 'professional' distance#but in the process making their interactions Way more intimate and emotionally Charged than they would've been otherwise#its about the suspense... about the 'am i allowed to know what your name feels like'....#the 'i want nothing more than to know what my name sounds like in your voice'#receiving your mail and waiting for the time he finally allows that little distance to be closed with one simple syllable#or delivering the mail and waiting for him to open both doors w/ hand & name#both an allowance and a confirmation and an answer and a promise wrapped up in one little word#Im Just Speculating & Rambling at this point#OUGH FRANKLYDEAR <3<3<3<3#i cant wait to watch them really go Through the Horrors while falling in love#bc when nothing is real or certain what else can you cling to but each other#so abnormal about them....#wh has opened my eyes to the inherent romanticism & pain of mail carriers#they will always come to your door but they will also always leave#and the gifts they give you are always from someone Else#all you can hope for are those Moments where your fingers brush as they hand over letters#where the only true words between you are the ones hidden away in ink and belonging to neither of you
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snurtle · 11 months ago
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I've been thinking about the templars lately. they were promised honor, virtue, told that they would be charged with protection of the innocent... And then those same people are systemically exploited and abused, abuse others because they're taught to regard everyone else as either sheep who need to be lead or potential threats. Never equals, except in their brothers/sisters-in-arms. They act as the guard-dogs and military arm of an entirely different organization that they're only a functionary member of but have no governing say in. Even the chantry aren't their equals- they function as the templar order's supervisors! And all this isolation and closing of ranks ends in disability, addiction, death, and abandonment by the system they spent their bodies in service of.
To top that off, retaliations against them just confirm the paranoia they were taught to embrace. It's probably a long hard road to get out of that hole.
Like, listen. the dichotomy of mage vs templars is a satisfying and easy one, but the system is tearing them apart too. have you ever heard of a retired templar?
at the end of it, mages and templars need to unite against the real threat. the chantry.
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syrupbitee · 1 month ago
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I LOVE THEM I LOVE THWM I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM
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royaltea000 · 9 months ago
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Two young knights
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ashipiko · 7 months ago
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THIS CHALLENGE WAS LIKE WAYYYY TOO FUN. TBH
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YOU COULD NEVER GUESS MY TYPE IN FAVES. HAHA. HA. ha 😔
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chloesimaginationthings · 1 year ago
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I love the JoJolands group
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chiropteracupola · 6 months ago
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"Are you finished with my portrait yet? Show me!" "Cipacton, I can't draw you if you keep moving!"
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magicalara · 2 years ago
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Send me things to wake up to in the morning through asks
Random thoughts, headcanons, story ideas, conversation, anything. I'll comment on it all lol
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thwackk · 2 years ago
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mayb i’ll post my boosters here too
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harbingersecho · 11 months ago
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some outfits for the crown
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skunkes · 4 months ago
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#a doodley#okkk 2022: the torture chamber....i only sparsely drew al and developed talon (he was borned...) bc my mind was occupied with other things.#2023: exiting torture chamber; it took me a tiny little bit to get back to drawing and ''interacting with'' al again but i did it even#though it was a reminder of the Bad bc he's my copium#summer 2023: i view and witness media and suddenly have like 5 fictional men i cant decide on which to focus... and september (talon month)#comes along so I decide to focus on Talon after not touching him much at all throughout the entire year#(forced this btw i did not wanna do it LOL i didnt even remember how to draw him)#september 2023 to now: talon has infiltrated the brain. but i want to swivel back to al#now: i've forgotten how to Talk to al (just like i did in beginning of 2023)#(and just like i forgot how to talk to talon for most of 2023)#so ive kind of just been replaying the smunker cow al daydreams from when they first met#so I can find my way back...retracing my steps#in doing so ive kind of also forgotten how to interact with talon but still havent gotten back to al#so rn my life is so boring without imaginary bf interactions. just the before sleep plot rehashing daydreams...#or sparse visions of em Sometimes#nobody in my brain rn just like the short period last yr and its distressing#what do i draw without a love obsession.....#how do i pass time without it....! so boring. idk what to do#i miss the me of several yrs ago when i was drawing 50 different aus with al....ive downgraded in skill and imagination and creativity#so bad since then. idk. idk. i hope they come back to me soon#maybe i shld just draw al a lot which is how i kickstarted caring abt talon again almost a yr ago ?#hoping i can get him to come back before my surgery i need my big sexy boy nurse for recovery#(complaining abt things usually fixes em for me so im hoping thats the case here)
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zaczimcon · 4 months ago
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very soft, very vanilla Asaden in these trying times
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theaceace · 10 months ago
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Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.
Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.
He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.
Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.
“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.
Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.
“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.
"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"
"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"
And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.
“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.
It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.
Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.
"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.
"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.
"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."
"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them. 
“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough. 
He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach. 
“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes. 
“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth. 
“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.
“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.
Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough.  Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.
He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.
“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.
“You tried to kill me!”
“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”
“I am, because you tried to kill me!”
“Well it's not like it worked!”
Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him. 
“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.
“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”
Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.
“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust. 
Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes. 
Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.
“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob. 
“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –
Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.
“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre,  Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it. 
“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”
“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”
“Unreasonably so.”
“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”
Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other. 
“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”
“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”
They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”
They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.
“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.
“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it. 
“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”
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