"Nice place you have here," says Desire, sliding into the booth opposite Hob.
Hob, unfortunately, recognizes them by voice alone. Desire speaks with the melody of an arpeggio, smoothed into oblivion by the sustained press of a piano pedal. Drag without release, in comparison to Dream's resounding deep notes.
"Never seen you here before," Hob says, instead of get out of my pub. He doesn't actually need to start a fight.
"I've decided to respect my brother's play set for now," Desire says archly, as if this is a huge consideration on their part. "He's been through so much recently, after all."
"And you've been so much help with that," Hob says.
Something dangerous flashes briefly in Desire's eyes, and Hob remembers how fickle they can be. Like fire, Dream had said.
Then it subsides. "Careful, Robert," they say easily, leaning on their hand, "one might think you've chosen a side."
No thinking about it, Hob thinks. "Families shouldn't have sides."
"Oh, ours isn't supposed to," Desire agrees. "And yet."
And yet. "Is there something in particular that has you breaking your self-imposed generosity today?"
It's one day before his and Dream's usual meeting, after all. That can't be a coincidence. Technically, they meet all the time now, but they always keep June 7th for nostalgia's sake.
"I simply enjoy the atmosphere," says Desire, leaning back in their chair. They thrust out a hand, and a rainbow flag flutters off the wall into their grasp, drawn by their whims. Desire drapes it over their shoulders.
"I guess that makes sense," Hob says.
Desire raises an eyebrow.
Hob gestures at them. "Desire. Isn't that your thing?"
They give him a crafty smile, a little teeth, that suggests Hob's going to learn something he may not entirely like. "Well, it is certainly of interest to me."
"Of interest," Hob echoes. Might as well say fire was "of interest" to a pyromaniac. "Isn't that what you do? Dream makes dreams, and..." he trails off.
"I am Desire," they say. "So, in a way, I feel all desires at all times. Yes, even yours, Robert." They pat him on the cheek, and wink. "I know what you feel."
Hob's cheeks heat, but Desire doesn't linger on it, thankfully.
"But, my own desire? Hm, no, not in the way you would think."
"But you--" Hob doesn't know how to phrase the confusion in his mind.
Desire runs their tongue along their lower lip. "Are you calling me a slut, Robert?"
"Would take one to know one, I suppose," Hob says before he can even think about it, and Desire laughs, bright and loud.
"You are so cute. You would be delicious if you weren't obsessed with Dream. But, no. I can feel desired," Desire says, emphasizing the past tense. The objective nature of it. "But that, while certainly tasty, is not quite the same as feeling it oneself, now is it?"
What might it be like, Hob thinks, feeling a pang of sympathy for them despite how they've treated Dream, how he'd automatically marked them as an enemy in his mind, to be surrounded by wanting and not be able to feel it?
"I... guess not," he says. "So you don't want anything?"
Desire shrugs. "I enjoy things. But if I can't have them, it simply passes like--" they pull off the flag and let it flutter to the floor "-- a gust of wind. And I move on to something else. Otherwise, I chase others' desires. Your inn is full of them. Desires for peace, for belonging, for change and magic and-- yes, lust, too, but more of an undertone. It is..." they run their tongue over their teeth, thinking. "Aromatic."
"What does desire 'taste' like?" Hob asks.
"Why don't you tell me," Desire says.
"I'm not going to lick you," Hob says, and Desire cackles.
"Open offer," they say. "Be all metaphorical like Dream, then."
"Alright, fine." Hob decides to indulge them, because he has actually learned something interesting today. "It's like... the smell of a good meal. You don't quite... taste it, exactly? But you can imagine tasting it."
"Good answer," says Desire, and steals his drink for a sip. "I knew I could count on you to listen, Hob."
Hob's not sure if it's the tone, like something long undecided has now been settled, or if it's the use of his old nickname, but suddenly the afternoon tilts, and Hob realizes with a swoop in his stomach that they're here for a purpose, and not just poking at Dream.
The Endless almost never communicate directly, Hob knows this. Goddammit.
"I've spent a lot of time in these sorts of places, you know," Desire says, gesturing around. "They are right--" they interlace their fingers in example "--in the center of my realm."
"Depending on the year, I would have thought you and Despair together," Hob says, wary now that he's realized this is coming to some sort of point.
"A common assumption," Desire says, nodding like a teacher whose student is getting on the right track. "See, people often think my twin and I are opposites. Desire, Despair." They hold out both hands separately again, then clasp them. "But they don't have it right. Hope is the opposite of Despair. Do you know what the opposite of Desire is?" They reach across the table to tap their sharp nails against his sternum. "Shame."
"And that's... part of your domain, as well?" Hob guesses.
"Indeed. Who could know shame as well as one who desires? They both--" they lay their hand flat to his heart "--live here."
Hob supposes he himself has had plenty of desires over the years, and plenty of shame too -- though not necessarily over the same matters.
"Hence," they spread their hands wide, "my presence. The duality of Desire."
"So what do you do?" Hob asks. "When you're here because of shame, I guess."
"I am always both," says Desire. "But." They smile sweetly, and it actually does look sweet, for once. "I am merely here to hold your hand."
Hob must look at them with an expression of vague disgust, for they snort and roll their eyes.
"Not you, Robert. You!" They gesture broadly at the entire inn. "Death is always going on and on about serving humanity. I know how to do my job too, you know."
They frown at him, at the idea he might think otherwise, and it's-- it's actually kind of sweet, how much they care about this. It really is.
"That's sweet," he says, and Desire grumbles. Hob can't help but smile.
"I take the charge of those who live in the heart of Desire very seriously," they sniff. Their gaze slants over Hob's shoulder, watching something across the room. "Relatedly, if that man at the bar follows through on his desire to say something homophobic to those children on their date, I am going to shoot him."
"Ooookaaayyy," Hob says, snapping his fingers in front of their eyes until their attention turns back to him. Hob's bartender will handle any issues; he would really rather not have an Endless making a scene.
Desire smiles placidly at him. "What was I saying? Ah, yes. Desire and shame go hand in hand. Almost like dreams and nightmares, you might say."
Hob goes still again, on instinct. "Right."
"My sister and I are very close, even if we are not, actually, opposites. Dream and I were close, once." They drag their finger around the rim of Hob's glass. "Wanting. Dreaming. So similar, and yet, so different, too. It hurts, to really let yourself want what you've dreamt of. It hurts to desire, don't you think? It's sharp, like a blade."
"Yes," Hob says. "It is."
"Mmm. But shame... shame is like a heavy, warm blanket. It makes you want to just--" they mime pulling fabric over their head-- "disappear. My brother and I have a very complicated relationship. Perhaps, one day, we will be on better terms again, and he can tell me about his desires, and I can tell him about my dreams. I would love to know what it feels like."
Hob isn't sure if he's putting the pieces of this meandering conversation together correctly, but whatever he is picking up on, he doesn't like the sound of.
"Dream is always going on and on and on and on about the importance of dreams and it's so annoying but you know what? I'm starting to think he's right." They give Hob a warning glance. "Do not tell him I said that. But, yes, I'm afraid that desires without dreams hand in hand are just--" they slide their hand across the table and let it stop at the edge. "Impotent. Static. And god knows what good dreams even are without desire but Dream will never admit that."
"So you're what," Hob says, even though he knows this is not what this is about, "trying to mending fences?"
Desire smiles sunnily. "I just want him to call me. I'm bored, and he's spent far too much time in my sister's realm recently."
Then they stand in one fluid motion.
"What are you saying," Hob asks. He feels sort of faint, whiplashed.
"Oh, I've said nothing, I'm doing nothing. I merely don't want to have to fill an empty seat next June, that is all. I'll be far too busy." They wink, and then they're gone.
Hob sits still for a long time, after. He's still not sure he understood... all of that. He understands that the Endless aren't supposed to interfere in each other's affairs and that sometimes riddles result.
What he does understand is that if Desire, of all people, has decided to be helpful, then he definitely has something to be concerned about. Something he needs to do something about.
He shakily drains the rest of his glass, then stands. Hob has never gotten anywhere by being static.
Time to go try to do something about it.
426 notes
·
View notes
hello!!! *offers you this fic i’m writing in exchange for your trc goldfinch au please* (whenever you have the time <3)
- @you-know-i-get-itt
hello!! yes!! i’m so sorry this has taken me so long, life’s been a bitch LMAO 😭 and THANK YOU FOR THE FIC!!!!! i just read it and you have such an incredible writing style, i always devour your fics! if you ever end up writing more for it, please lmk!!
okay, buckle your seatbelt because this AU is so scuffed and still remains unfinished (though i’ve been working on bits and pieces over the last couple of weeks) so i’m not sure how much sense this is about to make? apologies in advance LMAO
okay, so the snippet shared beneath read more is from the very beginning of the story… or the end, depending on how you view it. either way, it’s the beginning of the fic i’m working (slowly) on for this AU.
an important note about this AU is that the concept of dreamers/dreams is completely thrown out, because i was struggling to make it fit, and so instead of the Barns being full of fantastical wonders, it’s art. (which i’d argue is a fantastical wonder anyway, but like. not magical in a fantasy sense)
There’s an underground secret market for artists here, and Niall happens to be a pretty prominent figure. The Barns are full of sculptures and paintings and all kinds of artwork, though many of these fellow artists aren’t happy with Niall- he gets himself into some trouble over stealing art and reselling for a whole lot more money than it should have been. He does all of this under a pseudonym, manages to keep his dirty work anonymous, until they figure him out.
One thing leads to another, and Niall Lynch is found dead in the driveway by his middle son.
Aurora has been sick for a while, and the stress of her husband’s death contributes to the rapid decline of her health, meaning Declan has to step in to care for his brothers while their mother is in hospital. Declan had been helping his father for years with the scam- though he’d been morally against it in many ways- and knows that ‘the bad people’ will be back to claim all of the artwork from the house. He therefore packs it all away, and sets it on the drive with a note begging them to just take it, and please leave his family out of this.
Ronan views Declan’s hurry to get rid of their Dad’s stuff as an attack, a dismissal of not just his grief but of their father’s life. He secretly takes a painting from one of the bags- The Goldfinch- and stashes it behind his bookshelf.
I’m really aware that I’ve typed so much so I’ll be brief with the rest Aurora dies, and the freaking art mafia people realise there’s a painting missing- The Goldfinch- and Declan decides they’re moving to DC to get away. Ronan refuses, and ends up staying with Gansey for a while. Through Gansey he meets Blue, Adam and Noah, and things feel okay- until he returns briefly to the Barns and finds a letter containing both Gansey’s address, and Declan and Matthew’s address. He panics, makes his way to DC, confides in Declan about it, finds out they’ve been having ominous happenings relating to the art. Declan decides they’re selling the Barns and townhouse to move further, Ronan isn’t happy with this. More stuff happens, he ends up trading the painting with the agreement that Declan and Matthew will not be bothered again.
While all of this is happening, Ronan and Gansey lowkey have something homoerotic going on, and Ronan is tits-over-toes in love with Adam.
i’ll shut up now, but the gist of it is that The Goldfinch is a sort of physical manifestation of Ronan’s grief- he’s unable to let go of his father, of the past, but eventually has built himself enough of a support system to finally let go of his father and properly grieve. there’s also a focus placed on the small choices that build up, over time, into something more- the Butterfly Effect, and all that.
——————
It’s cold, this time of year.
Ronan’s hands shake as he fumbles through the junk drawer, his fingers numbly brushing over various wires, receipts and plastic soldiers as he hunts for a lighter. He knows there will be one in here- the centerpiece candle on the dining table was lit on what must have amounted to hundreds of occasions over the years. Aurora would send one of the children to this drawer to dig out the Zippo lighter they kept handy for Sunday dinners and Easter lunches, and would allow the chosen child- for she kept the names on a rota- to light the candle.
The lightbulb in the kitchen has stubbornly refused to emit any light tonight, and so Ronan’s not sure what he catches his hand on. He retracts it from the drawer with a hissed Fuck, presses the cut to his mouth and unceremoniously kicks the counter. His entire soul feels disregulated, like it’s jittering around within the confines of his skin, pushing and pulling and desperately attempting to claw its way out.
It’s like the painting had been fused to his very existence, and- with it gone- he’s missing a vital organ.
He braves the drawer again, this time proving successful as his fingers tighten around the cold metal casing. The weight is familiar in his palm as he hurries back to the sitting room, dropping to his knees in front of the wood burner and flipping open the silver cap. When he reaches through the door, twisting his arm until he can catch the kindling with the flame, he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the dark glass.
He can’t quite believe it’s himself. He’s grown since he was last in this spot, learning to light the fire with his father at his side, and something inside of him lurches at the bags under his eyes and the hard lines of his face.
He breathes.
Pulls his hand from the catching flames.
Shuts the metal door.
Doesn’t think about punching the glass hard enough that it’ll shatter, take his mind off of the painting, send his brothers calling, let them all live under this one roof again and pretend nothing bad has ever happened to them. Let them pretend they’re kids, watching over one another while holding down the fort until their parents return from another business trip.
He doesn’t think about the painting.
Which is to say that he definitely does think about the painting.
It’s a parasite- or maybe Ronan is the parasite. Hungry. Unable to survive outside of its host, feeding off of the thrill and the regret and the addictive nausea that overwhelmed him whenever he pulled back the plastic wrapping and caught even the briefest glimpse of canvas.
The little bird had taunted him. Begged him to set it free. Unchain it from its perch and let it go.
Ronan’s phone buzzes somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull his eyes away from the flames.
It’s probably Gansey. Insomniac Gansey, unaware that Ronan has just ripped his heart from his chest and sold it for his brothers. Gansey, looking for someplace to ramble about kings or someone to hang out with or someone to tell him that he’s alive. Ronan had never understood Gansey’s occasional panic over whether he’s really here or not- if a person is capable of worrying that they might he dead, they probably aren’t.
Ronan kind of gets it now.
Still, he ignores the phone. He lets the heat settle on his face, draw out the dead chill from his bones, and thinks about what he’ll do tomorrow.
11 notes
·
View notes
The Greek Mythos Project: The Submission Process
Hello everyone, Camila here! Finally have the time to actually flesh out the details of this project so here we are, with the Official Submission Process Post :). Dw, it's absolutely not as formal as the name suggests. This is mostly just a heads up on what will happen once you reach out with your submission (also... art is totally included btw. I need to put this in an official post but now that I've learned how to post art on AO3? Yeah, we're doing this 😂😂).
The Very First Step: How Do You Submit. Submission somewhat varies between whether or not you have an official account on Tumblr/want to stay completely anonymous or if you have a tumblr account you can submit to us through (although you can totally ask to stay anonymous to the general public or even just beyond me, Camila, who is currently and at this point going forward, the only one who maintains this account and therefore will see everything). Here are the two pathways to go through, separated for everyone's convenience :).
If You Don't Have Anything For Us To Communicate Back To Us Through, such as wanting to stay completely anonymous or just not having a Tumblr account, then you can just send us an anonymous ask! Of course, though, when you do this, we would like for you to acknowledge the fact that we will have no further communication with you other than public posts, and so basically when you submit your work, it's a "one and done." Yes, you can absolutely sign off a pseudo-name in your ask as something to keep track of you by and I'll explain that further later in this post, but just acknowledge and know that you're basically "dropping it off" into our hands from then on and we won't be able to offer further resources such as editing, "beta-ing", or even just asking for further clarifications of stuff :(. But! I promise to you that it's not that intimidating. Submitting things anonymously into this project will allow you to test the waters of your particular fixation and build confidence without having any strings attached and, honestly, we'll take good care of your works :). I personally am a writer of over 7 years, have been hyperfixated in Greek Mythology, and I've edited and worked with hundreds of writers over the years, scholarly or at the basic world-building levels. This is a project aimed to bring together a wide audience and just bring content to those niche writers/concepts and so, what's the big deal? We've got you <3.
If You Do Have A Tumblr Blog/Way To Communicate Back With Us, it's the exact same submission process as those without a blog. Just open up the ask box, copy and paste your submission along with any additional information you'd love to give, and send it our way :). You can tell us if you absolutely do not want to hear anything back from us or even have your name attached, or if you'd like to be connected with those similar to your interests :). Either way, the submissions are the same--via the Ask Box--but this just allows for better communication between us and you. There are two aspects of this project: getting people's work out there and building a community, and both ways of reaching out to us accomplish at least *one* goal of the two, if not both :).
The Second Step: What Happens After You Submit Your Work To Us. Well, we review it. Depending on what's going on, I and/or one of my lovely teammates will go through your work to do some basic editing and formatting work to make sure it fits Wattpad/AO3's structure along with making sure that all the triggers are correctly tagged. This is a requirement in your submission process, especially the trigger warning tagging process. As much as this is based on original writing styles, I do want to make sure we maintain a baseline level of conformity between the works as much as possible. Small things such as the space between paragraphs along with how the breaks in scenes are presented are mostly the things we'll be looking at but it'll really depend on the actual fic and it absolutely will not be on you as the writer to do this. Write it how you want to write it and we'll find a way to meet you in the closer-to-you middle :).
[Coming Soon] Here Is What We Ask For In Your Original Submission.
Optional Steps Within This In-Between Process. We provide in-depth editing, worldbuilding, and beta-ing help! Currently, as I am writing this, there are only two of us on the team--me, Camila/ @sleepdeprivationbutitsvaruna along with Leo, He/Him, @pluckedchicken --but I hope to either expand as this project develops further or we just grow comfortable in our roles. I personally specialize in developing worlds/AUs/worldbuiling while Leo has reached out to help with general editing and working with those darker AUs that I'd personally rather not touch. You can even reach out to us before you start your work! I know quite a lot of people with a diverse understanding of the myths that I can either point you to for help or I can even just do my own deep-dive search and help you out directly! This can be done based on request in the original ask submission--for those wanting to stay anonymous--or over DMing with me, my own blog, or Leo's blog. Just feel free to reach out and we'll try to help you out with anything!
The Third Step: What Happens When This Is All Published. Currently... absolutely no clue. It's only like a Month into this thing and I haven't even written the first sentence of my own submission, so this answer is really only going to come with time. Half of this post in general contains stuff that I came up with on the spot, and don't think that we (or at least I) have all the answers over here just because we have a fancy and cool blog. It's 2300 rn and I've literally written over a thousand words in one sitting while having spent the entire day luring out my motivation kitten and only managing to get it an inch closer and nowhere near out from under the bed, so. Yeah. We're figuring it out over here too.
As for a literal answer to this very real question: my current thoughts is that, at some point in the sooner or later stages (probably when I get the "What We Ask For In Your Original Submission" post posted), we'll come up with a general template to go off of, showing the submitter's name, socials, where to find them, additional information they want to give, author's notes, TWs, etc. in an easy-to-navigate way for both us and the reader.
8 notes
·
View notes