#I'm living the goddamn dream

[asteria-argo]

you know when you first rearrange your room so you're a little bit disoriented all the time because everything is in a different spot to normal? Well I just fell ass over teakettle off onto the floor after an impromptu nap, because I forgot my bed is now on the opposite side of the room and thought I'd been fucking kidnapped or something when I woke up staring at a different wall to usual

[cuubism]

"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.

[lilith-of-stardust]

Time to break out the nice glassware (plastic goblet of a skull being held by a skeleton hand bought at stop and shop in 2015)

[greenbergsays]

My mom asked me this morning if I wanted to take a day trip with her and some of the niblings, but I can't because my paternal grandmother's husband passed away yesterday and I have to Be Here in case anyone needs anything.

So, my mom tells the niblings, "Aunt [Dessie] is choosing to do the responsible thing instead of the fun thing," trying to explain to them why I couldn't go and that it was, you know, Very Good of me to do that.

But that sentence has been playing on a loop in my head since she said it, because if that isn't the story of my freakin' life.

My imaginary biography is definitely called The Dutiful Daughter, and let me tell you, it's fucking exhausting sometimes.

[andiwriteordie]

stonathan’s canon in the spiderwill fic i’m writing btw. just in case anybody was wondering

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

no matter what you do and no matter how empathetic you are, you're never gonna know what it feels like to be your parents and they're never gonna know what it's felt like to be you. you might've been born out of their flesh but the same shoes won't feel the same on either feet. there's no point reconciling the pain you've felt if there's no common ground to be found. you don’t have to apologize to be a horrible offspring if they don't have to apologize to be equally horrible parents. a plant only survives the storm when it bends to the current of the wind.

[an-absolute-nightmare]

it's funny how any decision i ever make that my mom doesn't like is something i do to her and any decision she refuses to take that would improve her life is me shifting blame onto her and nothing is ever her fault and everything wrong with her was done to her and the only times she has ever been wrong was when she is guilt tripping me but don't you dare ever imply to her that she's guilt tripping, oh god no, how dare you imply that her ''heartfelt'' apology (that consists of her taking all the blame and not even a little responsibility) is an attempt to guilt trip you, you're the problem, you just don't want to take responsibility of your life, you're just wasting opportunities served to you on a golden platter, you just picked the easier path, you just picked the harder path, jesus fucking christ mother i really don't want to say it but the truth is this, that for someone who never took a stand for her own life, you sure have opinions to offer about mine

[talentforlying]

my friends, if you want to be successful in school, my advice to you is not to raise your dose of ADHD meds right before hyperfixating on your twin semi-original characters whose backstories have the Most Involved Comic Lore possible. i have written 7k of backstory and i'm not even at the modern day yet. at this point i am 99% physically comprised of the first 30 issues of hellblazer, daniel bruhl's 2021 indie film passion project, and kashmiri tea. thanks for coming to the TED talk

[sagaschan]

If I were to add on to that rant a little more

[noxtivagus]

LITERATURE CLASS RN!!!! IM SO GIDDY

[iamnotawomanimagod]

sometimes seemingly small shit will stick with you forever. when I was a teenager, my parents were drunk all the time and neither could nor would give me rides to places I wanted to go. so if I wanted to go see friends, do an after-school activity, or get a part-time job, I had to rely on the kindness of my friends/acquaintances (or, in reality, their parents) to be able to leave my house. and I hated being at home, because of the aforementioned constant drunkenness of my parents.

I'm 31. it's been almost 15 years since I've been in that situation. if I get stuck somewhere, I can call my husband. worst case, I have a cell phone and money and I could do a rideshare. more importantly, I drive now and I have my own car. I'm never stuck anywhere. I don't have to rely on the kindness of people who aren't responsible for my well-being. I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe.

and yet one of my most frequent stress dreams is being stuck somewhere. not having a ride home. having to walk in the dark and cold after school. being stuck with drunk people and having no escape. getting lost by taking the bus.

my parents were pretty shitty, but even still, I have to wonder - if they knew then that I'd still be having nightmares about this in my 30s, would they have tried harder? could they have? I don't know. addiction is a monster and addicts often make for shitty parents.

I just wish I could go back in time and give myself a ride. I guess I can do that now. but that doesn't stop the nightmares.

[forever-nerdsrope]

oh fuck wait ted hasn't watched shawshank yet, re-imaginging my fantasies rn. We're both crying over that scene. I think he'd cry. That's my opinion. I think he's in touch with his feelings, I think he'd tear up a bit.

[psychoticwillgraham]

sorry for the triggering post, i'm just. Spiraling rn

[backtodecembertv]

you're being a superstar and all i got are victim cards and you got every single thing you want and i just watch

[lovesong]

how did i let myself become so horrifically pathetically in love with a guy who turned me down over a year ago i'm such a moron. like i've really sat here & let him break my heart over & over just because he's nice to me & likes touching me & having sex with me sometimes. . but in my defence how am i supposed to get over him when he's so sweet & smart & patient & understanding & he tips his head back when he laughs & always smells like laundry & puts sugar in his hot chocolate & can't sit still & tries so so hard & cares so much & knows just what to say & tells me i'm amazing & rubs my back & hugs me from behind when i'm sad & lets me keep his clothes & hold his hand when i have a panic attack & gets me water & he knows how to belong everywhere in the world & reads entire books to try to understand me better & his arms are the safest place i've ever been & being touched by him is like being water kissed by sunlight like 😐😐 god really said i crafted an angel out of my spare sunshine & i'm sending him to you & you get to touch him & be loved by him but you don't get to keep him & he was never really yours to begin with & now you just have to move on with your life like anything else could ever compare & figure out how to be just friends & watch him move on when you've felt the warmth of his affection & been so close to being his & you know what it feels like to have his hands & his mouth everywhere & drift off in his arms & the only place you know where to live is his lap & with his hand in yours but you can never go back there & sometimes it will feel okay because he's still your best friend & he'll pick you up & spin you around & play with your hair & say all the same reassuring words & be funny & charming & lovely but then sometimes the distance will drown you & you'll sob yourself to sleep & when he's there you'll have to hold back your tears & know that your hurt is hurting him but have no way of stopping it & not know how to live & what to do with your hands & who to run to when the one you used to run to is right there but just out of reach & only ever gonna get further & further away from you & will find someone to hold who he feels something real for & will leave with her someday & not you & you just have to be okay with it all & pretend like the hurt & the jealousy aren't making your heart bruise like a piece of fruit he picked up for a while but decided he didn't want after all 🫶🫶

[descended-from-aesthetics]

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