#hob's relationship with service and his court is deeply fucked

[sarcasticsra]

Now: imagine you’re Hob, and you meet a fey so stunningly poised, a true gem, in your eyes, of their court. You think their magnificence is only further enhanced by the fact that they, too, understand what it is like to serve others, to work so that others may enjoy the majesty of the Bloom. You share an unexpectedly tender moment, alone in the forest, and then it ends abruptly, and you are unsure as to what you have done.

This uncertainty is only further exacerbated when you are challenged to a duel by their assistant, and even once it is over, she refuses to tell you what offense you have committed. It seems logical to conclude that your foolhardiness in expressing any tender sentiments to someone so majestic was an insult that could not stand. As you are reminded by your superiors, you are a blunt instrument. That is your purpose.

Then you see them transform at the tea party, the lovely elven form fading away to reveal them as they truly are: a resplendent, breathtaking owlbear, eyes kind, nervous. You stumble over your own feet, marveling at the splendor of them. Their magnificence truly knows no bounds.

You realize, then, what an arrogant fool you were, to think anything you did or said impacted their thoughts in any way. They simply had their own inner worries to focus on. As if a humble goblin such as yourself could even begin to factor into any of their considerations at all.

And in the hedge maze, as you turn away from the scent of peonies, you know you are something else, even worse than a fool: a coward.

At the tailor’s shop, you remind yourself that you are an idiot, insignificant to their mind, but you remain enamored by them, the glory of their beauty such that it could inspire a sunrise to jealousy. They don’t say much when the conversation turns to deriding the Court of Wonder, and you are moved, wishing only to comfort them, as they describe their complicated feelings toward their court. You understand them. You know that isolation.

When they tell you that you were used, that it seems as though no one else in the Goblin Court has given any concern to your needs, you feel the coldness of the medal in your hand so keenly, stunned even as you know they are correct, unable to offer any reproach to their words. This wondrous fey before you is like none other you have met, and you are unworthy in their presence. You hurriedly give them your medal, rushing to the door, hearing but not heeding their insistence that you protect yourself.

At the masquerade ball, when the fireworks explode above, your only thought is of them. You act so rashly, ungentlemanly, placing your hands on them without permission, but their response is kind, gracious. You can scarcely believe it when they show you their empty dance card, and you feel the breath leave your lungs when they ask you for yours. You meet their eyes, feeling the magic in the air, and you eat your card, so that their name and their name alone will ever be the one it bears, as close to you as you can keep it.

You dance, and you dance, and you dance again, and even when you muck it up with your typical oafishness, they seem to enjoy it, to enjoy you. You are spellbound in their arms, and when they ask you what the P stands for in your name, you can only whisper it, a secret just for them. They smile, lifting a peony from their ensemble, and place it behind your ear, as if in exchange. For the first time in your life, you feel cherished. You feel pretty.

Their kindness this evening is a gift you will be grateful for forever. They have given you a glimpse of possibility, of what it might be like to be... loved, and it is as beautiful a dream as they are.

Reality, of course, returns the following morning, with your new promotion and your new assignment, and after your conversation with BINX, you think it is no wonder you are so easily cornered by Prince Apollo, as true a scoundrel as you’ve always suspected. You flee, taking substantial wounds for your trouble, but you do find the others, them included. They ask you if you’re hurt, and you try to assure them, but your answer seems to upset them, and you realize you must have looked a fright. Wounds are nothing to you if you may be of service, but of course someone so kind would be concerned. They ask you again about your own wants and happiness, and you do not know how to answer. There is no alternative to obligation, is there?

They simply wish you happiness before they leave, something in their demeanor... dampened, and Lady Featherfowl quite understandably assumes you’ve been stabbed once again, this time right through the heart.

At the theater, when the message from the Court of Sea Foam comes through the blossom, you are frazzled, moving to find more information, and the confirmation of your terrible suspicion feels like ice in your veins.

You are a fool. You’ve known it all along. Of course a fey so wondrous and glorious would not lower themself to entertain a lowly goblin like you. Of course they would not truly care about your wants, your needs. What you took as kindness out of obligation to the Bloom was nothing more than calculated cunning, expertly wielded to keep you off guard, to dissuade you from your mission. You’ve been tricked, made a mockery of, and so easily, too. It mustn’t have taken them much effort at all, to make you feel as you did--as you do.

You confront them, knowing you will be unable to fully conceal the effect they’ve had on you. Even now, in the moonlight, in their red-rose dress, they are stunning. They speak of love as the basis for their actions, as though the damage they have dealt to your court is irrelevant, as though your duty, your service, is irrelevant. You know now their actions toward you were a charade, but still it stings. You thought you understood them. You thought they understood you. 

And then they tell you they love you, and you are caught, frozen, mouth agape, as they explain how much they love you and how much they care, that they’ve professed their feelings and did not receive a response. They explain why they turned away from you in the forest, that you inspired their glorious unveiling, and in that moment, your mind reels, and you feel as though you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

#acofaf #acofaf spoilers #battlemaster of ceremonies #okay so the rue POV made me want to write hob's lol #this one is a bit longer but he's kinda wordy so I guess that fits #I JUST LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCH #this poor broken goblin who just needs at least an ounce of self esteem and a hug #he thinks it was all a trick and it's so sad :( #he thinks no one could possibly care for him #least of all someone as amazing as rue #hob you are loved and I will fight the entire goblin court on your behalf I swear #hob's relationship with service and his court is deeply fucked #why do I have so many feelings about a bugbear and an owlbear and their complex emotional bonds and traumas #why is it not next Wednesday yet #a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20

[sarcasticsra]

I’ve had so many thoughts about Rue but let’s talk about our heartbreaking little bugbear

Hob’s actions and motivations all make 100% sense and nothing he’s doing is wrong, but it is tragic as hell. He’s surviving in a court where he doesn’t fit in as best as he can, and he’s done that by pushing down his own desires and needs. He can’t conceptualize self worth outside of his service to his court because his “self” is not considered ideal for his court - that was made pretty clear when he identified with what Rue was saying about not belonging, “to have the only root you have not feed you”

He doesn’t prioritize his service to the goblin court because he’s happy there, he’s internalized that service to the goblin court is all he’s good for, that he’s broken or wrong for being the way he is, so he has to make up for it by being of use

There’s a line in the song “Surface Pressure” from Encanto that is Hob in a nutshell:

“I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service.”

I don’t fault Hob for any of his actions - I mostly just want to give him a hug. It’s all coming from a place of trauma, because of course the goblin court was happy to take advantage of a competent soldier willing to prostrate himself at their feet if only he might be considered good and useful

He just isn’t acting out of a healthy sense of camaraderie and being part of something - he’s acting out of the deep, terrible fear that since he’s no good at being like the other goblins, if he’s not dedicating his life to serving them, what’s even the point of him?

And I do and will absolutely hate and fault the goblin court for doing this to him, for fomenting those feelings, all because they wanted a little more fucking status

#like it’s pretty clear he is an Outsider #that has been made apparent from the beginning #he is a goblin and has some goblin traits but he is still different enough to feel deep isolation #’as far away from the goblin rumpus as he could get’ #hob would benefit from dismantling the courts just as much if not more than rue #but because he has no sense of self outside service it’s impossible for him to see #hob’s relationship with service and his court is deeply fucked #he wants to be proper and gentlemanly and sure still sometimes eat some trash #he’s gotta heal enough to realize he can do all those things #and he sure as fuck doesn’t need the goblin court’s permission #acofaf spoilers #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #captain k.p. hob #battlemaster of ceremonies #why do i have so many feelings about a bugbear and an owlbear and their complex emotional bonds and traumas #i’m just going to wallow in these feelings for a while #ahhhhhhhhhhhh