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#we didn't think it through
slaughter-books · 4 months
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Day 30: JOMPBPC: Read In December
My December, 2023 reading wrap-up! 🧡
🎉Happy New Year!🎉
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Review: We Didn't Think It Through by Gary Lonesborough Rating: 5/5
"This is a bad place. Bad things happen here. This is no place to call home."
When Jamie and his mates head out for the night, they don't expect to end up behind the wheel of their bully's car. Neither do they expect their little joyride to land them in juvie. Now Jamie is alone in a strange place, in clothes that aren't his, and being watched over by guards who have no problem telling him just what they think of him. But Jamie doesn't want this to become his story.
This was a powerful story about the ways racism and colonialism affect Indigenous teenagers. About how growing up sometimes feels like you're stuck, rather than having the world at your feet, and how having people who care about you and ways to express yourself can make all the difference.
Jamie was an easy protagonist to like and to empathise with and it was so hard to watch his journey through the legal system, where everything was stacked against him - the way it is for a lot of Indigenous kids. It was wonderful to see the ways he found to cope with what he'd gone through and how he was able to move on and start to build a better life for himself.
I'd recommend this to anyone who loved The Hate U Give or Long Way Down or anybody looking to read more books by Indigenous authors.
Warnings: juvenile detention setting, violence, depictions of racism, past family violence, references to self-harm and alcoholism.
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auslgbtqya · 1 year
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We Didn’t Think It Through by Gary Lonesborough
(2023)
From the Publisher:
From the author of the award-winning The Boy from the Mish, comes a compelling coming-of-age YA novel about sixteen-year-old Jamie Langton finding his future and navigating the challenges of racism, family and friendship in a small Australian town.
The thought comes to me: This is how I die. Dally is going to lose control and crash us into a pole or a house and we will be killed on impact.
The justice system characterises Jamie Langton as a 'danger to society', but he's just an Aboriginal kid, trying to find his way through adolescence.
Jamie lives in Dalton's Bay with Aunty Dawn and Uncle Bobby. He spends his downtime hanging out with his mates, Dally and Lenny. Mark Cassidy and his white mates - the Footy Heads - take every opportunity they can to bully Jamie and his friends. On Lenny's last night in town before moving to Sydney, after another episode of racist harassment, Jamie, Dally and Lenny decide to retaliate by vandalising Mark Cassidy's car. And when they discover the keys are in the ignition… Dally changes the plan. Soon they are all in Mark Cassidy's stolen car cruising through town, aiming to take it for a quick spin, then dump it.
But it's a bad plan. And as a consequence, Jamie ends up in the youth justice system where he must find a way to mend his relationships with himself, his friends, his family and his future.
'A lightning bolt to the soul. The Boy from the Mish announces a bold, necessary new talent.' WILL KOSTAKIS
Goodreads
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hinamie · 16 days
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surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024
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inkskinned · 1 year
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the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.
capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.
now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.
and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.
and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.
and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".
it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"
#this was much longer i had to cut it down for legibility#but i do want to say i am aware this post doesnt touch on human rights violations as a result of fast fashion#that is because it deserves its own post with a completely different tone#i am an environmental educator#so that's what i know the most about. it wouldn't be appropriate of me to mention off-hand the real and legitimate suffering#that people are going through#without doing my research and providing real ways to help#this is a vent post about a thing i'm watching happen; not a call to action. it would be INCREDIBLY demeaning#to all those affected by the fast fashion industry to pretend that a post like this could speak to their suffering#unfortunately one of the horrible things about latestage capitalism as an activist is that SO many things are linked to this#and i WANT to talk about all of them but it would be a book in its own right. in fact there ARE books about each level of this#and i encourage you to seek them out and read them!!! i am not an expert on that i am just a person on tumblr doing my favorite activity#(complaining)#and it's like - this is the individual versus the industry problem again right because im blaming myself#for being an expert on environmental disaster (which is fucking important) but not knowing EVERYTHING about fast fashion#i'm blaming myself for not covering the many layers of this incredibly complicated problem im pointing out#rather than being like. yeah so actually the fault here lies with the billion dollar industries actually.#my failure to be able to condense an incredibly immense problem that is BOOK-LENGTH into a single text post that i post for free#is not in ANY fucking way the same amount of harm as. you know. the ACTUAL COMPANIES doing this ACTUAL THING for ACTUAL MONEY.#anyway im gonna go donate money while i'm thinking about it. maybe you can too. we can both just agree - well i fuckin tried didn't i#which is more than their CEOs can say
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egophiliac · 8 months
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so on the subject of the "Crowley is secretly Revaan/Laverne/Levin/please Twst give us his name" theory, I think my feelings are best summed up as "I don't really buy it, but it's funny". like, in all seriousness, I'm not opposed to it; I have enjoyed the writing in Twst so far and I'm willing to trust that whatever happens will, you know, make sense and not be terrible. but I'm just not really convinced by the current evidence! maybe that'll change once we learn more, we'll see!
with that said, may I propose a few alternate theories about the possible Crowley/Revaan connection:
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#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#on this installment of things nobody asked but i'm going to talk about anyway#disclaimer that this is mostly a joke please don't get mad at me#(legit no shade to anyone) (speculation is one of the fun things about an ongoing fandom and you never know what'll turn out to be true!)#more seriously i do think there may be some connection that just isn't clear yet#but the more little breadcrumbs we get about what revaan was like the more i think crowley just doesn't act like him#i adore crowley don't get me wrong#(yes he's a dipshit. this is a feature not a bug.)#but like.#not to harp on the scene about lilia's nrc invitation (i am absolutely going to harp on it)#i do not believe that crowley would go through the trash to fish out the pieces and put them back together and save them#just because it was lilia's. just because lilia might want it again someday.#crowley can ✨yasashii✨ all he wants but we know what he's like#and i REALLY do not believe that lilia wouldn't recognize him. i didn't believe it before and i extra don't believe it now.#then again i do tend to be incredibly off about speculation so! who knows! i will trust the writing for now!#i do 100% believe that meleanor would fall in love with the world's biggest dumbass and then double down super hard. that part tracks.#that said i have decided that ambrose being revaan is actually the funnier option just because it would make crowley SO mad#it wouldn't make sense for him to be mad about it and that would just make him madder
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a2zillustration · 25 days
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We lived.
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pinkd3mon · 9 months
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Bonus piece from this art
#kirby#kots#kirby of the stars#kirby fanart#hoshi no kirby#Taranza#Galacta Knight#Galacta doesn't know how to go about life without being mysterious#the difference between Galacta and Meta Knight is that Galacta is quiet and mysterious by nature#meta knight does it on purpose to appear cool#Taranza is trying hard not to judge#I think he gave up on trying tp understand#Galacta is mostly quiet but sometimes goes into these monologues while looking at the horizon and Taranza politely listens#Galacta is like 'I've been through so many lifetimes and relived my death time and time again and yet trusting is my demise'#and Taranza is just like 'sure'#Taranza just appreciates the companionship while he's gardening it's like listening to youtube while you draw#you didn't understand half what you just listened to but at last it feels like you're not alone#I'm not sure how to free Galacta Knight in my au yet#but i know they can't fight or they risk to go back to their crystal#that's a rule mentioned in the novels and we don't have tons of those in Kirby canon I'll take what I can get#so instead of fighting they take on gardening isn't that nice#Galacta probably arrived at Dreamland first (Because of course they do) and Dedede doesn't want to deal with them and just sends them away#they probably live temporarily with Kirby because in the novels Kirby actually likes Galacta a lot it's their kin#enough talk about backstory this is supposed to be taken at face value#but Galacta and Kirby would be besties and probably the first person Galacta trusts in basically forever#Galacta would HATE magolor#that's all im going away im so sorry im autistic
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rosepompadour · 1 year
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My heart is a locket and your face is in it.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, July 1911
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yuwuta · 2 months
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I want to write an essay to that last yuuji ask on GOD but one I'm not good with words and two I can not think straight rn cause I swear I could picture it all crystal clear like l... I want to say a thousand times the word like cause I'm so speechless rn... I'm almost crying you have no idea he makes me want to turn into a beast and devour him!! He totally is chatty during sex thats actually canon and and I feel my throat dry rn.... The creampie part I will stop now cause that's too much for me to handle right this second but just know that you my friend are the biggest brained person ever. Don't you just wish you could ruin him?
yeah :// he’s too good to be true, the strong urge to choke him just to make him red in the face but knowing that it probably doesn’t even hurt him or phase him because he’s freakishly strong like that… god… 
yk that tweet that’s like “fucking in missionary so we can keep arguing during it>” that’s yuuji, but you’re not arguing, he’s just yapping fr. and it’s so…. him because, yeah, part of it is dirty talk, and he can’t help but to spill everything on his mind when he’s inside of you, but also a lot of it is memories of you. he’ll literally be fucking you within an inch of your life and find time to go, “hey, babe—fuck—remember, ah, remember megumi’s birthday dinner last year? that dress you wore… you looked so fucken pretty?” “did you buy this necklace at the same place nobara got—shit—got her new ring from? it looks—looks real good on you, you know?” “we should go get dessert after, i know how much you like the banana bread from that one cafe. and you’re so pretty when you’re happy.” and it’s so insane because why can’t he shut up, but kinda sweet bc you get this glimmer into yuuji’s mind, how he sees you, how he all his memories of you seem to be skewed for him to believe you’re perfect, perfect, perfect, and something about having his dick inside of you and you looking him in the eye while he’s fucking you seems to invoke those feelings… loverboy :( 
but when he’s not chatting about you, he’s chatting about the things he wants to do to you. he’s pretty about open sex, but you always find that some things seem to slip out when he’s on the brink of orgasm, something about almost being over the edge releases all his inhibitions, he can’t stop himself from mumbling about how much he wishes he could cum inside of you, how he kinda wants to choke you bc he thinks you’d pretty with his hand around your neck, how he wants to mark you and make you his forever… and he never brings it up after… honestly sometimes you think you’re imagining it yourself, stuck in your post-orgasm haze, but you swear yuuji mentioned something about how your his but he’d share you with megumi if he asked..
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slaughter-books · 5 months
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Day 16: JOMPBPC: Favourite Genre
I love contemporaries and I love rainbow book stacks! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🩷
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high-voltage-rat · 1 year
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something I do appreciate about red vs blue is its particular brand of “came back wrong”. you were brought back, but you’re just a memory of the person you’re supposed to be. you’re just the expectations of them. you’re just the pieces everyone else saw and remembered. you’re tough like the original, but you’ll always fail no matter how tough you are, because the original failed, too. you’ve got a personality like the original, but it’s not quite right because you didn’t actually live the life they did. there’s this person you love- who you would kill or suffer or die for- but you don’t know why, you just know you’re supposed to be together because that’s what you were made for.
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nyctocollective · 4 months
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friendly reminder that plurality is caused by trauma. trauma is defined as an event that has a severe negative impact on oneself. there are going to be dark parts of plurality that no one wants to talk about. the brain created you to cope with what it went through. it's okay to have parts (or wholes) that have “twisted” desires, attractions, innerworld or external relationships, sexual or emotional needs, etc. other people might call you disgusting, evil, immoral, but it's just part of being traumatized. it's going to be unpleasant or unsightly.
read the tags.
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crystal-verse · 6 months
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god i want. an au where it dosn't work. where it's just arr g'raha who's woken up, and he doesn't have all these memories and all these people keep looking at him like they're mourning someone. the world has changed and time has changed and all the people he knows have changed, but he hasn't changed, he was just sleeping, just sleeping, and the world nearly ended several times and apparently he helped prevent yet another end but he has no memory of this. they want him to join the scions. he does not know these people. (he barely knows the warrior of light, now, but did he ever truly know them in the first place?) his little sister is alive and well. she looks at him like a ghost. she's changed, and she's older than him now. he acts bratty and loud and brash to cover up the fact that he does not know anything it seems, and he is tired but he was sleeping for so long, so how could he be tired?
he doesn't know these people. they seem to know him. he wonders if he'd killed someone, when it was him and not that exarch who woke up. he wonders if it should have been him who was "killed" in that way, if it is him that lives and not that man who had known and become friends with all these figures from legend. he wonders if he'll always be fated to be a historian one step back from everything, because he simply cannot be a hero.
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btw have we all talked about how kaladin was in the middle of having a panic attack and then adolin walks in and kaladin is immediately checking out his outfit and how nice his hair is
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theaceace · 4 months
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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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