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ihatecoconut · 1 day
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RIP 1800s guys who invented 'ok' by misspelling 'all correct'. U wouldve loved 'pakij' and 'wimdy' and 'ingredience'
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ihatecoconut · 2 days
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My "Not actively suicidal" T-shirt has people asking a lot of questions already answered by my shirt.
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ihatecoconut · 4 days
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Unionize with ur fellow pedestrians. They can’t run us all over
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ihatecoconut · 4 days
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just little goblin things………
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ihatecoconut · 5 days
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Anakin: If the opposite of ‘pro’ is ‘con’.
Ahsoka: And the opposite of progress is congress.
Anakin: Then the opposite of constitution is-
Obi-Wan: Let me stop you right there.
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ihatecoconut · 5 days
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ihatecoconut · 6 days
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ihatecoconut · 6 days
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why is this so funny, I’ve been wheezing for half an hour straight now
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ihatecoconut · 7 days
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saw ur thing about chronic pain hob and i !!!! i have also been thinking about this as someone with these issues and i just!!! so, the human body is not meant to live anywhere near as long as hob has, right? i mean you can see issues with aging in particular in older people but his body isn't aging, it's just continuing the same and i feel like every injury he gets wouldn't quite heal properly because he's basically actively fighting the passage of time, so they stick around and after a while he realises that the pain is just a condition of his immortality, and honestly I could probably write something super heartbreaking about the realisation that this is it, this is what he has to live with, but i really want to see a positive spin and him finding joy in it but i just don't know if i could write that
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(@pansy-moon sorry to tag just want to be sure you see this)
Okay so after a very Bad Pain Day yesterday I have been consumed by the thought of chronically ill Hob talking to (lbr) chronically ill Dream and maybe being a source of comfort, maybe having a useful perspective, maybe being able to articulate the ways in which yes, life is pain, but it isn't ONLY pain and the pain isn't the important thing.
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Dream finds he is still growing used to the notion that a creature as vibrant and vital as Hob Gadling, as relentlessly optimistic, might spend some of his days huddled on the sofa under a blanket, in a great deal of pain.
He is still growing used to the idea that Hob is often in pain, has spent all of their meetings in more pain than most humans are accustomed to, has spent every day of his six hundred years the same way and has still, at every turn, chosen to live like this. Insisted upon it.
I would not have done this to you, had I known, Dream had told him, the first time he had revealed this fact about himself. Hob had smiled at him with a deeper sadness than Dream had thought him capable of, but the sadness had not been for his own sake.
You wouldn’t believe how much that hurts to hear you say, Hob had responded. I love you so much. Don’t forget, all right?
Dream still does not quite understand that conversation, but he revisits it whenever he drops in on Hob and finds him like this.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Hob says, regarding him sleepily. “Hold on, I’ll make us a cuppa.”
Dream has learned, on the sharp end of several pointed looks, not to argue with Hob about the necessity of making a cup of tea, especially when he is in the least suitable condition to do it. Instead of voicing the objection that he could just as easily do it, Dream settles at the kitchen bench and watches, noting the careful way Hob balances his weight.
“Sorry I wasn’t downstairs,” he says, filling the kettle. “Wasn’t sure I’d make it back up.”
A distressed sound escapes Dream without his entirely intending it.
Hob chuckles. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll live, anyway. Not planning to beg for death today.”
“The more I know of you,” Dream says. “The less I feel I understand.”
“I love you,” Hob says, in that same tone from their last conversation about this. Quietly devastated. “Do you understand that?”
Dream nods. Yes. Against all odds, Hob does love him. Truly. Loyally. With an unceasing brightness greater than all the stars in the sky.
“Good.” Hob nods, and goes about finishing their tea. “I’m going back to the sofa, if you’d care to join me.”
Dream follows, not allowed to carry his own tea, and watches Hob walk carefully, bend awkwardly, and sit heavily, a relieved sigh escaping him.
It is. Unpleasant. To see one so beloved in such pain.
Once Dream settles, Hob throws the blanket over both of their laps, collects his tea from the coffee table, and sinks back into the cushions with another sigh.
“I love being alive,” he says. Not an unusual sentiment for Hob, but the timing is striking. “Even right now, right this minute. Do you know why?”
“Are you about to tell me about the virtues of chimneys?” Dream asks.
Hob chuckles. “Listen, I stand by that,” he says. “And sort’ve. You know what I just got to do? I just got to make a cup of tea for someone I love,” he continues. “And in the window box the lavender is just starting to bud and it’ll smell amazing in the kitchen this time next week, and I’ll put a batch of no-knead bread dough in the fridge and pick some of the fresh rosemary and make the most wonderfully aromatic bread and share it out downstairs and maybe you’ll even deign to eat some of it, and that’ll brighten a lot of days.”
Dream frowns at him. He thinks he would like Hob’s bread, but still does not understand.
“And there’s a film I want to see coming out next week,” Hob says. “And I’ve got a good feeling about surprise new music from one of my favourite artists. And they’re testing out new cures for cancer and somewhere out there there’s a kid doing a school science project that’ll change the world. The weather’s warming up now and there’ll be ice cream in the sunshine and kids playing in the park soon enough. I might pester you for a midnight stroll along a beach somewhere, when the temperature really peaks.”
Hob sips his tea with a pleased sound. “And there’ll be more cups of tea, and maybe a biscuit or two. I’ll have a new crop of students when the school year starts again in October and they’re all so new to the world and I get to tell them about it. If I behave myself, you might let me kiss you later.”
“You may always kiss me,” Dream says, turning all Hob has said over in his mind.
Hob presses a kiss to his cheek, and rests his head against Dream’s shoulder.
“My point is, there’s always something new to see. If I hang in another couple of hundred years, I might even get to go to the moon. The moon, Dream! When I met you I didn’t even know what it really was. And I couldn’t have imagined half my favourite things now back then. We didn’t even have tea yet.”
Dream hums, letting his head rest on top of Hob’s.
“I do not experience pain as you do,” he says, pausing when Hob suddenly takes his hand.
He sets his tea down, and turns to look Dream in the eyes, serious as Dream’s ever seen him.
“The experience might be different,” Hob says. “But you know what it’s like to hurt,” adds, and then taps on the centre of Dream’s chest. “In here. They’d call it other things now, but it’s... I’m physically sick, yeah? My body hurts. But I’d call what you are heartsick. Your heart hurts.”
Dream swallows.
“And you’re not going to run away from me for saying this,” he adds. “Because you know it’s not an insult. You know it’s coming from someone who really, sincerely loves you, and is a bit scared you’ll forget some day. That there are things to live for. That even if it hurts, it’s worth it.”
“I,” Dream says. ��Look forward to the first time a new dream fulfils its purpose. And...”
Hob nods, eager, squeezing Dream’s hand.
“The act of creation,” he says. “Of feeling I am serving my own purpose. And...”
Hob squeezes his hand again.
“You,” Dream admits, looking down at their joined hands. “Making me tea you know I do not require. I look forward to your kisses. To our lovemaking.”
Hob laughs. “Well, good,” he says. “Glad I’m a net positive.”
Dream kisses him then, and begins to think he could understand. One day.
“I will not forget,” he promises against Hob’s lips. “That you love me.”
“Good,” Hob repeats. “Good. That’s a start. See, the thing is, right, you don’t have to get better. Some people can’t. I can’t,” he says. “But it doesn’t matter. There are more important things in life.”
“I,” Dream says. “Would like to be invited. For fresh bread.”
“You’re always invited,” Hob says, curling up against him again. “And I’ll always remind you, okay? About the things worth sticking around for.”
Dream hums, and presses a kiss to Hob’s forehead, and imagines the smell of rosemary and lavender in his hair.
“I could introduce you,” he says after a comfortable silence, basking in Hob’s presence.
“To?” Hob asks, already half-asleep.
“To the moon. If you would like. I am certain she would be flattered by your interest.”
“You know the fucking moon?”
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ihatecoconut · 7 days
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[ID: a picture of the Gävlebocken, captioned "If you're cold, they're cold. Set them on fire."]
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ihatecoconut · 9 days
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having a soft small pet is like, you are so vulnerable, you are biting me, I am responsible for your fragile life in almost every way, your knife hands are in my stomach, I love you more than anything, stop eating plastic you heathen, I cannot save you from the slow march of age or explain to you the divergence of our life spans which consumes me
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ihatecoconut · 11 days
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ihatecoconut · 11 days
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there's been an on purpose at the accident factory
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ihatecoconut · 12 days
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Also my ultimate hope for Goncharov is that it becomes a big enough meme that an interviewer asks Martin Scorsese something about its themes or whatever and, not wanting to admit that he has forgotten one of his own films, he answers seriously
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ihatecoconut · 12 days
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crazy that Goncharov (1973) will be 50 years old in a few months because it seems like it just came out yesterday
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ihatecoconut · 13 days
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ihatecoconut · 15 days
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“Everyone has a dialect, dipshit, it came free with your fuckin’ context in which you acquired language”
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