To be a fan of dimension 20 is to be locked in a full theatre of a mind experience even after you finish watching episodes.
Because you see edits with characters interaction and truly believe in romance and drama but for an outsider it's just one irish man flirting with his friends and shouting at them constantly.
Translation: Sometimes, you need a friend to talk to when you're at work, especially about some recent tender feelings that were neither expected nor prepared for. It has been a bad time, and everyone who says it will get better is lying. I cannot sleep. It has taken me forty-five minutes to write the past four sentences.
SORRY sorry. i need a minute. i just remembered hob was never really written originally to fall in love, and that at the same time that in-fiction hob was taken off guard by what he began to feel for rue, at-table brennan himself had been blindsided by what was unfolding. hob was meant to be a plothound. a benevolent busybody. a sleuth. for hob's writer, his creator and god, love was never considered as a part of his story, and yet it came to him anyway. and yet it slipped in through the space between the periods in his name. and yet it found him in the dark cold of his tent and held him in warm arms. k.p. hob is a character who, pulled gently by the hand of another, stumbles, falls, and then runs away from the future that had been imagined for him. what a thing a story can be when it's cracked open by love.